"It reached him too late--too late, and I am so sorry." Madame knew of no bad news, she said, and then as she saw the foreign paper lying on the table, she took it up, and, guided by the pencil marks, read the notice of Guy Thornton's marriage, and that gave her the key at once to Daisy's mental agitation. Daisy had been frank with her and told her as much of her story as was necessary, and she knew that the Guy Thornton married to Julia Hamilton had once called Daisy his wife. "Excuse me, she is, or she has something on her mind, I suspect," she said to the physician, who was still holding Daisy's hand and looking anxiously at her flushed cheeks and bright, restless eyes. "I thought so," he rejoined, "and it aggravates all the symptoms of her fever. I shall call again to-night." He did call and found his patient worse, and the next day he asked Madame Lafarcade: "Has she friends in this country? If so, they ought to know." A few hours later, and in his lodgings at Berlin, Tom read the following dispatch: "Mrs. Thornton is dangerously ill. Come at once." It was directed to Mr. McDonald, who with his wife had been on a trip to Russia, and was expected daily. Feeling intuitively that it concerned Daisy, Tom had opened it, and without a moment's hesitation packed his valise, and, leaving a note for the McDonalds when they should return, started for Rouen. Daisy did not know him, and in her delirium she said things to him and of him which hurt him cruelly. Guy was her theme, and the letter which went "too late, too late." Then she would beg of Tom to go for Guy, to bring him to her and tell him how much she loved him and how good she would be if he would take her back. "Father wants me to marry Tom," she said in a whisper, and Tom's heart almost stood still as he listened; "and Tom wanted me, too, but I couldn't, you know, even if he were worth his weight in gold. I could not love him. Why, he's got red hair, and such great freckles on his face, and big feet and hands with freckles on them. Do you know Tom?" "Yes, I know him," Tom answered sadly, forcing down a choking sob, while the "big hand with the great freckles on it" smoothed the golden hair tenderly and pushed it back from the burning brow. "Don't talk any more, Daisy; it tires you so," he said, as he saw her about to speak again. But Daisy was not to be stopped, and she went on: "Tom is good, though; so good, but awkward, and I like him ever so much, but I can't be his wife. I cannot. I cannot." "He doesn't expect it now, or want it," came huskily from Tom, while Daisy quickly asked: "Doesn't he?" "No, never any more; so, put it from your mind and try to sleep," Tom said, and again the freckled hands smoothed the tumbled pillows and wiped the sweat drops from Daisy's face, while all the time the great kind heart was breaking, and the hot tears were rolling down the sun-burned face Daisy thought was so ugly.