"Yes, love, but you're not going to die there, nor nowhere else. I can't take you back to the cottage, dearie, for it's let, and I'm not living there. I've a little bit of a place of my own in the village of Teckford and I keep a small shop, and don't do so bad. You must come home now with me, darling. Oh, yes, you must--not a word must you say against it; then, when you've rested, and have had some nice bread and milk, you shall tell old Hannah your story; and if so be as you're in any trouble, why, your old nurse Hannah will set her wits to work to find a way out of it. Now, my darling, I'm going to carry you to my cottage." Daisy was certainly very weak. She tried to expostulate with Hannah--she tried to say that her one and only duty was to try and get tidings of Mrs. Ellsworthy's whereabouts, and then to follow her on foot if necessary; but if the little spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. The comfort of seeing her nurse again was too much for Daisy--the knowledge that those were the very arms which had carried her as a baby, and soothed her and tended her as a little child, was quite too cheering to be resisted. Daisy made a valiant effort to say "No," but instead, her lips formed a faint "Yes, Hannah, take me to your home," and then Hannah, who was a strongly-built woman, lifted the slight little girl in her arms, and carried her across the fields to her tiny cottage at Teckford. All the time, while she was being carried in those kind arms, Daisy kept repeating to herself, "I'll have some bread and milk, for I am a little hungry, and I'll rest for perhaps an hour, and then I'll go away on foot with my dear Pink to find Mrs. Ellsworthy." But when the child and the woman reached the house in the village Daisy was too faint and weary to take more than a spoonful or two of bread and milk, and long before the night arrived she had forgotten that she meant to undertake any journey, and lay with burning cheeks and bright, feverish eyes on Hannah's bed in her little home. CHAPTER XLIV. TOO MUCH FOR DOVE. Mrs. Dredge's remarks had by no means been lost on Noel. When he left Miss Egerton's house he consulted his watch, and found that he had still an hour to spare before he need try to catch his train. He thought for a moment or two, recalled certain expressions on Daisy's face, certain words which dropped from her lips, and, above all, a look which had filled her pretty eyes on the one and only occasion when they had met Dove together. Noel began to feel more and more certain that this man, to whom he had taken a great dislike, had something to say to all the child's misery. Noel knew, however, that suspicion in such a case would be of little avail--he must have certainty, and certainty could only be his by cautious and wary movements.