"Safe; yes, my little beauty. I found you had been at the house, and they said you were here--come to look for me. Why, Daisy, this meeting makes up for all my misery since you have been gone." Daisy wrenched herself from his arms, exclaiming passionately-- "I came to save you and others, Mr Glaire, and you act like this. Quick, get away from this place. Your life is in danger." "I have heard that tale, my dear," he said, "till I am tired of it." "I tell you," cried Daisy, as he tried to clasp her again, and she struggled with him; "I tell you there is a plot against you, and that you must go. This place is not safe. You have not a moment to lose." "Why," said Richard, holding her in spite of her struggles; "did you not come to see me and comfort me for being in hiding here?" "No, no," cried Daisy, trying to free herself; "I came to warn you. Oh, sir, this is cowardly." "Come, Daisy, my little one, why are you struggling? You used not." "No," cried the girl, angrily; "not when I was a silly child and believed you." "Come, that's unkind," said Richard, laughing. "Where have you been, eh? But there, I know." "I tell you, Mr Richard, you are in danger." "Pooh! what danger? We're safe enough here, Daisy, and no one will interrupt us." "I cannot answer questions," said Daisy. "Oh, pray, pray let us go. I came to save you." "Then you do love me still, Daisy?" "No, no; indeed no, sir, I hate you; but I would not see you hurt." "Look here, Daisy," cried Richard. "_I_ hate mystery. Did you come here alone?" "Yes, yes--to save you." "Thank you, my dear; but now, please, tell me why? No mystery, please, or I shall think this is some trick, and that you have been sent by the men on strike." "Indeed, no, Mr Richard," cried Daisy, who, in her horror, caught at his arm, and tried to drag him away. "Mr Richard, sir, you told me you loved me; and in those days I was foolish enough to believe you, to the neglect of a good, true man, who wanted to make me his wife." "Poor idiot!" cried Richard, who was getting out of temper at being so kept at a distance. "No; but a good, true man," cried Daisy, indignantly. "I've wakened up from the silly dream you taught me to believe, and now I come to warn you of a great danger, and you scoff at it." "What's the danger, little one?" "I cannot--dare not tell you." "Then it isn't true. It's an excuse of yours. The old game, Daisy: all promises and love in your letters--all coyness and distance when we meet; but you are not going to fool me any more, my darling. I don't believe a word of your plot, for no one knows I am here except those who would not betray me." "What shall I do?" cried Daisy, clasping her hands in agony. "Even now it may be too late."