With what sanguine hopes he had left New York this morning, expecting to find Daisie bright and beautiful as ever, and believing that it might not be hard to win her love at last, now that he was well and strong again. But to see her stricken so--her beauty faded, her golden glory of tresses shorn away, her life ebbing out, it seemed, so fast. Oh, it was cruel, unbearable. The wish came to him that he had never seen the fair face that he had determined to make his own in spite of opposing obstacles. “She was not for me--Heaven never meant it so--she will die to punish me for my masterful will,” he groaned to himself, in passionate rebellion against his untoward fate. He went back to the house, and they told him she had been lying quietly for some time, almost ever since he went out. He went in to look at her, to press a tender kiss on her damp, white brow; but again she became restless, tossing wildly, and calling: “Dallas! Dallas! Dallas!” “It is quite evident that your presence disturbs her, sir, so you had better go to bed and rest. You can do no good here,” the nurse said candidly. Mrs. Bell led him to a quiet chamber, and begged him to retire. “After your thrilling experiences of last night, you must be very weary, and a night’s sleep will refresh you. Have no fear for Daisie. We will do our best,” she said kindly. He retired, but it seemed to him at first that he could never rest again, so keen was his humiliation that Daisie, even in unconsciousness, could never endure his proximity, and kept calling on the name of his hated rival. But at last weariness overpowered him, and he fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep that lasted till the morning sun peeped in through the shutters. He rose in a tumult of fear, and began to dress, but almost immediately Doctor Burns came in, exclaiming: “Good news! She passed the crisis safely at midnight, and will live.” CHAPTER XXXVII. FOR ROYALL’S SAKE. She was better, sweet Daisie--with care and good nursing her life would be preserved to her friends. But that obdurate nurse, so clever and opinionated, would not permit Royall Sherwood to see his wife for a week. She said: “I don’t profess to understand it, doctor, not at all, but facts are stubborn things, and I know that the presence of her husband has a distinctly injurious effect on Mrs. Sherwood’s health. Perhaps they had quarreled before she left home; I don’t know; but if he wants her to get well tell him to stay out of the sick room for a week, at least.” Royall was secretly furious, but he had to obey. “A week is not long,” encouraged the sympathetic old doctor. “And we have to humor the whims of nurses as well as invalids, you know. After all, it will do you more good to exercise your newly gained strength in the open air than pottering about a sick room.” Royall grumbled, but he obeyed, taking rooms at the hotel, and calling each day at the cottage.