“I will tell you all presently, Aunt Alice,” the girl said, over her shoulder, then gave him her hand. “Good night, Dallas. I shall expect you to-morrow,” she said; and, in spite of the old woman’s angry looks, he kissed the little hand, and his dark eyes beamed on her in the moonlight with the love that thrilled his heart. She stood and watched him out of sight--her handsome lover--then went into the house with her aunt, and poured out the story of all that had happened at Sea View. The old woman was simply overjoyed, and did not hesitate to say so. “So you are Mrs. Royall Sherwood--a rich man’s bride! I congratulate you, Daisie!” she exclaimed eagerly. “But I tell you I hate him, aunt, and I will get the law to free me!” “You will not be so foolish, Daisie Bell. You, a poor school-teacher, an orphan girl forced to earn her living in that wretched city where the lives of so many young girls are worn out in the struggle for bread! Oh, Daisie, do not be so foolish as to throw away this splendid chance! And you so beautiful, my dear--so fitted to take your place in the finest society!” “Auntie, you forget that I have another lover--handsomer, nobler than Royall Sherwood. As soon as I am free I shall marry him.” “Never, never, with my consent! I have heard all about him from Mr. Sherwood, and he is no match for you. No one knows aught about him. He is poor, of course, and some dreadful disgrace may possibly be attached to him. You must give him up now, and my advice to you is to make up your quarrel with Royall, and be thankful to get him.” “Ah, how cruel it is to have not a friend on earth! To get such advice from you, who ought to fill the place of my poor, dead mother!” sobbed Daisie, heartbrokenly; but the old woman, who could be very hard and coarse when she chose, retorted sharply: “Your poor mother would be alive now if she hadn’t married a poor man, and broken her heart because her parents disinherited her and refused ever to see her again. She was as pretty as you, and had her pick of lovers; but she fell in love with that poor artist, Vivian Bell, my husband’s brother. And what came of it? You know their struggles, for they died one after another only two years ago in New York, and left you, their only child, to fight the battle of life alone. So how you can throw away this splendid chance fairly beats my time.” “But I am used to poverty, Aunt Alice, so it does not daunt me. And I am sorry you have arrayed yourself in the ranks of my persecutors, for it makes me feel so friendless. True, you are not really my aunt; but, as Uncle John’s wife, I have loved you just the same, and now”--sobbingly--“you have turned against me, and I must go away alone and unpitied, unless by my true little friend Annette.” She dragged herself wearily upstairs, and, throwing off, with a shudder of disgust, her white gown, donned a loose robe, and sat down beside the window to keep a vigil that was sad and strange for a new-made bride.