[CHAPTER XIII.]
GONE!
DAISY was still crying when they entered. Her face was pressed into the pillow, and her sobs sounded through the room. Mary Davis motioned Isaac to the bedside, and he stood there, saying nothing, with a rather astonished look upon his face. Daisy had always been so cheery in her ways, that he could scarcely remember seeing her shed tears since she was quite a child.
Mary waited a little while, and then said: "Daisy, here's your father come to see you."
Daisy turned her head quickly, and lifted her tearful eyes to his. Then she wrung her hands together, and broke out anew into a passion of sobs. "O father, father," she cried, "I can't walk or stand. I've tried, and I can't. And you will get so tired of me; you will wish I was dead. O father, I don't know what to do; I don't know how to bear it."
"Can't you stand yet, Daisy?" asked Isaac, in a perplexed and dubious tone.
"No, no, no," sobbed Daisy. "I tried, and I fell down. My legs seem almost as if they were dead, father. I don't know if I shall ever be able to stand again."
"Don't know if ever you'll be able to stand again!" echoed Isaac, in tones of dismay.
"No," moaned Daisy. "Perhaps never—never."
"Who's ever a-going to do your work?" asked Isaac. "I can't afford to keep a woman, Daisy. It's sheer ruination,—and I haven't got a penny to spare—not one penny."