“Yes,” he said, bitterly; “and I made it.”
“What shall I do?” gasped Daisy. “Oh, at last, Mrs Glaire—Mrs Glaire, what have you done?”
“You here!” cried Mrs Glaire, who now entered with Eve from the doctor’s, the latter turning pale, and sinking into a chair.
“Yes, yes,” gasped Daisy, sinking on her knees, and clinging to Mrs Glaire’s skirts; “I came—I was obliged to come back. My father, my—Oh no, no, no, no!” she sobbed to herself, “I dare not tell them; I must not tell. I—I—I came—”
“Yes,” cried Mrs Glaire, angrily; “you came, false, cruel girl. You came back to ruin all our hopes of happiness here—to undo all which I have striven so hard to do.”
“But, Mrs Glaire, dear Mrs Glaire, I have tried so hard,” sobbed Daisy, grovelling on the floor, but still clinging to Mrs Glaire’s dress that she tried to drag away. “You don’t know what I’ve suffered away in that cold, bitter town, wi’out a word from home, wi’out knowing what they thowt o’ me, for I kep’ my word. I never wrote once, though I was breaking my heart to write.”
“But you came back—and now,” cried Mrs Glaire.
“Yes, yes, I heard—danger—so horrible, I was obliged,” panted the girl.
“You heard that?” said Mrs Glaire.
“Yes, yes,” cried Daisy; “and I came to try and save him fro’ it.”