"Dom, she must come back sometimes, and when she does, and you are at home, you must show her that you love her."
"But I don't, you see," said the boy.
"There you are; you are not my own boy, Dom, when you talk like that. Poor little Fuzzy-wuzzy! It isn't in her nature to give much love, so it is our bounden duty to lavish it on her, to surround her with it. She must feel it mentally and in her heart."
"She loves you, Maureen," said Dominic, in his solemn way.
"Yes," replied Maureen, very gently. "I went to Felicity last week to see them both, and she told me, poor darling, that she was perfectly happy, and all the people were so nice to her, and she could manage the naughty girls, oh, quite wonderfully. She told me also that she loved as much as ever she could Mrs. Faithful and Dinah, but, she added, and, oh, Dom, I declare she looked quite beautiful, she said, 'I have to force myself to love them, but I do manage a little bit; whereas, you, Maureen, you and Daisy, without any effort, have all the love of my heart.'"
And Daisy, what became of her in the future? What did she see in that deep, trance-like slumber, which even the clever doctors and the professional nurses took for death? Something surely which she was never to forget, which, in fact, she never did forget. For, as a matter of fact, the love of Maureen, her passionate devotion to the White Angel, had entered down deep into her heart and stayed there forever and ever.
The Daisy of the present is a quiet girl. She has perhaps a little of the mantle of Maureen flung over her. She is remarked in the school for her great gentleness; the sly look so apparent once in her face has utterly departed. She is sweet and grave and noted for her unselfishness.
Henrietta must always retain her fire, but Daisy, by a look or word, can compel her. Daisy is happy of the happy. She knows the very solemn things of life, for has she not in very truth stood at the entrance to the gate of death with the White Angel?