Folding the bill carefully in two she placed it beneath her little snowy ruffled pillow. Then catching up the thick, dark shawl which lay on an adjacent table, she wrapped it quickly about her. She opened the door leading out into the hall, and listened. All was still––solemnly still.
Daisy crept softly down the stairs, and out into the quiet beauty of the still, summer night.
“Rex,” she wailed, softly, “perhaps when I am dead you will feel sorry for poor little Daisy, and some one may tell you 76 how you have wronged me in your thoughts, but you would not let me tell you how it happened!”
In the distance she saw the shimmer of water lying white and still under the moon’s rays, tipped by the silvery light of the stars.
“No, not that way,” she cried, with a shudder; “some one might save me, and I want to die!”
In the distance the red and colored gleaming lights of an apothecary’s shop caught her gaze.
“Yes, that way will be best,” she said, reflectively.
She drew the shawl closer about her, pressing on as rapidly as her feeble little feet would carry her. How weak she was when she turned the knob and entered––the very lights seemed dancing around her.
A small, keen-eyed, shrewd little man stepped briskly forward to wait upon her. He started back in horror at the utter despair and woe in the beautiful young face that was turned for a moment toward him, beautiful in all its pallor as a statue, with a crown of golden hair such as pictures of angels wear encircling the perfect head.
“What can I do for you, miss?” queried the apothecary, gazing searchingly into the beautiful dreamy blue eyes raised up to his and wondering who she could possibly be.