“The old shaft shall be my tomb,” she said; “no one will think of looking for me there.”
Poor little Daisy––unhappy girl-bride, let Heaven not judge her harshly––she was sorely tried.
“Mother, mother!” she sobbed, in a dry, choking voice, “I can not live any longer. I am not taking the life God gave me, I am only returning it to Him. This is the only crime I have ever committed, mother, and man will forget it, and God will forgive me. You must plead for me, angel-mother. Good-bye, dear, kind Uncle John, your love never failed me, and Rex––oh, Rex––whom I love best of all, you will not know how I loved you. Oh, my love––my lost love––I shall watch over you up there!” she moaned, “and come to you in your dreams! Good-bye, Rex, my love, my husband!” she sobbed, holding the fatal liquid to her parched lips.
The deep yawning chasm lay at her feet. Ten––ay, eleven drops she hastily swallowed. Then with one last piteous appeal to Heaven for forgiveness, poor, helpless little Daisy closed her eyes and sprung into the air.
CHAPTER XVI.
A strong hand drew Daisy quickly back.
“Rash child! What is this that you would do?” cried an eager, earnest voice, and, turning quickly about, speechless with fright, Daisy met the stern eyes of the apothecary bent searchingly, inquiringly upon her.
“It means that I am tired of life,” she replied, desperately. “My life is so full of sadness it will be no sorrow to leave it. I wanted to rest quietly down there, but you have held me back; it is useless to attempt to save me now. I have already swallowed a portion of the laudanum. Death must come to 78 relieve me soon. It would be better to let me die down there where no one could have looked upon my face again.”