"Told me what? What is there to tell?"
"Nothing, on my part," answered the lady, nonchalantly. "Daisy may tell you what she pleases."
"Felicia," said Mr. Randolph, looking much vexed, "that child has borne too much already. She is ill."
"It is her own fault. I told you, Mr. Randolph, I would as lief not have a child as not have her mind me. She shall do what I bid her, if she dies for it."
"It won't come to that," said Mrs. Gary. Mr. Randolph turned on his heel.
Meantime, another person who had seen with sorrow Daisy's pale face, and had half a guess as to the cause of it, came up to her side and sat down.
"Daisy, what is to be done to-day?"
"I don't know, Captain Drummond."
"You don't feel like storming the heights, this morning?"
Again, to him also, the glance of Daisy's eye was so very sweet, and so very wistful, that the captain was determined in a purpose he had half had in his mind.