"So I guessed. Is she here—in New York?"
"No; she's up in Albany—with some kind people. I couldn't bear to bring her; but I—I—"
The woman stopped and gazed into his eyes a moment. Then she went on swiftly, stretching out her lean arms to him. "Do something for her, Robbie, won't you? That's what I want. I'm not for this world long, and I can't help her, but you can. I've led a hard life, but she hasn't an idea of it; she has the locket you gave me, but I've kept the secret from her, and she doesn't even know her father's name. I've never bothered you, Robbie; but do for her what you might have done for me."
"I imagine the old gentleman did pretty well by you, didn't he?" said the other in a matter-of-fact way.
"I'm not complaining," said she. "Only promise you'll find her and do something for her. It won't hurt you—do promise me, do."
The woman's voice quivered, and she leaned forward in the chair, steadying her shaking form. The other, always a kind-hearted man, was touched. "I will, Daisy," he said, "I will."
"You promise me?" gasped the woman.
"Yes, I promise you."
All right," said she, starting to rise. "That's all I want. You won't have any trouble in finding her. Her name—her—"
And then suddenly she staggered. She lurched backward, grasping at the chair, and turned white, a horrible sound coming from her throat. The man leaped forward and caught her. She lay limp in his arms. He shouted for help, and when the butler came, sent him on the run for a cab.