"Yes, I know him," Tom answered sadly, forcing down a choking sob, while

the "big hand with the great freckles on it" smoothed the golden hair

tenderly and pushed it back from the burning brow.

"Don't talk any more, Daisy; it tires you so," he said, as he saw her

about to speak again.

But Daisy was not to be stopped, and she went on: "Tom is good, though; so good, but awkward, and I like him ever so much,

but I can't be his wife. I cannot. I cannot."

"He doesn't expect it now, or want it," came huskily from Tom, while

Daisy quickly asked: "Doesn't he?"

"No, never any more; so, put it from your mind and try to sleep," Tom

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said, and again the freckled hands smoothed the tumbled pillows and

wiped the sweat drops from Daisy's face, while all the time the great

kind heart was breaking, and the hot tears were rolling down the

sun-burned face Daisy thought was so ugly.

Tom had heard from Madame Lafarcade of Guy's marriage, and, like her,

understood why Daisy's fever ran so high and her mind was in such a

turmoil. But for himself he knew there was no hope, and with a feeling

of death in his heart he watched by her day and night, yielding his

place to no one, and saying to madame when she remonstrated with him and

bade him care for his own health: "It does not matter to me. I would rather die than not."

Daisy was better when her mother came--saved, the doctor said, more by

Tom's care and nursing than by his own skill, and then Tom gave up his

post and never went near her unless she asked for him. His "red hair and

freckled face" were constantly in his mind, making him loathe the very

sight of himself.

"She cannot bear my looks, and I will not force myself upon her," he

said; and so he stayed away, but surrounded her with every luxury money

could buy, and, as soon as she was able, had her removed to a pretty

little cottage which he rented and fitted up for her, and where she

would be more at home and quieter than at Madame Lafarcade's.

And there, one morning when he called to inquire for her, he, too, was

smitten down with the fever which he had taken with Daisy's breath the

many nights and days he watched her without rest or sufficient food.

There was a faint, followed by a long interval of unconsciousness, and

when he came to himself he was in Daisy's own room, lying on Daisy's

little bed, and Daisy herself was bending anxiously over him with a

flush on her white cheeks and a soft, pitiful look in her blue eyes.




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