One day passed after another, and Daisy looked longingly for her summons home, and still she did not receive it. Her fears and agonies were somewhat quieted; because Dr. Sandford assured her that her father was getting better; but he never said that her father was well, or that he had not been very ill. Daisy knew that the matter had been very serious that had prevented her being at Melbourne all these days. Her imaginings of evil were doubtful and dim; but it seemed to her that her father himself would have commanded her presence in all ordinary circumstances; and a doubt like an ice-wind sometimes swept over her little spirit, whether he could be too ill to know of her absence! No word that could, be said would entirely comfort Daisy while this state of things lasted; and it was very well for her that she had a wise and energetic friend watching over her welfare, in the meanwhile. If business could keep her from pining and hinder her from too much imagining, Dr. Sandford took care that she had it. He contrived that she should indeed oversee the making of the dresses for the poor children, and it was a very great charge for Daisy. A great responsibility; it lay on her mind for days, and gave occasion for a number of drives to Crum Elbow and to Juanita\'s cottage. Then at evening, after hearing her report progress, the doctor would take Daisy up to his room, and shew her many a wonder and beauty that little Daisy had never dreamed of before; and the friendship between the two grew closer than ever.

"Grant, you are a good fellow!" said Mrs. Sandford one night. "I do not know what I should do with that child, if it were not for you."

"You would do nothing. She would not be here if it were not for me."

"I do not suppose, however, that your care for her is dictated by a conscientious regard for that fact. It is good of you."

"She is my patient, Mrs. Sandford."

"Yes, yes; _im_patient would be the word with some young men."

"I am glad you do not class me with such young men."

"Well, no child ever gave less cause for impatience, I will say that. Nor had more. Poor child! How she looks at you every day when you come home! But I suppose you doctors get hard hearts."

Dr. Sandford\'s lips curled a little into one of the smiles that Daisy liked, but he said nothing.

Daisy did look hard at her friend those days, but it was only when he came home. So she was not expecting anything the next morning when he said to her,

"Daisy—will you take a ride with me?"

Daisy looked up. The doctor was sitting by the breakfast-table, poring over a newspaper. Breakfast was done, and Daisy herself busy with a book. So she only answered,

"If you please, Dr. Sandford."

"Where shall we go?"

Daisy looked surprised. "I supposed you had business, sir."

"So I have. I am going to visit a patient. Perhaps you would like to make the visit with me."

"To one of your patients, Dr. Sandford?"

"Yes, one. Not more than one. But I think that one would like to see you."

A light came into Daisy\'s face, and colour started upon her cheeks, almost painfully.

"Dr. Sandford—do you mean—"

"I think so, Daisy," said her friend quietly. "It will do no harm,—if you are a good child."

He was so quiet, that it stilled Daisy\'s feeling, which else might have been impetuous. There was danger of that, as the child\'s eye and cheek bore witness. But she only said, "I\'ll get ready, Dr. Sandford—" and went off in orderly style till she reached the hall and was out of sight. Then Daisy\'s feet made haste up the stairs. In three minutes she was back again, with her hat and gloves in her hand.

The doctor threw down his newspaper and drew her up to him.

"Daisy, can you be quiet?"

"I think so, Dr. Sandford."

"I think so too; therefore I tell you beforehand that I wish it. Your father has not fully recovered his strength yet; and it would not be good for him to be excited. You will be very glad to see him, and he will be very glad to see you; that is quite enough; and it would be too much, if you were to shew him how glad you are."

Daisy said nothing, but she thought within herself she could not do that!

"Can you command yourself, Daisy?"

"I will try, Dr. Sandford."

"You must do it—for my sake," added the doctor.

"Dr. Sandford," said Daisy, "was that what you meant?"

"When?"

"When you said, if I was a good child?"

"It must have been that I meant, I think. I could have said it in no other connection."

"The pony-chaise, ma\'am, for Miss Randolph—" said a servant at the door.

"The chaise may go away again, Daisy, I suppose," said Mrs. Sandford.
"You will not want it."

"Yes, she will," said the doctor,—"to drive to Melbourne. Go, Daisy, since you are ready; I will follow you. That little waddling fellow can be overtaken without any great difficulty."

"Do you want me to drive slowly, sir?"

"Not at all," said the doctor; "only drive well, for I shall come and see."

If ever a little pride in her driving accomplishments had lodged in Daisy\'s mind, she certainly did not feel it that afternoon. She drove without knowing very well how she drove; she did not think of Dr. Sandford\'s criticism, or admiration; what she thought of, was the miles of the road to Melbourne.

They were not very many, and unconsciously the eager spirit in Daisy\'s fingers made itself known to Loupe\'s understanding, through the medium of the reins. He travelled better than usual, so that they were not more than half way from Melbourne when the doctor\'s gig overtook them. And then Loupe went better yet.

"Remember, Daisy, and keep quiet—" said the doctor as he took her out of the chaise. Daisy trembled, but she followed him steadily through the hall and up the stairs and into her father\'s room. Then she went before him, yet even then she went with a moderated step, and stood by her father\'s couch at last silent and breathless. Breathless with the very effort she made to keep silent and quiet. With excitement too; for Mr. Randolph was looking feeble and pale, more than Daisy had ever seen him, and it frightened her. He was not in bed but on a sofa and as Daisy came to his side he put out his arm and drew his little daughter close to him. Without a word at first and Daisy stooped her lips to his, and then stood hiding her face on his shoulder; perfectly quiet, though trembling with contained emotion, and not daring to say anything lest she should say too much.

"Daisy," said her father,—"Daisy,—do you know I have been ill?"

There was a little, little tone of surprise or disappointment in the voice. Daisy felt it, knew it, but what could she do? She was afraid to speak to say anything. She turned her face a little to Dr. Sandford; he saw an agony struggling in the eye that appealed to him. This was not what he wanted.

"She knows it almost too well," he said, coming to the rescue; "I have been her gaoler all these days; a severe one."

"Are you glad to see me, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph.

Daisy half raised herself, half glanced at his face, and turning from him threw herself upon Dr. Sandford\'s arm with a cry and gave way to a deep passion of weeping. Deep and still; her sobs could not but be heard, but they were kept under as much as the heaving of that little breast could bear. Mr. Randolph\'s pale face flashed; and the doctor saw that his precautions had been too good.

"Why Daisy!" he said lightly, "is this your self-command?"

"Let me have her—" said Mr. Randolph. "Self-command is a good thing, doctor; but people may have too much of it."

And getting hold of Daisy\'s hand, which the doctor brought within his reach, he again drew the sobbing child to his breast and folded her close in both his arms. The sobs were very soon hushed; but during all the rest of the doctor\'s visit and through all the conversation that took place, Daisy and her father never changed their position. The conversation indeed was not much, being confined to a few quiet questions and answers and remarks; and then Dr. Sandford took his departure, leaving Daisy very unconscious of his movements. He only waved his hand to Mr. Randolph, with a smile at Daisy who did not see him.

"Daisy—my darling—" said Mr. Randolph, when he was gone.

"Papa!—" came in a whisper.

"What is the matter?"

Daisy lifted her face from its resting place and kissed, with kisses that were like velvet, first one side of her father\'s mouth and then the other.

"Papa—Dr. Sandford told me I must keep quiet."

"Well, you shall," said Mr. Randolph. "That is right enough. You shall keep quiet, and I will go to sleep."

So he did. But he did not loose his hold of Daisy; and she lay, still as happiness could make her, with her head upon his breast. She knew, she was conscious, that he must be very feeble yet, to go to sleep in that way; but she was with him again, and in his arms, and her heart was so full of joy that it could do nothing but overflow in si............