"You may go up stairs," said Mrs. Randolph.

"Mamma?"--

"Go--and remain till I send for you."

Daisy slipped away quietly, before anybody could notice that she was
gone or going. Then slowly went up the stairs and along the passages to
her own room. It was empty and dark, except for the moonlight without;
June had not expected her to be there, and had not made preparation.
Daisy went and kneeled down in her old place by her window; her eyes
filled as full of tears as they could hold. She bent her little head to
brush them away, but they came again. Daisy was faint and tired; she
wanted her supper very much; and she had enjoyed the supper-table very
much; it was a great mortification to exchange it for the gloom and
silence of her moonlit room. She had not a bit of strength to keep her
spirits up. Daisy felt weak. And what was the matter? Only--that she
had, against her mother's pleasure, repeated her acknowledgment of the
hand that had given her all good things. How many good things that day!
And was she not to make such acknowledgment any more? Ought she to
please her mother in this? Had she really done wrong? Daisy could not
tell; she thought not; she could not wish she had not done what she did;
but at the same time it was very miserable to have Mrs. Randolph at odds
with her on such a point as this.

Daisy shed some tears about it; yet not a great many, and without the
least bitterness in them. But she felt faint and tired and disappointed.
Here, however, at her own room window, and alone, there was no bar to
thanksgivings; and Daisy had them in her heart, as well as prayers for