"Doesn't he?"

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