the corner until the latter seemed to waver a little; his shadow was
not so black, his presence so all-pervading, and there was hope for Tom.
His reason came back at last, and the fever left him, but weak as a
child, with no power to move even his poor wasted hands which lay
outside the counterpane and seemed to trouble him, for there was a
wistful, pleading look in his gray eyes as they went from the hands to
Daisy, while his lips whispered faintly, "Cover."

She understood him, and with a rain of tears spread the sheet over them,
and then on her knees beside him, said to him amid her sobs:

"Forgive me, Tom, for what I did when I was crazy. You are not repulsive
to me. You are the truest, best, and dearest friend I ever had, and
I--I--oh, Tom, I wish I had never been born."

Daisy did not stay by Tom that night. There was no necessity for it, and
she was so worn and weary with watching that the physician declared she
must have absolute rest or be sick again herself. So she remained away,
and in a little room by herself fought the fiercest battle she had ever
fought, and on her knees, with tears and bitter cries, asked for help to
do right. Not for help to know what was right. She felt sure that she
did know that, only the flesh was weak, and there were chords of love
still clinging to a past she scarcely dared think of now lest her
courage should fail her. Guy was lost to her forever; it was a sin even
to think of him as she must think if she thought at all, and so she
strove to put him from her--to tear his image from her heart and put
another in its place, even Tom, whom she pitied so much, and whom she
could make so happy.

"No matter for myself," she said. "No matter what I feel, or how sharp