years, little dreaming with what sore anguish of heart poor Daisy would
one day weep over the senseless things recorded there.

"Can it be I was ever that silly little fool?" she said bitterly, as she
finished her journal. "And how could Guy love me as I know he did. Oh,
if I but had the chance again, I would make him so happy! Oh, Guy,
Guy--my husband still--mine more than Julia's, if you could know how
much I love you now; nor can I feel it wrong to do so, even though I
never hope to see your face again. Guy, Guy, the world is so desolate,
and I am young, only twenty-three, and life is so long and dreary with
nothing to live for or to do. I wish almost that I were dead like Tom,
only I dare not think I should go to heaven where he has gone."

In her sorrow and loneliness Daisy was fast sinking into an unhealthy,
morbid state of mind from which nothing seemed to arouse her.

"Nothing to live for--nothing to do," was her lament until one golden
September day, when there came a turning point in her life, and she
found there was something to do.

There was no regular service that Sunday in the church where she usually
attended, and as the day was fine and she was far too restless to remain
at home, she proposed to her mother that they walk to a little chapel
about a mile away, where a young Presbyterian clergyman was to preach.

She had heard much of his eloquence, and as his name was McDonald, he
might possibly be some distant relative. Inasmuch as her father was of
Scotch descent she felt a double interest in him, and with her mother
was among the first who entered the little, humble building and took a
seat upon one of the hard, uncomfortable benches near the pulpit.