She
remembered with some satisfaction that Jasmine had locked the door,
and she began already to count the moments for her sister's return.
An hour passed, and still Daisy listened for Jasmine's light and
springing step on the attic stairs.
She was very tired now, and her head ached. She thought she would go
into the bedroom and, lying down on her little white bed, sleep away
the weary moments. Taking the Pink with her, she did so, wrapping the
counterpane well up over them both.
In a very few moments the child was in a heavy slumber.
She awoke, after what seemed to herself a very short nap, to hear
sounds in the bedroom. She stirred sleepily, and, opening her eyes,
said--
"Oh, Jasmine, what a time you've been away!"
No answer from Jasmine, but a smothered exclamation from some one
else; a heavy tread on the uncarpeted boards, and Dove, his face red,
his shoes off, and something which looked like a screw-driver in his
hands, came up and bent over the child.
"Oh! what are you doing here, Mr. Dove?" exclaimed little Daisy. The
man bent down over her, and stared hard into her wide open blue eyes.
[Illustration: THE MAN BENT DOWN OVER HER.
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