Daisy by Marshall Saunders

THAT was the beginning of troublous times. For that day, and many subsequent days, the angel of death hovered over the child. A fever had seized upon her, and her little body became wasted and spent till she was but a shadow of her former self. In her delirium, Robertson's name was constantly on her lips. He, poor fellow, could do nothing. From the first day a nurse was installed in the sick-room, and no one was allowed to enter.

It was on that day that I met, on my way to my office, one of Robertson's superiors in the bank. "By the way," he said, "one of our clerks boards where you do-Roland Robertson, his name is. Do you know anything about him? Can you tell me anything in regard to his habits?"