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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18688-8.txt b/18688-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6be6d3e --- /dev/null +++ b/18688-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15559 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Daisy in the Field, by Elizabeth Wetherell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Daisy in the Field + + +Author: Elizabeth Wetherell + + + +Release Date: June 26, 2006 [eBook #18688] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAISY IN THE FIELD*** + + +Warner, Susan, 1819-1885, Daisy in the field, 1868, Ward Lock edition n.d. + + +Produced by Daniel FROMONT + + + +DAISY IN THE FIELD + +BY +ELIZABETH WETHERELL + +Author of "The Wide, Wide World," "Queechy," etc., etc. + + +WARD, LOCK &CO., LIMITED +LONDON AND MELBOURNE + +Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER I. THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD + +CHAPTER II. AT THE RENDEZVOUS + +CHAPTER III. IN REVIEW + +CHAPTER IV. ON FOOT + +CHAPTER V. ON HORSEBACK + +CHAPTER VI. IN THE FIRE + +CHAPTER VII. DETAILED FOR DUTY + +CHAPTER VIII. DAISY'S POST + +CHAPTER IX. SKIRMISHING + +CHAPTER X. WAITING + +CHAPTER XI. A VICTORY + +CHAPTER XII. AN ENGAGEMENT + +CHAPTER XIII. A TRUCE + +CHAPTER XIV. FLIGHT + +CHAPTER XV. OLD BATTLEFIELDS + +CHAPTER XVI. THE FORLORN HOPE + +CHAPTER XVII. OUT OF THE SMOKE + +CHAPTER XVIII. A MARKED BATTERY + +CHAPTER XIX. ONE FALLEN + +CHAPTER XX. THE WOUNDED + +CHAPTER XXI. THE HOSPITAL + +CHAPTER XXII. ORDERS + +CHAPTER XXIII. "HERE!" + +"My half-day's work is done; +And this is all my part - +I give a patient God +My patient heart. + +"And clasp his banner still, +Though all the blue be dim. +These stripes, no less than stars, +Lead after Him." + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. + +While Miss Cardigan went with her nephew to the door, I +remained standing by the fire, which could have witnessed to +so much done around it that night. I felt strong, but I +remember my cheeks had an odd sensation as if the blood had +left them. I did not know Miss Cardigan had come back, till I +saw her standing beside me and looking at me anxiously. + +"Will you go and lie down now, my lamb?" + +"Oh, no!" I said. "Oh, no - I do not want to lie down. I have +not done my studying yet, that I came to do." + +"Studying!" said Miss Cardigan. + +"Yes. I want something out of some of your books. I have not +done it. I will sit down and do it now." + +"You're much more fit to lie down and go to sleep," said she, +sorrowfully. "Let be the study, Daisy; and take some rest, +while ye can." + +"I shall have plenty of time," I said. "I do not want any +rest, more than I shall get so." + +Miss Cardigan sighed - I had heard more sighs from her that +night than in all my knowledge of her before; and I sat down +on the floor again, to pull out again the volumes I had put +up, and begin my school work anew. As I touched them, I felt +how much had come into my hands, and fallen out of my hands, +since I took them up before, just a few hours ago. It would +not do to think of that. I resolutely put it back, and set +myself about getting out of the books the facts I wanted for +my work. Miss Cardigan left the room; and for a time I turned +over leaves vigorously. But the images of modern warfare began +to mix themselves inconveniently with the struggles of long +ago. Visions of a grey uniform came blending in dissolving +views with the visions of monarchs in their robes of state and +soldiers in heavy armour; it meant much, that grey uniform; +and a sense of loss and want and desolation by degrees crept +over me, which had nothing to do with the ruin of kingdoms. +The books grew heavy; my hands trembled; yet still I tried to +make good work, and bade myself deal with the present and let +the past and the future alone. The "present" being represented +by my school day and my studies. Could I do it? The past and +the future rushed in at last, from opposite sides as it were, +and my "present" was overthrown. I dropped my books and myself +too, as nearly as possible; my heart gave way in a deep +passion of tears. + +Now I tried to reason myself out of this. What had I lost? I +asked myself. What were these tears for? What had I lost, that +I had not been without until only twelve hours before? Indeed +rather, what had I not gained? But my reasonings were of no +use. Against them all, some vision of Thorold's face, some +sparkle of his eyes, some touch of his hand, would come back +to me, and break down my power and unlock fresh fountains of +tears. This passion of self-indulgence was not like me, and +surprised myself. I suppose the reason was, I had been so long +alone; I had been working my way and waiting, in exile from +home as it were, so many days and years; nobody that loved me +better than I loved myself had been near me for so very long; +that the sweetness so suddenly given and so suddenly taken +away left me a little unsteady. Was it wonderful? The joy and +the grief were both new; I was not braced for either; the one +seemed to add poignancy to the other; and between the two +facts, that Thorold loved me, and that he was gone from me +into what might be a duty of danger, - that he was gone into +danger and that he loved me, - for a little while my soul was +tossed back and forth like a ship on a stormy sea, unable to +make any headway at all. And so Miss Cardigan found me. She +half lifted half drew me up, I remember; made me lie down +again on the sofa, gave me some hot tea to drink; and when she +had made me drink it, she sat still looking at me, silent, and +I thought a good deal disturbed. It would be difficult to tell +why I thought so. Perhaps it was because she said nothing. I +lay quiet with my face hid in my hands. + +"What do you think to do with yourself to-day, now?" - was at +last her practical question. + +"What o'clock is it?" I whispered. + +"It's just on the stroke of six, Daisy." + +"I'll get up and go on with my work," I said; and I raised +myself to a sitting posture accordingly. + +"Work!" echoed Miss Cardigan. "You look like much of that! +Your cheeks" (and she touched them) "they are the colour of my +magnolia there that has just opened. A night's work Christian +has made of it! I suppose he is travelling off as content as +if he had something to praise himself for. The pride of these +men! -" + +I could not help laughing, and laughing made me cry. Miss +Cardigan promptly put me back on the cushions and bade me lie +still; and she sat in front of me there like a good shaggy +human watch dog. I should not say _shaggy_, for she was entirely +neat and trim; but there was something of sturdy and +uncompromising about her which suggested the idea. I lay +still, and by and by went off into a sleep. That restored me. +I woke up a couple of hours later all right and quite myself +again. I was able to rush through the bit of study I had +wanted; and went over to Mme. Ricard's just a minute before +school opened. + +I had expected some uncomfortable questioning about my staying +out all night; but things do not happen as one expects. I got +no questioning, except from one or two of the girls. Mme. +Ricard was ill, that was the news in school; the other +teachers had their hands full, and did not give themselves any +extra trouble about the doings of so regular and trusted an +inmate as myself. The business of the day rolled on and rolled +off, as if last night had never been; only that I walked in a +dream; and when night came I was free to go to bed early and +open my budget of thoughts and look at them. From without, all +was safe. + +All day my thoughts had been rushing off, away from the +schoolroom and from studies and masters, to look at a receding +railway train, and follow a grey coat in among the crowd of +its fellows, where its wearer mingled in all the business and +avocations of his interrupted course of life. Interrupted! +yes, what a change had come to his and to mine; and yet all +was exactly the same outwardly. But the difference was, that I +was thinking of Thorold, and Thorold was thinking of me. How +strange it was! and what a great treasure of joy it was. I +felt rich; with the most abounding, satisfying, inexhaustible +treasure of riches. All day I had known I was rich; now I took +out my gold and counted it, and could not count it, and gave +full-hearted thanks over it. + +If the brightness wanted a foil, it was there; the gold +glittered upon a cloudy background. My treasure was not +exactly in my hand to enjoy. There might be many days before +Thorold and I saw each other's faces again. Dangers lay +threatening him, that I could not bear to think of; although I +knew they were there. And even were this cloud all cleared +away, I saw the edges of another rising up along the horizon. +My father and my mother. My mother especially; what would she +say to Daisy loving an officer in the Northern army? That +cloud was as yet afar off; but I knew it was likely to rise +thick and black; it might shut out the sun. Even so I my +treasure was my treasure still, through all this. Thorold +loved me and belonged to me; nothing could change that. +Dangers, and even death, would not touch it. My mother's +command could not alter it. She might forbid his marrying me; +I must obey her; but the fact that we loved each other was a +fact beyond her reach and out of her, power, as out of mine. +Thorold belonged to me, in this higher and indestructible +sense, and also I belonged to him. And in this joy I rejoiced, +and counted my treasure with an inexpressible triumph of joy +that it was uncountable. + +I wondered too, very much. I had had no idea that I loved +Thorold; no dream that he liked me had ever entered my head. I +thought we were friends, and that was all. Indeed I had not +known there was anything in the world more, until one night +ago. + +But I winced a little, privately, in the very bottom of my +heart, that I had let Thorold have so much liberty; that I had +let him know so easily what he was to me. I seemed unlike the +Daisy Randolph of my former acquaintance. She was never so +free. But it was done; and I had been taken unawares and at +disadvantage, with the thought of coming danger and separation +checking every reserve I would have shown. I had to be content +with myself at all events; Thorold knew my weakness and would +never forget it another time. + +I thought a great many other thoughts that night; some of them +were grave enough. My sleep however, when I went to sleep, was +as light as the fall of the dew. I could not be careful. Just +seventeen, and just come into life's great inheritance, my +spirit was strong, as such spirits are, to throw off every +burden. + +For several days it happened that I was too busy to see Miss +Cardigan. I used to look over to her house, those days, as the +place where I had begun to live. Meanwhile I was bending my +energies to work, with a serious consciousness of woman's life +and responsibility before me. In one way I think I felt ten +years older, when next I crossed the avenue and went into the +familiar marble-paved hall and opened Miss Cardigan's door. +That Thorold was not there, was the first thought with me. +Certainly the world had made a revolution; but all things else +looked as usual; and Miss Cardigan gave me a welcome just as +if the world had not turned round. She was busy with the +affairs of some poor people, and plunged me into them as her +custom was. But I fancied a somewhat more than usual of sober +gravity in her manner. I fancied, and then was sure of it; +though for a long time nothing was said which touched Thorold +or me. I had forgotten that it was to come; and then it came. + +"And what have ye been doing, my bonnie lady, since ye went +away at eight o'clock o' the morn?" + +I started, and found that I had lost myself in a reverie. I +said, I had been studying. + +"You and me have need to study some new things," Miss Cardigan +said, soberly. + +"Yes ma'am," I said. But then - "What, Miss Cardigan?" + +"There's our duty" - she said, with a pause at that part of +her sentence; - "and then, how to do it. Yes, Daisy, you need +not look at me, nor call the bloom up into your cheeks, that +Christian says are such an odd colour. Don't you think you +have duties, lassie? and more to-day than a fortnight syne?" + +"But - Miss Cardigan," I answered, - "yes, I have duties; but +- I thought I knew them." + +"It will do no harm to look at them, Daisy. It is good to see +all round our duties, and it's hard too. Are you in a hurry to +go back to school?" + +"No, ma'am - I can have the evening." + +Miss Cardigan pushed her work-baskets and table away, and drew +her chair up beside mine, before the fire; and made it blaze, +and sat and looked into the blaze, till I wondered what was +coming. + +"I suppose this is all a fixed thing between Christian and +you," she began at last. + +I hardly knew what she meant. I said, that I could not unfix +it. + +"And he will not, no fear! So it is fixed, as we may say; +fixed as two hearts can make it. But it's very sudden, Daisy; +and you are a young thing, my dear." + +"I know it is sudden," I said, meekly. "It is sudden to me. +But he will not like me less for my being so young." + +Miss Cardigan laughed a short laugh. + +"Troth, he's no right, being young himself, we may say. You +are safe for his liking, my bonnie Daisy. But - your father +and mother, my dear?" + +"Yes, Miss Cardigan." + +"What will their word be?" + +"I do not know, ma'am." + +"You will tell them, Daisy?" + +This was very disagreeable to me. I had thought over these +things, and made up my mind; but to outline on canvass, as it +were, and put in full depth of shadow, all the images of +opposition real and possible that might rise in my way - which +I knew might rise, - I liked not to do it. Still Miss Cardigan +had reason; and when she repeated, "You will tell them at +once?" I answered, + +"No, Miss Cardigan; I think not." + +"When, then, will you tell them?" she said shortly. + +"I think I will not tell them at all. I will wait, till -" + +"Till Christian does it?" + +"Yes." + +"When will _that_ be?" + +"I do not know. It may be - a great while. Why should I tell +them before, Miss Cardigan?" + +"For many reasons, as they seem to my mind, Daisy; and I +thought, as they would seem to yours. 'Honour thy father and +thy mother.' Daisy, would it be honouring them, to let them +not know?" + +There were so many things, of which Miss Cardigan was +ignorant! How could I answer her? I sat silent, pondering the +difficulty; and she was silent on her side, waiting for me to +think over it. It was never her way to be in a hurry; not to +leave her work half done neither, as I knew. + +"I will honour them the best way I can," I said at length. + +"Then you will write them next steamer. Is it not so, Daisy?" + +"That would make it very difficult for me to honour them," I +said; "to honour them in action, I mean." + +"Why so? There is no way so short as a straight way." + +"No, ma'am. But -I cannot undo what is done, Miss Cardigan." + +"What our cheeks say your heart has done. No, child." And +again I heard the unwonted sigh from Miss Cardigan's lips. + +"Not my heart only," I went on, plucking up courage. "I have +spoken - I have let him speak. I cannot undo it - I cannot +undo it." + +"Well?" said Miss Cardigan, looking anxious. + +"It was done before I thought of mamma and papa. It was all +done - it is done; and I cannot undo it now, even for them." + +"My dear, you would not marry without your parents' consent?" + +"No, Miss Cardigan. They may forbid _that_." + +"What then? What harm would be done by your letting them know +at once how the case stands. They would care for your +happiness, Daisy." + +Not with a Northerner, a farmer's son, and an officer in the +Northern army. I knew how it would be; but I could not tell +Miss Cardigan. + +"What is it you cannot undo, little Daisy?" she said softly, I +suppose seeing me look troubled. And she stretched out a kind +hand and took hold of mine. It was very hard to bear. All this +was a sort of dragging things into light and putting things in +black and white; more tangible and more hard to deal with for +ever after. + +"What is it you cannot undo? Since you confess, that if they +desired, you would undo the whole." + +"Not my faith, nor my affection," - I said, slowly. "Some +things they may forbid, and I obey; but _these_ things are +passed beyond their power, and beyond mine. I will be true. I +cannot help it now, if I would." + +"But, Daisy -" said Miss Cardigan, and she was evidently +perplexed now herself. - "Since you are ready to obey them in +the utmost and give up Thorold if they say so, what is there, +my dear, which your father and mother could command _now_ in +which you are not ready to obey them?" + +"The time has not come, Miss Cardigan," I said. "It may be - +you know it may be - long, before they need know anything +about it; before, I mean, anything could be done. I am going +abroad - Christian will be busy here - and they might tell me +not to think of him and not to write to him; and - I can't +live so. It is fair to give him and myself the chance. It is +fair that they should know him and see him before they hear +what he wants of them; or at least before they answer it." + +"Give him and yourself the _chance_ - of what, Daisy?" + +"I don't know," I said faint-heartedly. "Of what time may do." + +"Then you think -my dear, you augur ill of your father's and +mother's opinion of your engagement?" + +"I can't help it now, Miss Cardigan," I said; and I know I +spoke firmly then. "I did not know what I was doing - I did +not know what was coming. If I had known, if I could have +helped myself, I think I ought not to have loved anybody or +let anybody speak to me without my father and mother choosing +it; but it was all done before I could in the least help it; +and you know I cannot help it now. I owe something besides to +them now. I will not disobey them in anything I can help; - +but I will be true, - as long as I live." + +Miss Cardigan sat a long while silent, holding my hand all the +while; sometimes clasping, and sometimes fondling it. Then she +turned and kissed me. It was very hard to bear, all of it. + +"I suppose you are a great heiress," she said at last; as if +the words escaped her, and with a breath of a sigh. + +"It is not that!" I exclaimed. "No, I am not. I am not - I +shall not be a great heiress, or an heiress at all, I think. +Christian is richer than I." + +"My dear!" said Miss Cardigan. "Christian never said a word to +me about it, but your friend Mrs. Sandford - she told _me_; she +told me you would be one of the richest women in your State." + +"She thought so," - I said. + +"My dear, your parents are very wealthy; and they have only +one other child, Mrs. Sandford told me. I remember, for it +took me with a pity at my heart, little Daisy, for you." + +"Yes, they are wealthy," I said; "and Ransom, my brother, is +the only other one. _He_ will be rich. But I shall not." + +"Do you mean he is the favourite?" said Miss Cardigan. + +"Oh, no!" I said. "At least, if he is, so am I. It isn't that. +But I shall never be an heiress, Miss Cardigan. I shall be +very poor, I rather think." + +I smiled at her as I said these words - they were upon the +first pleasant subject that had been touched for some time +between us; and Miss Cardigan looked quite bewildered. I +remembered she had good reason; and I thought it was right, +though very much against my will, to explain my words. + +"You know what makes my father and mother rich?" I said. + +"My dear!" said Miss Cardigan - "They have large Southern +properties." + +"And you know what makes Southern wealth?" I went on. + +"Rice - cotton -" + +"No, it isn't that," I said. + +"What then, my dear? I do not know what you mean. I thought it +was mainly cotton." + +"It is unpaid labour," I said. "It is hands that ought to work +for themselves; and men and women that ought to belong to +themselves." + +"Slaves," said Miss Cardigan. "But, Daisy, what do you mean? +It's all true; but what can you do?" + +"I can have nothing to do with it. And I will have nothing. I +would rather be poor, as poor as old Darry and Maria, than +take what belongs to them. Miss Cardigan, so would you." + +She settled herself back in her chair, like a person who has +got a new thought. "My dear child!" she said. And then she +said nothing more. I did not wish she should. I wanted no +counsel, nor to hear any talk about it. I had only spoken so +much, as thinking she had a right to hear it. I went back into +my own meditations. + +"Daisy, my child," she said suddenly after a while, - "there +is only one thing to be said; and the word is not mine. 'If +the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated +you." + +"Why, Miss Cardigan," said I, smiling, "do you think the, +world will hate me for such a thing?" + +"It hates all those who pretend to tell it is wrong." + +"I do not pretend to tell it anything," I said. + +"There is no preaching like that of the life. Daisy, have you +well considered this matter?" + +"For years." + +"Then I'll know how to pray for you," she said. And there our +conversation ended. It had laid on my heart a grave burden of +well-defined care, which went with me thenceforth. I could +never ignore it nor doubt it was there. Not but I knew well +enough each several point in our discussion, before it had +come up in words between Miss Cardigan and me; but having so +come up, and taken form, each was a tangible thing for ever +after. It is odd, how much we can bear unspoken, to which +words give an unendurable weight and power. However, these +troubles, in their present form, were not unendurable. I only +felt them constantly from that time. + +My visits to Miss Cardigan now were what they had always been; +only perhaps she was a little more tenderly affectionate and +careful of me. We did not go back to the discussions of that +day, nor to any other regarding my affairs; but she and I +scanned the papers well, and talked to each other of the items +that seemed now to touch Thorold's and my future as well as +the future of the country. We talked, - I could not help it; +and yet often I would as lief not; the subjects were not +quieting. + +The first thing, was the going to Washington of Christian and +his class. He wrote to me about it. They went in haste and +zeal; waiting for nothing; losing not a train; going by night. +Some in civilian's dress; some in cadet clothes, with the +black stripe torn off the leg; all eager for their work. What +work? It was peaceful enough work just at first. Thorold and +others were set to drill the new citizen soldiers who had come +in, answering to the President's proclamation, and who knew +simply nothing of the business they were to be wanted for, if +wanted at all. It was likely they would have something to do! +Already a second proclamation from the President had called +for a second supply of men, to serve for three years, if the +war was not sooner ended. Seamen for the navy also, in like +manner. + +For three years or the war! It went to my heart, that +requisition. It looked so terribly in earnest. And so +unhopeful. I wondered, those days, how people could live that +did not know how to pray; when every one had, or might have, a +treasure at stake in this fierce game that was playing. I have +often since felt the same wonder. + +I do not know how studies and the usual forms of school +recitations went on; but they did go on; smoothly, I suppose. +I even recollect that mine went on successfully. With my +double or treble motive for desiring success, I had also a +reason for prizing and remembering the attainment. But my head +was on graver matters, all the time. Would the rebels attack, +Washington? it was constantly threatened. Would fighting +actually become the common news of the land? The answer to +this second query began to be sounded audibly. It was before +May was over, that Ellsworth's soldiers took possession of +Alexandria, and he was killed. That stirred people at the +time; it looks a very little thing now. Alexandria! how I +remembered driving through it one grey morning, on one of my +Southern journeys; the dull little place, that looked as if it +had fallen asleep some hundred or two years ago and never +waked up. Now it was waked up with rifle shots; but its slave +pen was emptied. I was glad of that. And Thorold was safe in +Washington, drilling raw soldiers, in the saddle all day, and +very happy, he wrote me. I had begun to be uneasy about his +writing to me. It was without leave from my father and mother, +and the leave I knew could not be obtained; it would follow +that the indulgence must be given up. I knew it must. I looked +that necessity in the face. A correspondence, such a +correspondence, carried on without their knowing of it, must +be an impossibility for me. I intended to tell Christian so, +and stop the letters, before I should go abroad. My +difficulties were becoming daily more and more clear, and +looking more and more unmanageable. I wondered sometimes +whither I was drifting; for guide or choose my course I could +not. I had got into the current by no agency and with no fault +of my own. To get out of the current - perhaps that might not +be till life and I should go out together. So I was a somewhat +sober and diligent student those closing weeks of the term; +and yet, very happy, for Christian loved me. It was a new, +sweet, strange, elixir of life. + +The term was almost out, when I was called to the parlour one +day to see Mrs. Sandford. All winter I had not seen her; she +had not been in New York. I think she was unaffectedly glad to +see me; somehow my presence was pleasant to her. + +"Out of school!" she exclaimed, after a few greetings had +passed. "Almost out of school. A woman, Daisy. My dear, I +never see you but I am struck with the change in you. Don't +change any more! you are just right." + +I laughed and asked her, what was the change in me? I had not +grown taller. + +"No -" said Mrs. Sandford - "I don't know that you have; but +your figure is improved, and you have the air of being taller, +Daisy. I never saw you looking so well. My dear, what work you +are going to do now! now that you are out of the 'elements.' +And by the by - what _are_ you going to do, when school closes +and you are set free?" + +I said I could not tell; I had received no directions. I was +waiting for letters from somewhere, to tell me what I must do. + +"Suppose you go with me to Washington." + +"Washington!" - I ejaculated, and therewith the power of +speech left me. + +"Yes. You are not afraid, Daisy, that you look at me so? Some +people are afraid, I know, and think Washington is going to be +stormed by the Southern army; but that is all nonsense, Grant +says; and I always trust Grant. He knows. He wants me to come. +He says Washington is a novel sight just now, and I may never +have such another chance; and I think I shall do as he says +and go. Washington is full of soldiers, and no ladies in it. +You are not _afraid?_" + +"Oh, no. But - Dr. Sandford has not written to me to come." + +"Yes, he has; or something very like it. He asked me to come +and see you as I passed through the city - I was not likely to +need his admonition, Daisy, my dear, for it always does me +good to see you; - and he added that I might suggest to you +that I was coming, and ask you if your curiosity inclined you +to take the trouble of the journey. He said _he_ thought it +worth while, - and that we would both find it so." + +I was dumb. Dr. Sandford little knew to what he was inviting +me; and I - and Thorold - What a strange chance. + +"Well, what are you pondering?" Mrs. Sandford cried gaily. +"Dresses? You don't care for dresses; besides, we can have +them made in two minutes. Don't you want to go, Daisy? I am +sure you do; and I am sure Grant will take famous good care of +us, and you specially, and show us the camps and everything. +And don't you want to see the President?" + +"I have seen him." + +"When, and where?" + +"In the street - when he went through, on his way to +Washington." + +"Well, I don't care much for Presidents; but this one they say +so many different things about, that it makes me curious. +Don't you want to see him again?" + +"Yes - I would like it." + +"Then you'll come with me - I see it; and I'll have everything +in readiness. Thursday, does your school-work end? then we +will go Saturday. You will want one day perhaps, besides, they +say Friday is unlucky. I never go a journey on Friday." + +"I would as lieve go Friday as any day," I said. + +"Oh, well - Saturday will be soon enough; and now good-bye, my +dear; you to your work and I to mine. You are beautiful, my +dear Daisy!" she added, kissing me. + +I wondered if it was true. If it was, I was glad, for +Thorold's sake. I knew it would be a pleasure to him. And to +my father and mother also; but that brought other thoughts, +and I went off to my studies. + + +CHAPTER II. + +AT THE RENDEZVOUS. + + +The examination was over and school ended for me, before I had +one half hour to spare to go to see Miss Cardigan. The +examination had passed as I could have wished it might; all +had gone well; and I could afford to put by that whole train +of thought, even as I put up my school-books and stowed them +away; being things that I should not immediately want again. +Some time would pass, it was likely, before I would need to +refresh my memory with mathematics or philosophy. My music was +another matter, and I kept that out. + +I put my books hastily as well as securely away; and then took +my hat and rushed over to Miss Cardigan's. It was a very warm +June day. I remember now the cool feeling of her marble hall. +Miss Cardigan sat in her matted parlour, busy as always, +looking quiet and comfortable in a white muslin wrapper, and +neat as a pin; also an invariable thing. Something in the +peaceful, settled, calm air of the place impressed me, I +suppose, with a feeling of contrast; of an uninvaded, +undisturbed domain, which changes were not threatening. I had +gone over the street hurriedly; I walked into the room with a +slow step. + +"Daisy! my dear child!" Miss Cardigan exclaimed, - "is it you? +and is all over? I see it is. Just sit down, and you shall +have some strawberries; you look tired, my love." + +I sat still, and waited, and eat my strawberries. + +"Miss Cardigan," I said at length, "what is Christian's +address in Washington?" + +"In Washington? I don't know. Did he never give it to you?" + +"No, ma'am; nothing except 'Washington.' " + +"I suppose that is enough. Haven't you written to him?" + +"I have written once. - I have been thinking, Miss Cardigan, +that I must stop the writing." + +"Altogether?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"His writing too?" + +"Yes. My father and mother do not know - and I cannot ask +them, - and -" + +"You are right," Miss Cardigan answered sorrowfully. "And yet +you will let your engagement stand, Daisy?" + +"I cannot break my part of it, ma'am. I - nor they - cannot +change what is, and what has been done. The future is in their +hands - or in God's hands, rather." + +Miss Cardigan sighed. + +"And what then, dear, about the address?" she said. + +"Because, Miss Cardigan, I am going there. I am going to +Washington." + +She stopped her work to look at me. + +"I am going Saturday. My guardian has sent for me. It is very +strange, Miss Cardigan; but I must go; and I thought I would +like to know in what part of the city Christian is." + +"Will you write to let him know? You will, of course. Write +just as usual, child; the letter will reach him." + +"Why should I, Miss Cardigan? what use? He cannot come to see +me." + +"Why not?" + +"I would not dare. My guardian watches me well; and he would +not like my seeing Mr. Thorold of all people." + +"Why not? Ah, child! there is a rose leaf in each of your +cheeks this minute. That tells the story. Then, Daisy, you had +better not go to Washington. Christian will not bear that very +well; and it will be hard for you too. My dear, it will be +hard." + +"Yes, ma'am - and hard not to go. I shall go, Miss Cardigan." + +"And mayn't I tell him you are there?" + +"No, ma'am. If I can, I will let him know somehow." + +But a sense of the difficulties, dangers, doubts and +uncertainties, thronging my way, therewith pressed heavily +upon me; and I sat in silence and weariness, while Miss +Cardigan put up her work and ordered tea, and finally went off +to her greenhouse. Presently she came back with a rose in her +hand and held it under my face. It was a full dewy sweet +damask rose, rich and fragrant and lovely as such a rose can +be. I took it and looked at it. + +"Do ye mind," my old friend said, "how the flowers spoke to +you and brought you messages, when Daisy was a child yet and +first came to see me?" + +"I know - I remember," I said. + +"Does that no tell you something?" + +"What does it tell me?" I said, scarce able to command my +words, under the power of association, or memory, which was +laying its message on my heart, though it was a flower that +bore the message. Inanimate things do that sometimes - I +think, often, - when the ear of the soul is open to hear them; +and flowers in especial are the Lord's messengers and speak +what He gives them. I knew this one spoke to me. + +"Listen, and see," Miss Cardigan said. + +I looked, and as I looked, these words came up in my mind - + +"Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?" + +"The Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him." + +And still as I looked, I remembered, - "In all their +afflictions He was afflicted;" - and, "My God shall supply all +your need, according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." +The words came into my head; but apart from the words, the +rose seemed to say all these things to me. People who never +heard flowers talk would think me fanciful, I suppose. + +"And you will go to that city of trouble, and you will not let +Christian know?" Miss Cardigan said after a while. + +"Yes ma'am. - No ma'am," I answered. + +"Suppose he should be angry about it?" + +"Does he get angry?" I asked; and his aunt laughed. + +"Does the child think he is perfect?" + +"No, certainly," I said; "of course he has faults; but, Miss +Cardigan, I did not think anger was one of them, - or getting +angry." + +"He will never get angry with you, Daisy, it is my firm +belief." + +"But does he, easily, with other people?" + +"There! I don't know," she said. "He used to be gay quick with +his temper, for all so gentle as he is. I wouldn't try him too +far, Daisy, with not letting him know." + +"I cannot tell him -" I said, sighing. + +For I knew, better than she did, what thorough good care would +be taken of me, and what small mercy such a visitor as Mr. +Thorold would meet at the hands of my guardians. So with a +doubtful heart I kissed Miss Cardigan, and went back over the +way to prepare for my journey. Which was, however, thrown over +by a storm till the next week. + +The journey made my heart beat, in spite of all my doubts. It +was strange, to see the uniforms and military caps which +sprinkled every assemblage of people, in or out of the cars. +They would have kept my thoughts to one theme, even if +wandering had been possible. The war, - the recruiting for the +war, - the coming struggle, - the large and determined +preparation making to meet it, - I saw the tokens of these +things everywhere, and heard them on every hand. The long +day's ride to Washington was a long fever dream, as it seems +to me now; it seemed a little so to me then. + +It was dark when we reached Washington; but the thought that +now became present with me, that anywhere Thorold might be, +could scarce be kept in check by the reflection that he +certainly would not be at the railway station. He was not +there; and Dr. Sandford was; and a carriage presently conveyed +us to the house where rooms for us were provided. Not a hotel, +I was sorry to find. By no chance could I see Thorold +elsewhere than in a hotel. + +Supper was very full of talk. Mrs. Sandford wanted to know +everything; from the state of the capital and the military +situation and prospects for the nation, to the openings for +enjoyment or excitement which might await ourselves. The +doctor answered her fast enough; but I noticed that he often +looked at me. + +"Are you tired?" he asked me at length; and there was a tone +of gentle deference in his question, such as I often heard +from Dr. Sandford. I saw that my silence struck him. + +"Nonchalant," said Mrs. Sandford, half laughing. "Daisy does +not care about all these things. Why should she? To see and to +conquer are the same thing with her, whatever becomes of your +Southern and Northern camps and armies." + +"Indeed I do care," I said. + +"For receptions at the White House? - or military reviews? - +or parades, or encampments? Confess, Daisy." + +"Yes, I care," I said. "I care about some of these things." + +"I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Sandford. "I really thought, +Daisy, you were superior to them all. Why, child, you have +done nothing but meditate, in the gravest manner, ever since +we took seats in the cars this morning. I was thinking that +nothing but cabinet ministers would interest you." + +This would not do. I roused myself and smiled. + +"What do you think of your ward?" said Mrs. Sandford +pointedly. + +"I think more of her guardian," said the doctor somewhat +dryly. + +"How soon are you going to send Daisy to Europe?" + +"According to orders, just as soon as I can satisfy myself +with a good opportunity. I wish you would go." + +"Meanwhile, it is a very good thing that she should come here. +It will keep her from _ennui_ at least. Washington is alive, +that is one thing; and Daisy, my dear, we may mount muskets +yet. Come, let us go and get a good night's sleep while that +is possible." + +I was glad to be alone. I took off my dusty travelling dress, +refreshed myself with a bath, put on a wrapper, and sat down +to think. + +I found my heart was beating in a way that showed some mental +fever. What was I about? what was I going to do? I asked +myself. + +I sat with my head in my hands. Then I got up and walked the +floor. I found that I was determined to see Mr. Thorold, and +to see him as soon as possible. Yet I had no certain means of +communicating with him. My determination was a vague +determination, but it sprung from the necessity of the case. I +must see Mr. Thorold. Both of us in Washington for a little +while now, no foresight could tell when again we might be near +each other. It might well be never. I would see him. Then came +the question, - Daisy, what are you going to say to him, when +you see him? I walked and thought. + +Our correspondence must cease. I must tell him that. - It was +dreadfully hard to think it, but I knew it must cease. I could +not receive letters from Christian in Switzerland, and +certainly I could not write them, without the knowledge of my +father and mother; - and if I could, I would not. We must stop +writing; we must be hundreds of miles apart, know that dangers +clustered round the path of one if not both, know that clouds +and uncertainties hung over all our future, and we must not +write. And I must tell Mr. Thorold so. It was very hard; for I +did not flatter myself with an easy bright clearing away of +our difficulties by and by, even if the storm of the war +should roll over and leave Christian to encounter them with +me. I did not hope that explanations and a little persuasion +would induce my mother and my father to look favourably on a +Northern suitor for their daughter's hand. My father? - he +possibly might give up his pleasure for the sake of my +happiness; with my mother I saw no such possibility. It was +useless to hope they would let me write to an officer in the +Union army. If any chance at all for my happiness were in the +future, it must lie in changes not yet accomplished, or in Mr. +Thorold's own personal power of recommending himself; rather +in both these. For the present - I could not tell how long - +now, soon, as soon as I should leave Washington again, we must +be separated. I wished I could see Thorold that very evening! +In Washington - maybe not far off - and days so few - and I +could not see him! I sat down again and put my head in my +hand. Had I done wrong, made any unconscious mistake neglected +any duty, that this trouble had come upon me? I tried to +think. I could not find that I had to blame myself on any such +score. It was not wrong to go to West Point last summer. I +held none but friendly relations with Mr. Thorold there, so +far as I knew. I was utterly taken by surprise, when at Miss +Cardigan's that night I found that we were more than friends. +Could I hide the fact then? Perhaps it would have been right +to do it, if I had known what I was about; but I did not know. +Mr. Thorold was going to the war; I had but a surprised +minute; it was simply impossible to hide from him all which +that minute revealed. Now? Now I was committed; my truth was +pledged; my heart was given. My heart might be broken, but +could never be taken back. Truth must be truth; and my life +was Mr. Thorold's if it belonged to anybody but my father and +mother. I settled that point. It was needless ever to look at +it again. + +I had something else to tell Mr. Thorold; and here I took up +my walk through the room, but slowly now. I was not going to +be an heiress. I must tell him that. He must know all about +me. I would be a poor girl at last; not the rich, very rich, +Miss Randolph that people supposed I would be. No yearly +revenues; no Southern mansions and demesnes; no power of name +and place. Would Mr. Thorold care? I believed not. I had no +doubt but that his care was for myself alone, and that he +regarded as little as I the adventitious circumstances of +wealth and standing which I intended to cast from me. +Nevertheless, _I_ cared. Now, when it was not for myself, I did +care. For Mr. Thorold, I would have liked to be rich beyond my +riches, and powerful above my power. I would have liked to +possess very much; that I might make him the owner of it all. +And instead, I was going to give him as poor a wife as ever he +could have picked up in the farm-houses of the North. Yes, I +cared. I found I cared much. And though there was not, of +course, any wavering of my judgment as to what was right, I +found that to do the right would cost me something; more than +I could have thought possible; and to tell Mr. Thorold of it +all, was the same as doing it. I walked down a good many +bitter regrets, of pride or affection; I think both were at +work; before I dismissed the matter from my mind that night. + +I think I had walked a good part of the night while I was +cogitating these things and trying to bring my thoughts into +order respecting them. While I was at last preparing for +sleep, I reflected on yet another thing. I always looked back +to that evening at Miss Cardigan's with a mixture of feelings. +Glad, and sorrowful, and wondering, and grateful, as I was in +the remembrance, with all that was mingled a little +displeasure and disapproval of myself for that I had allowed +Mr. Thorold so much liberty, and had been quite so free in my +disclosures to him of my own mind. I did not know how it had +happened. It was not like me. I ought to have kept him more at +a distance, kindly of course. One, or two, kisses - my cheek +burnt at the thought - were the utmost he should have been +allowed; and I ought to have been more reserved, and without +denying the truth, to have kept myself more in my own power. I +resolved I would do it in the future. I would keep my own +place. Mr. Thorold might indeed know what he was to me and +what I was to him; I did not mean to hide that; but he must be +satisfied with knowing it and not take any liberties with the +knowledge. + +So I went to sleep; but my sleep was heavy and scarcely +refreshing. I woke up, startled with the thought that I was in +Washington and might see Christian to-day. And I found the +desire quite outran the possibility. + +I was therefore ready to agree to all the plans of my +companions; which included for that day a ride to the camps +and the President's reception. Abroad, amidst the stir of men, +especially where soldiers were or soldiers' work was done, I +might hope to see Christian. What then, if I saw him? I left +that point. One thing at a time. + +CHAPTER III. + +IN REVIEW + + +There were a party of us that went that morning to see the +sights in the neighbourhood of Washington. On horseback we +were; Dr. Sandford and Mrs. Sandford, Colonel Forsyth, whom I +had seen at West Point, another gentleman, and myself. I +suppose my senses were keened by anxiety; I never shall forget +the wonderful beauty of the afternoon and of what we came to +see. In some intense moods of mind, it seems as if every +sunbeam had daguerreotyping power, and memory the preparedness +to receive and retain. And I could tell even now, where there +was a sunny bank, and where a group of sun-touched trees; the +ring of our horses' hoofs is in my ear with a thought; and I +could almost paint from memory the first view of the camp we +went to see. We had crossed over into Virginia; and this +regiment, - it was Ellsworth's they told me, - was encamped +upon a hill, where tents and trees and uniforms made a bright, +very picturesque, picture. Ellsworth's corps; and he was gone +already. I could not help thinking of that; and while the rest +of the party were busy and merry over the camp doings, I sat +in my saddle looking over some lower grounds below the hill, +where several other regiments were going through certain +exercises. It looked like war! it went through my heart. And +Ellsworth's soldiers had lost their commander already. Very +likely there was somebody to miss and mourn him; somebody at +home; his mother - a young wife, perhaps - + +"Is Daisy tired already?" Dr. Sandford's voice was at my side. + +I roused myself and said we had had a pretty brisk ride, and I +had not been on horseback in a long time; which was true and I +felt it. + +"Has it been too much for you?" he said, with a change of +tone. + +I disclaimed that. + +"These war-shows make you thoughtful?" + +"They give me something to think about." + +"They need not." + +"How can they help it?" + +"Daisy, I am confident there is not the slightest danger to +Washington. Do you think I would have brought you into +danger?" + +"Oh, I am not thinking of danger to myself!" I exclaimed. "I +am not afraid in that way." + +"For the country, are you afraid?" + +"Dr. Sandford, do you think there is real danger to the +country?" I asked. + +"The South will do what they can." + +"Do you expect the North will be able to stand against them?" + +"_You_ do not," - he said smiling. + +"I know nothing about it," I said; "or at least, I know very +little of what the North can do. Of course, I know _some_ +Northern soldiers will fight as well as any; but, do you +think, Dr. Sandford, they can stand - the greater part of them +- do you think they can meet the bravery and skill of the +South and get the better?" + +I asked anxiously. Dr. Sandford's brow grew grave. + +"Daisy, I don't know, as you say; but I have lived among the +Northern people in my life; and when a Yankee 'takes a +notion,' he is as tough a customer as ever I wish to have to +deal with." + +"But they are not accustomed to fighting," I said. + +"I am afraid they will be, before it is through." + +"Then you think they are as brave as the South? Can they be?" + +Dr. Sandford laughed at me a good deal. Nevertheless, I could +not find out what he thought; and I knew, I thought, what he +did not know so well. I knew the fiery proud spirit of my +native portion of the people. While his banter fell on my +ears, my eyes went off to the sunlit green fields where the +troops were parading; on Southern soil; and I saw in +imagination the rush and fury of vengeful onset, which might +come over those very fields; I saw the unequal contest; I saw +- what happened soon after. I sighed as I turned my eyes to +the doctor again. + +"You are more of a Southerner than I thought you," he said. +And I fancied some gratification lurked behind the words. + +"But _you_ are true?" I exclaimed. + +"True!" said the doctor, smiling. "True to what? I hope I am +true." + +"I mean, you are a true Northerner? you do not sympathise with +the South?" + +"I do not think they are in the right, Daisy; and I cannot say +I wish they should succeed. It is very natural that you should +wish it." + +"I do not," I said. "I wish the right to succeed." + +"I believe you do, or you would not be Daisy. But, with a +woman, - excuse me, - the right is where her heart is." + +Dr. Sandford touched so much more than he knew in this speech, +I felt my cheek grow hot. I thought at the same time that he +was speaking with the intent to find out more than he knew. I +was silent and kept my face turned from him. + +"You do not plead guilty," he went on. + +"The charge is not guilt, but weakness," I said coolly. + +"Weakness!" said the doctor. "Not at all. It is a woman's +strength." + +"To be misled by her feelings?" + +"No; to be _led_ by them. Her feelings tell her where the right +is - generally. You are Daisy; but a woman, and therefore +perhaps no exception. Or _are_ you an exception? How is it, +Daisy?" + +"I do not wish the South to succeed, Dr. Sandford - if that is +what you mean." + +"It is quite enough," he said, "to constitute you a remarkable +exception. I do not know three more at this minute, in this +cause. You will not have the sympathies of your father and +mother, Daisy?" + +"No, Dr. Sandford." + +"Your cousin, Mr. Gary, whom we saw last summer; - on which +side is he?" + +"I have not heard from him since he came to Washington. I do +not know where he is. I want to find out." + +"We can easily find out," said the doctor. "If Colonel Forsyth +does not know, we shall see somebody this evening probably who +can tell us about him." + +We rode home through the lingering sunlight of that long day; +uniforms, camps, fortifications, cannon, on all sides +proclaiming the new and strange state of things upon which the +country had fallen; busy people passing and repassing in all +directions; an air of life and stir everywhere that would have +been delightful, if the reason had been only different. It +saddened me. I had to make a constant effort to hide the fact +from my companions. One of them watched me, I knew. Dr. +Sandford thought I was tired; and proposed that we should +defer going to the White House until the next occasion; but I +could not rest at home and insisted on carrying out the +original scheme for the day. I was in a fever now to see Mr. +Thorold; keeping up a constant watch for him, which wearied +me. To watch with more hope of success, I would go to the +President's reception. Mr. Thorold might be there. + +Mrs. Sandford, I remember, was very earnest about my dress. I +was in no danger from gratified or ungratified vanity now; it +was something else that moved me as I robed myself for that +reception. And I met my escort in the drawing-room, forgetting +that my dress could be a subject of interest to anybody but +one, - who might not see it. + +"Why, that is - yes! that is the very same thing you wore to +the cadets' hop; the last hop you went to, Daisy?" Mrs. +Sandford exclaimed, as she surveyed me. + +"It will do, won't it?" I said. "I have had nothing new made +this spring." + +"Do!" said the lady. "What do you think, Grant?" + +Dr. Sandford's face was a little flushed. + +"Anything will do," he said. "It makes less difference than +ladies suppose." + +"It has more to do than gentlemen ever imagine!" Mrs. Sandford +returned indignantly. "It is very good, Daisy. That pure white +somehow suits you; but I believe everything suits you, my +dear. Your mother will be a proud woman." + +That sentence laid a little weight on my heart, which had just +been springing with undefined hope. I had been thinking of +somebody else who might perhaps be not displeased with me. + +I sought for his figure that night, among the crowds at the +President's reception; amidst all the other interests of the +hour, that one was never forgotten. And there were many +interests certainly clustering about Washington and Washington +society then. The assembly was very peculiar, very marked, +very striking in many of its characteristics. The women were +few, much fewer than make part of ordinary assemblies; the men +were unusually well-looking, it seemed to me; and had an air +of life and purpose and energy in definite exercise, which was +very refreshing to meet. Besides that, which was generally +true, there were in Washington at this time many marked men, +and men of whom much was expected. The last have been first, +it is true, in many an instance; here as elsewhere; +nevertheless, the aspect of things and people at the time was +novel and interesting in the highest degree. So, was the talk. +Insipidities were no longer tolerated; everybody was _living_, +in some real sense, now. + +I had my second view of the President, and nearer by. It did +not disappoint me, nor change the impression produced by the +first view. What a homely face! but I thought withal, what a +fine face! Rugged, and soft; gentle, and shrewd; Miss +Cardigan's "Yon's a mon!" recurred to me often. A man, every +inch of him; self- respecting, self-dependent, having a sturdy +mind of his own; but wise also to bide his time; strong to +wait and endure; modest, to receive from others all they could +give him of aid and counsel. But the honest, keen, kindly eyes +won my heart. + +The evening was very lively. There were a great many people to +see and talk to, whom it was pleasant to hear. Dr. Sandford, I +always knew was a favourite; but it seemed to me this evening +that our party was thronged. Indeed I had little chance and +less time to look for Mr. Thorold; and the little I could use +availed me nothing. I was sure he was not there; for he +certainly would have seen me. And what then? It would not have +been agreeable. I began to think with myself that I was +somewhat inconsistent. + +It was not till I got home that I thought this, however. I had +no time for private reflections till then. When we reached +home, Mrs. Sandford was in a talkative mood; the doctor very +silent. + +"And what do you think of General Scott, Daisy? you have not +seen him before." + +"I do not know," I said. "I did not hear him, talk." + +"You have not heard Mr. Lincoln talk, have you?" + +"No, certainly not; not before to night." + +"You know how you like _him_," Dr. Sandford said pointedly. + +"Yes." + +"My dear, you made him the most beautiful reverence that I +ever knew a woman could make; grace and homage in perfection; +but there was something else in it, Daisy, something more; +something most exquisitely expressed. What was it, Grant?" + +"You ought to know," said the doctor, with a grim smile. + +"I do, I suppose, only I cannot tell the word for it. Daisy, +have you ever seen the President before?" + +"When he passed through New York," I said. "I stood in the +street to see him." + +Dr. Sandford's eyes opened upon me. His sister-in-law +exclaimed, + +"You could not see him _then_, child. But you like him, don't +you? Well, they tell all sorts of stories about him; but I do +not believe half of them." + +I thought, I could believe all the good ones. + +"But Grant, you never can keep Daisy here," Mrs. Sandford went +on. "It would be hazardous in the extreme." + +"Not very," said the doctor. "Nobody else is going to stay; it +is a floating community." + +So we parted for the night. And I slept, the dark hours; but +restlessness took possession of me the moment I awoke. Dr. +Sandford's last words rung in my heart. "It is a floating +community." "Nobody else is going to stay." I must see Mr. +Thorold. What if _he_ should be ordered on, away from Washington +somewhere, and my opportunity be lost? I knew to be sure that +he had been very busy training and drilling some of the new +troops; and I hoped there was enough of the same work on hand +to keep him busy; but I could not know. With the desire to +find him, began to mingle now some foretaste of the pain of +parting from him again when I - or he - should leave the city. +A drop of bitter which I began to taste distinctly in my cup. + +I was to learn now, how difficult it sometimes is in new forms +of trial, to be quiet and submissive and trust. I used to be +able to trust myself and my wants with God; I found at this +time that the human cry of longing, and of fear, was very hard +to still. I was ready to trust, if I might only see Mr. +Thorold. I was willing to wait, if only we might not be +separated at last. But _now_ to trust and to wait, when all was +in doubt for me; when, if I missed this sight of my friend, I +might never have another; when all the future was a cloudy sea +and a rocky shore; I felt that I _must_ have this one moment of +peace. Yet I prayed for it submissively; but I am afraid my +heart made its own cry unsubmissively. + +I was restless. The days that followed the President's levee +were one after the other filled up with engagements and +amusements, - if I can give that term to what had such deep +and thrilling interest for me; but I grew only more secretly +restless with every one. My companions seemed to find it all +amusement, the rides and parades and receptions that were +constantly going on; I only saw everywhere the preparation for +a desperate game soon to be played. The Secessionists +threatened Washington; and said "only wait till the Fourth." +The people in Washington laughed at this; yet now and then I +saw one who did not laugh; and such were often some of those +who should know best and judge most wisely. Troops were +gathered under Beauregard's command not very far from the +capital. I knew the dash and fire and uncompromising temper of +the people I was born among; I could not despise their threats +nor hold light their power. My anxiety grew to see Mr. +Thorold; but I could not. I watched and watched; nothing like +him crossed my vision. Once, riding home late at night from a +gay visit to one of the neighbouring camps, we had drawn +bridle in passing the grounds of the Treasury Building, where +the Eleventh Massachusetts regiment was encamped; and slowly +walking by, were endeavouring to distinguish forms and sounds +through the dim night air - forms and sounds so novel in +Washington and so suggestive of interests at stake and dangers +at hand; when the distinct clatter of a horse's hoofs in full +gallop came down the street and passed closed by me. The light +of a passing lamp just brushed the flying horseman; not enough +to discover him, but enough to lift my heart into my mouth. I +could not tell whether it were Mr. Thorold; I cannot tell what +I saw; only my nerves were unstrung in a moment, and for the +rest of that night I tossed with impatient pain. The idea of +being so near Mr. Thorold, was more than I could bear. One +other time, in a crowd, I heard a bit of a laugh which +thrilled me. My efforts to see the person from whom it came +were good for nothing; nobody like my friend was in sight, or +near me; yet that laugh haunted me for two days. + +"I do not think Washington agrees with Daisy," Mrs. Sandford +said one morning at breakfast. + +"She never looked better," said the doctor. + +"No. Oh, I don't mean that; she looks all herself; yes, she is +in great beauty; but she is uncommonly abstracted and +uninterested." + +"Not being in general a sensitive person," observed Dr. +Sandford. + +I explained that I had never been more interested in my life; +but that these things made me sober. + +"My dear Daisy!" Mrs. Sandford laughed. "You were never +anything but sober yet, in all your little life. I should like +to see you intoxicated." + +I felt on dangerous ground and was silent. The doctor asked +why? - to Mrs. Sandford's last speech. + +"No matter!" said the lady. "The first man she loves will know +why." + +"The first," said Dr. Sandford dryly. "I hope she will not +love more than one." + +"She will be an uncommonly happy woman then," said Mrs. +Sandford. "Nonsense, Grant! every woman loves two or three +before she has done. Your first liking will come to nothing, - +Daisy, my dear, I forewarn you; - and most probably the second +too; but no one will be the wiser but yourself. Why don't you +blush, child? On my word, I believe you are growing pale! +Never mind, child; I am not a prophet." + +I believe the blushes came then, and they all laughed at me; +but Dr. Sandford asked me very kindly if I was too tired to +see the review that day? I was not tired; and if I had been, +nothing would have tempted me to be absent from the review. I +went everywhere, as far as I could; and Dr. Sandford was +always with us, indulging every fancy I expressed or did not +express, it seemed to me. He had to work very hard at other +times to make up for it; and I thought Washington did not +agree with _him_. He looked pale and jaded this day. + +I thought so after the morning's work was done; at the time I +had no leisure for such thoughts. The morning's work was a +review of many thousand troops, by the President. Dr. Sandford +and our friends had secured an excellent place for us, from +which we could well see all we wished to see; and I wished to +see everything. For various reasons. The platform where Mr. +Lincoln stood had its own peculiar attractions and interests. +It held himself, first of all, standing in front, in plain +view much of the time. It held besides a group of men that one +liked to look at just then. General Scott was there, and I +know not how many other generals; the members of the Cabinet, +and inferior military officers; and each colonel of the +regiments that passed in review, after passing, dismounted and +joined the group on the platform. I looked at these officers +with particular interest, for they and their command were +going straight across into Virginia expecting active service +soon. So I looked at their men. While each regiment marched +by, the band belonging to it halted and played. They were +going to the war. In good earnest they were going now. This +was no show of pleasure; it was work; and my heart, it seemed +to me, alternately beat and stood still. Sometimes the +oppression of feeling grew very painful, obliged as I was to +hide carefully the greater part of what I felt. A little +additional stir was almost more than I could bear. One +regiment - the Garibaldis, I think, had bouquets of flowers +and greens in their hats. I did not indeed notice this, until +the foremost came just in front of the platform and the +President. Then the bouquets were taken out from the hats, and +were tossed, in military order, rank by rank, as the files +passed by, to Mr. Lincoln's feet. It was a little thing; but +how it shook me! I was glad of the rush which followed the +passing of the regiment; the rush of people eager to secure +these bunches of flowers and evergreens for memorials; the +diversion of interest for a moment gave me chance to fight +down my heart-swelling. + +"Daisy! you are - what is the matter? You are not well - you +are tired," - my guardian exclaimed anxiously, as he came back +to my side with one of the Garibaldi flower bunches. + +"I am well - you are mistaken, Dr. Sandford," I made myself +say quietly. + +"For which side are you so anxious?" he inquired. "You are +paler than you ought to be, at this moment, with a smile on +your lips. I got this for you - will you scorn it, or value +it?" + +"You would not waste it upon me, if you thought I would scorn +it?" I said. + +"I don't know. I am not infatuated about anybody. You may have +the bouquet, Daisy. Will you have it?" + +I did not want to have it! I was not amusing myself, as many +and as Mrs. Sandford were doing; this was not an interesting +little bit of greens to me, but a handful of pain. I held it, +as one holds such handfuls; till the regiment, which had +halted a little while at Willard's, was ordered forward and +took the turning from Pennsylvania Avenue into the road +leading to Virginia. With that, the whole regiment burst into +song; I do not know what; a deep-voiced grave melody from a +thousand throats, cheering their advance into the quarter of +the enemy and of actual warfare. I forgot Dr. Sandford then, +whose watchful eyes I generally remembered; I ceased to see +the houses or the people before me; for my eyes grew dim with +tears it was impossible to keep back; and I listened to +nothing but that mellow, ominous, sweet, bitter, strain, till +the sound faded away in the distance. Then I found that my +cheeks were wet, and that Mrs. Sandford was wondering. + +"This is what it is to have an ear for music!" she said. +"There is positively no possession which does not bring some +inconvenience on the possessor. My dear Daisy, you are in +pain; those were not tears of joy; what did that chant say to +your sensibilities? To mine it only sounded strength, and +victory. If the arms of those - _what_ are they? - that +regiment, - if their arms are only constituted proportionately +to their throats, they must do good fighting. I should think +nothing would stand before them. Daisy, they will certainly +bear down all opposition. Are you afraid? Here is the Fourth, +and Washington safe yet, for all the Southern bluster." + +"I do not think you had better try to go to the Capitol," the +doctor put in. + +"What, to see the meeting of Congress? Oh, yes, we will. I am +not going to miss it." + +"Daisy will not?" he asked. + +But Daisy would. I would try every chance. I did not at the +moment care for Congress; my wish was to find Mr. Thorold. At +the review I knew I had little reason to hope for what I +wanted; at the Capitol - after all, what chance there? when +Mr. Thorold was drilling troops from morning till night; +unless he had been already sent out of Washington. But I would +go. If I had dared, I would have expressed a desire to see +some troops drilled. I did not dare. + +I remember nothing of the scene at the Capitol, except the sea +of heads, the crowd, and the heat; my intense scrutiny of the +crowd, and the weariness that grew on me. Mrs. Sandford had +friends to talk to; I only wished I need not speak to anybody. +It was a weary day; for I could not see Mr. Thorold, and I +could not hear the President's Message. I was so placed or so +surrounded that it came to me only in bits. Wearily we went +home. + +At least, Dr. Sandford and I. Mrs. Sandford tried in vain to +rally us. + +"There is to be a marriage in camp," she said. "What do you +think of that, Daisy? We can have invitations, we like. Shall +we like? Wouldn't it be a curious scene? Daisy is interested, +I see. Grant, no. What is the matter, Grant?" + +"I hope, nothing," said the doctor. + +"Will you go, if I get you an invitation?" + +"Who is to be married?" + +"La fille du régiment." + +"It takes two," said the doctor. + +"Oh! The other is a sergeant, I believe; some sergeant of the +same regiment. They are to be married to-morrow evening; and +it is to be by moonlight and torchlight, and everything odd; +up on that beautiful hill where we were the other day, where +the trees and the tents make such a pretty mingling with red +caps and everything else." + +"I hope the ceremony will be performed by comet light, too," +said Dr. Sandford. "It ought, to be in character." + +"You do not feel well to-night, Grant?" + +"Tired. So is Daisy. Are you tired of Washington, Daisy?" + +"Oh - no!" I said eagerly. "Not at all. I like very much to be +here." + +"Then we will go and see the sergeant's wedding," said he. + +But we did not; for the next day it was found to be only too +true that Dr. Sandford was unwell. Perhaps he had been working +too hard; at any rate, he was obliged to confess to being ill; +and a day or two more settled the question of the amount of +his indisposition. He had a low fever, and was obliged to give +up to it. + +CHAPTER IV. + +ON FOOT + + +Mrs Sandford devoted herself to the doctor. Of course, a +sudden stop was put to our gay amusements. I could not ride or +drive out any more; nor would I go to entertainments anywhere. +The stir and the rush of the world had quietly dropped me out +of it. + +Yet I was more than ever eager to be in it and know what was +doing; and above all, what one was doing. I studied the +newspapers, more assiduously than I had hitherto had time for. +They excited me almost unbearably with the desire to know more +than they told, and with unnumbered fears and anxieties. I +took to walking, to wear away part of the restless uneasiness +which had settled upon me. I walked in the morning; I walked +at evening, when the sun's light was off the avenue and the +air a little cooler; and kept myself out of the house as much +as I could. + +It was so that I came upon my object, when I was not seeking +it. One evening I was walking up Pennsylvania avenue; slowly, +for the evening was warm, although the sun had gone down. +Slowly and disconsolately. My heart began to fail me. I +pondered writing a word to Mr. Thorold, now that I was +completely at liberty; and I wished I had done it at once upon +Dr. Sandford's becoming ill. Two or three days' time had been +lost. I should have to take the note to the post-office +myself; but that would not be impossible now, as it had been +until now. While I was thinking these things, I saw a horseman +riding down the avenue; a single horseman, coming at a fast +gallop. I had never seen Mr. Thorold on horseback; yet from +almost the first sight of this mounted figure my heart said +with a bound who it was. I stood still by the curbstone, +looking breathlessly. I felt more and more sure as he drew +nearer, if that can be when I had been sure all along; but, +would he know me? Would he even see me, in the first place? So +many ladies walk on Pennsylvania avenue; why should his eye +pick me out? and he was riding so fast too, there would be but +one instant to see or miss me. I would not like to go again +through the suspense of that minute, though it was almost too +intense to be conscious pain. I stood, all eyes, while that +figure came on, steady, swift, and moveless, but for the quick +action of the horse's muscles. I dared not make a sign, +although I felt morally sure who it was, until he was quite +close to me; then, I do not know whether I made it or not. I +think not; but the horse wheeled, just as he was past me; I +did not know a horse could wheel so short; and the rider had +dismounted at the same instant it seemed, for he was there, at +my side, and my hand in his. I certainly forgot at that minute +all I had stored up to say to Mr. Thorold, in the one great +throb of joy. He did not promise to be easily managed, either. + +"Daisy!" was his first question - "Daisy, where have you +been?" + +"I have been here - a while." + +"I heard it from Aunt Catherine yesterday - I should have +found you before another day went over - Daisy, how long?" + +I hardly liked to tell him, he looked so eager and so +imperative, and so much as if he had a right to know, and to +have known. But he did not wait for the answer; and instead, +drawing my arm within his own, bent down to me with looks and +words so glad, so tender, so bright, that I trembled with a +new feeling, and all the blood in my heart came surging up to +my face and away again. The bridle was over his other arm, and +the horse with drooped head walked on the other side of him, +while Mr. Thorold led me on in this fashion. I do not know how +far. I do not know what he said or what I answered, except in +bits. I know that he made me answer him. I was not capable of +the least self-assertion. What startled me at last out of this +abstraction, was the sudden fear that we might be observed. I +looked up and said something about it. Only to my confusion; +for Thorold laughed at me, softly, but how he laughed - at me. +I tried a diversion. + +"Have you been drilling troops to-day?" + +"All day; or I should have come to find and scold you. By the +way, how long _have_ you been in Washington, Daisy?" + +"I should not have thought you would ride such a pace at the +end of a day's work - you did not ride like a tired man." + +"I am not a tired man. Didn't I tell you, I had a letter from +Aunt Catherine yesterday. I have felt no fatigue since. When +did you come here, Daisy?" + +"Christian, I could not let you know, for I was with my +guardian - he is a sort of guardian for the time - and -" + +"Well? I know your guardian. Dr. Sandford, isn't he" + +"Yes, but he would not like to see you." + +"I don't care whether he likes it or not, Daisy." + +"Yes, but, you see, Christian, it would be not pleasant if he +were to carry me off away from Washington; as he took me from +West Point last year." + +"To get you away from me?" + +"He would, if he suspected anything." + +"Daisy, I do not like suspicions. The best way is to let him +know the truth." + +"Oh, no, Christian!" + +"Why not, little one?" + +"I would rather my father and mother heard it first from you +in person," I answered, stumbling in my speech. + +"So would I, Daisy; but the times are against us. A letter +must be my messenger; and Dr. Sandford has nothing to do with +the matter." + +"He would think he had," I answered, feeling the difficulties +in my way. + +"Aren't you my Daisy?" he said, looking down into my face with +his flashing eyes, all alight with fire and pleasure. + +"But that -" I began. + +"No evasions, Daisy. Answer. Aren't you mine?" + +I said "yes" meekly. But what other words I had purposed to +add were simply taken off my lips. I looked round, in scared +fashion, to see who was near; but Thorold laughed softly +again. + +"It is too dark for people to make minute investigations, +Daisy." + +"Dark!" said I. "Oh, Christian, I must go home. I shall be +missed, and Mrs. Sandford will be frightened." + +"Will the doctor come after you?" + +"Oh, no, he is sick; but Christian, I must go home." + +He turned and went with me, changing his tone, and making a +variety of tender inquiries about my situation and my doings. +They were something new; they were so tender of me, so +thoughtful of my welfare, so protecting in their inquisitive +care; and moreover they were the inquiries of one who had a +right to know all about me. Something entirely new to my +experience; my mother's care was never so sympathetic; my +father's never so fond; even my guardian's was never so +strict. Dr. Sandford to be sure had no right to make his care +like this. I did not know that Mr. Thorold had; but I found it +was indisputable. And in proportion it was delightful. We had +a slow, very busy walk and talk until within a few doors of my +Washington home; there we parted, with a long hand clasp, and +the promise on my part that Mr. Thorold should find me at the +same hour and place as to-day on the next evening. + +Nobody was looking for me, and I gained my room in safety. I +was very happy, yet not all happy; for the first use I made of +my solitude, after getting rid of my bonnet and mantilla, was +to sit down and cry. I asked myself the reason, for I did not +like to be in the dark about my own feelings; this time they +were in a good deal of confusion. + +As I look back, I think the uppermost thing was my happiness; +this new, delicate, strange joy which had come into my life +and which I had never tasted so fully or known the flavour of +it so intimately as this evening. Looks and tones, and little +nameless things of manner telling almost more yet, came back +to me in a small crowd and overwhelmed me with their +testimony. Affection, and tenderness, and pleasure; and +something apart from these, an inexplicable assuming of me and +delight in me as so assumed; they found me or made me very +weak to-night. What was the matter? I believe it was, first, +this happiness; and next, the doubt that rested over it and +the certainty that I must leave it. Certainly my weeping was +hearty enough to answer to all three causes. It was a very +unaccustomed indulgence to me; or not an indulgence at all, +for I was not fond of tears; but it did act as a relief. I +washed away some of my trouble in my tears; the happiness +sprung to the surface; and then I could almost weep for joy +and thankfulness that I was so happy. Even if the grounds of +my happiness were precarious, I had trusted God all my life +with all I cared for; could I not trust Him still? My tears +stopped; and I believe one or two smiles could not be checked +as I remembered some look or word of Mr. Thorold's. + +I was to see him the next evening; and it would behove me to +lose no time in telling him all the various matters I had +wished him to understand. It seemed to me there was something +to reconsider in my proposed communications. I had to tell him +that our correspondence must be stopped. Would he agree to +that? I had thought he would agree, and must, to anything I +desired. To-night assured me that he had a will in the matter +too, and that his will was strong. Further, it assured me that +he had a right; and knew it. Yet it was impossible that we +should write to each other without my parents' leave; and +impossible that we should gain the leave. Mr. Thorold would +have to see the matter as I looked at it; but a doubt came +over me that to make him do so might prove difficult. That was +one thing. Then about my not being an heiress. I suddenly +found a great dislike in myself to speak to him on the +subject. There was no doubt that it would be right to tell him +what I had thought to tell him; wrong not to do it; the right +and the wrong were settled; my willingness was not. A little +inner consciousness that Mr. Thorold would relish any handling +of the matter that savoured of the practical, and would +improve it for his own ends, made my cheek hot. Yet I must +tell him. The thing stood, with only an addition of +disagreeableness. And what chance should I have, in the +street? + +I meditated a good while, before there suddenly started into +my mind a third subject upon which I had meant to take action +with Mr. Thorold. I had thought to qualify a little the +liberty he had assumed upon our first betrothal; to keep at a +somewhat more reserved distance, and make him. Could I? Was +Mr. Thorold under my management? He seemed to take me under +his. I pondered, but between laughing and rebellion I could +make nothing of the subject. Only, I resolved, if +circumstances gave me any chance, to act on my proposed +system. + +The next day was swallowed up in like thoughts. I tried to +arrange my subjects and fix upon one to begin with; but it was +a vain effort. I knew that as soon as I began to get ready for +my walk. Things must come as they would. And my cross tides of +purpose resolved themselves into one long swell of joy, when I +discerned the figure I was looking for, waiting for me on +Pennsylvania avenue; too soon, for it was near the place where +we parted the night before. + +"This is very dangerous -" I said, as we began to stroll up +the avenue. + +"What?" said Mr. Thorold, looking down at me with his eyes as +full of mischief as ever. + +"It is so light yet, and you come so near the house." + +"You walk with other people, don't you?" + +"I am not afraid of the other people." + +"Are you afraid of me?" said he smiling; and then growing +grave, "We may have only a few times, Daisy; let us make the +most of them." + +How could I start anything after that. I was mute; and Mr. +Thorold began upon a new theme. + +"Daisy, how long have you been in Washington?" + +"Christian, I _could_ not let you know. I was always hoping to +see you somewhere." + +"Sounds as if you felt guilty," he said. "Confess, Daisy; you +look as if you were afraid I would be angry. I will not be +very hard with you." + +I was afraid; and he was angry, when I told him. His face +flushed and his eye changed, and turned away from me. + +"Christian," I said, "I was very unwilling that Dr. Sandford +should know anything about it; that was my reason. If I had +written to you, you know you would have come straight to where +I was; and the risk was too great." + +"What risk?" he said. "I might have been ordered away from +Washington; and then we might never have met." + +"Are you vexed?" I said gently. + +"You have wronged me, Daisy." + +It gave me, I do not know whether more pain or pleasure, the +serious grave displeasure his manner testified. Neither pain +nor pleasure was very easy to express; but pain pressed the +hardest. + +"I have been looking for the chance of seeing you; looking the +whole time," I said. "Everywhere, it was the one thing I was +intent upon." + +"Daisy, it might have been lost altogether. And how many days +have been lost!" + +I was silent now; and we walked some steps together without +anything more. But the next words were with a return to his +usual clear voice. + +"Daisy, you must not be afraid of anything." + +"How can I help it?" I asked. + +"Help it? - but have _I_ brought those tears into your eyes?" + +It was almost worth while to have offended him, to hear the +tone of those words. I could not speak. + +"I see you are not very angry with me," he said; "but I am +with myself. Daisy, my Daisy, you must not be so fearful of +unknown dangers." + +"I think I have been fearful of them all my life," I answered. +"Perhaps it is my fault." + +And with unspeakable joy I recognised the truth, that at last +my life was anchored to one from whom I need neither fear nor +disguise anything. + +"To fear them is often to bring them." he added. + +"I do not think it will, in my case," I said. "But, if Dr. +Sandford had known you were coming to see me, he might have +carried me off from Washington, just as he did from West Point +last year." + +"From West Point?" said Mr. Thorold, his eyes making a +brilliant commentary on my words; - "Did he carry you away +from West Point for any such reason? Is he afraid of me?" + +"He would be afraid of anybody," I said in some confusion, for +Mr. Thorold's eyes were dancing with mischief and pleasure; - +"I do not know - of course I do not know what he was afraid +of; but I know how it _would_ be." + +Mr. Thorold's answer was to take my hand and softly draw it +through his own arm. I did not like it; I was fearful of being +seen to walk so; yet the assuming of me was done in a manner +that I could not resist nor contravene. I knew how Christian's +eyes fell upon me; I dared not meet them. + +"Is the doctor jealous of you, Daisy?" he whispered laughing. +I did not find an answer immediately. + +"Does he _dare?_" Mr. Thorold said in a different tone. + +"No, no. Christian, how imperious you are!" + +"Yes," he said; "I will be so where you are concerned. What do +you mean, Daisy? or what does he mean?" + +"He is my guardian, you know," I said; "and he has sharp eyes; +and he is careful of me." + +"_Very_ careful?" said Mr. Thorold, laughing and pressing my +arm. "Daisy, _I_ am your guardian while you are in Washington. I +wish I had a right to say that you shall have nothing more to +do with Dr. Sandford. But for the present I must mind my +duty." + +"And I mine," - I added, with my heart beating. Now it seemed +a good opening for some of the things I had to say; yet my +heart beat and I was silent. + +"Yours, Daisy?" he said very tenderly. "What is yours? What +present pressure of conscience is giving you something hard to +do? I know it will be done! What work is this little soldier +on?" + +I could not tell him. I could not. My answer diverged. + +"What are _you_ on, Christian?" + +"The same thing. Rather preparing for work - preparing others. +I am at that all day." + +"And do you expect there will be real work, as you call it? +Will it come to that?" + +"Looks like it. What do you think of Fairfax Court-house? - +and Great Bethel? - and Falling Waters, and so on?" + +"That was bad, at Great Bethel," I said. + +"Mismanagement -" said Mr. Thorold calmly. + +"And at Vienna." + +"No, the troops behaved well. They behaved well, Daisy. I am +content with that." + +"Do you think - don't be angry, Christian! - do you think the +people of the North generally will make as fiery fighting men +as the people of the South, who are used to fighting, and +commanding, and the practice of arms?" + +"When you get a quiet man angry, Daisy, he is the very worst +man to deal with that you ever saw." + +"But the people of the North are all accustomed to peaceful +employments?" + +Mr. Thorold laughed, looking down at me with infinite +amusement and tenderness mixed. + +"I see what your training has been," he said. "What will you +do when you have one of those quiet people for your husband?" + +"Quiet!" said I. "When your eyes are showering sparks of fire +all over me!" + +"Daisy," he said, "those rose leaves in your cheeks are the +very prettiest bits of colour I ever saw in my life." + +"But we are wandering from the subject," I said. + +"No, we are not," he said decidedly. "You are my one subject +at all times." + +"Not when you are training soldiers?" I said half laughing. +But he gave me a look which silenced me. And it nearly took +away all the courage I had, for everything I wanted to say to +him and had found it so difficult to say. + +"Christian," I began again after an interval, "were the troops +that were sent over into Virginia just now, sent, do you +suppose, to meet Beauregard?" + +"I suppose so." + +"You are not going?" - I asked, because the question was +torturing me. + +He looked down at me again, a steady, fixed, inquiring look, +that grew very full of affection before he answered, + +"I hope so, Daisy." + +"You are not ordered!" + +"No; not yet." + +"But if you were to go, would you not know it by this time?" + +"Not certainly. Some troops will be left here of course, to +guard Washington." + +I walked with my heart in my mouth. I knew, what he did not +say, that orders might be issued suddenly and as suddenly +obeyed; with no beforehand warning or after delay. How could I +speak anything of what had been in my mind to be said? Yet the +very circumstances which made it more difficult made it also +imperative, to speak them. I fought myself, while Mr. Thorold +sometimes watched me and constantly took care of me, with a +thoughtful care in little things which was eloquent. + +"Christian" - I began, feeling my voice changed. + +"That is to tell me we must turn homeward?" he said gayly. + +"No; I want to speak to you. But we must turn homeward too." + +"To speak to me? In that voice? Look at me, Daisy. - No, I +won't hear it now, and not here. We must have something +better. Daisy, go and ride with me to- morrow evening!" + +"Oh, I cannot." + +"Yes, Daisy. I ask it of you. Dr. Sandford is in bed. He +cannot go along. Then you can tell me all that is on your mind +about Northern soldiers." + +"Oh, I only thought Christian - You know, I know the temper of +the Southern people." + +"You will know the temper of the other section of the country +some day," he said, with a smile at me which was half serious +and half personal in its bearing. But he made me promise to go +and ride with him if I could; and so left me. + +I met Mrs. Sandford as I went into the house. She said she was +glad I kept up my walks; she was sorry I had such a terribly +dull time; it was a pity I came to Washington. Dr. Sandford +was no better, and much worried about me, that I should be so +cut off from amusement. + +"Tell him I am doing very well, and having time to read the +papers," I said. + +"Those horrid papers!" said Mrs. Sandford. "They make my hair +stand on end. I wouldn't read them; Daisy." + +"But you do." + +"Well, I cannot keep my hands off them when I see them; but I +wish I was where I could never see them. Ever since I read +General Beauregard's proclamation, I have been in a fury with +everything South; and it is uncomfortable to be in a fury. O +dear! I wish Grant would get well and take us away. Come in +and let us have a cup of tea, dear. Isn't it hot?" + +I took the tea and bore the talk, till both were done and I +could shut myself into the seclusion of my own room. And tears +did not come to-night, but dry heart- aching pain instead; +with which I struggled till the night had worn far on. +Struggled, trying to reason it away and to calm it down by +faith and prayer. Ah me! how little reason could do, or faith +either. For reason only affirmed and enlarged my fears; and +faith had no power to say; they might not come true. The +promise, "He shall not be afraid of evil tidings," belongs to +those who have their will so merged in God's will as not to be +careful what that will may be. I had not got so far. A new +lesson was set me in my experience book; even to lay my will +down; and nobody who has not learned or tried to learn that +lesson knows how mortal hard it is. It seemed to me my heart +was breaking the whole livelong night. + +CHAPTER V. + +ON HORSEBACK + + +A little sleep and the fresh morning light set me up again. I +was to ride with Mr. Thorold in the evening; my mind fixed on +that nearest point, and refused for the moment to go further. +I heard from Mrs. Sandford at breakfast that Dr. Sandford was +no better; his low nervous prostration continued and +threatened to continue. Mrs. Sandford was much troubled about +me. All this suited my convenience; even her unnecessary +concern; for I had made up my mind to tell Mrs. Sandford I was +going to ride; but I would not till our late dinner, that +there might be no chance of her consulting the doctor. At +dinner I mentioned that a friend had asked me to ride and I +had half consented. Mrs. Sandford looked somewhat startled and +asked who the friend might be? + +"Another officer," I said quietly; "his name is Thorold. I saw +him last summer, Mrs. Sandford; and I know about him. He is a +good one to go with." + +"I can't ask Grant anything," she said, looking doubtful. "He +knows everybody." + +"It is not needful," I answered. "I am going to take the +indulgence this once. I think it will do me good." + +"Daisy, my dear!" said Mrs. Sandford - "You are as good as +possible - but you have a will of your own. All you +Southerners have, I think." + +I replied that I was a Northerner; and the talk went to other +things. Mrs. Sandford left me with a kiss and the injunction +to take care of myself. I was very glad to get off so, for she +looked a little unsatisfied. My way was clear now. I dressed +with a bounding heart, mounted, and was away with Mr. Thorold; +feeling beneath all my gladness that now was my time and my +only time for doing all the difficult work I had set myself. +But gladness was uppermost, as I found myself in the saddle +and away, with Mr. Thorold by my side; - for once free and +alone together; - gladness that kept us both still I think; +for we exchanged few words till we were clear of the city and +out upon the open country. There we slackened bridle, and I +began to feel that the minutes were exceedingly precious. I +dreaded lest some words of Christian's should make it +impossible for me to do what I had to do. + +"Christian," I began, "I have things to talk to you about." + +"Well," said he brightly, "you shall. Will it take a great +while, Daisy? Because I have things to talk to _you_ about." + +"Not a great while, I hope," I said, almost stammering. + +"You shall talk what you will, darling. But wait till we get a +better place." + +I would have liked the place where we were, and the time. +Better where the road was rough than where it was smooth; +easier where there was something to make interruption than +where Christian could give too exclusive heed to me. But I +could not gainsay him; and we rode on, till we came to a piece +of pretty broken ground with green turf and trees. Here Mr. +Thorold stopped and proposed that we should dismount; he said +we should talk more at our ease so. I thought my predetermined +measures of dignity could be more easily maintained on +horseback; but I could not bear to refuse him, and he did not +mean to be refused, I saw. He had dismounted even while he +spoke, and throwing his horse's bridle over the branch of a +tree, came to lift me down; first throwing his cap on the +grass. Then keeping me in his arms and bending a brilliant +inquisitive look on my face, he asked me, + +"Daisy - is this my Daisy, as I left her?" + +I could not help answering a plain yes. Nothing in me was +changed; and come what might, that was true. No other answer +would have been true. And I could not blame him that he held +me fast and kissed me, almost as he had done that first time. +Almost; but the kisses were more grave and deliberate now; +every one seemed a seal and a taking possession. Indeed the +whole manner of Mr. Thorold had taken gravity and manliness +and purpose; he was changed, as it would have taken much +longer in other circumstances to change a man. I stood still +and trembled, I believe; but I could no more check him than I +could that first night. + +Still holding me fast, he lifted my face a little and smiling +asked me, what Daisy had to say to him? The tone, tender and +happy, was as much as I could bear; more than I could answer. +He led me a little way, arranged a seat for me on a green +bank, and threw himself down by my side. But that was very +inconvenient, for he could look up right into my face. + +"Business, Daisy?" he said gayly and tenderly at once. The +tone seemed to .touch the colour in my cheeks and the droop of +my eyes. + +"Yes," I said. "It is business." + +"Well, what, love?" + +"Christian," said I, putting my hand in his, "you know papa +and mamma do not know of this." + +"They shall know, as soon as I can write to them," he answered. +"I understand - you do not wish that, Daisy; but see - I +cannot leave it unsaid, as long as your thought would leave +it. Till they know, I have only half a right to you. I cannot +live so." + +"You must," I whispered, - "till this war is over." + +"What then?" said he quickly. "How will that help the matter?" + +"Then they may see you for themselves. A letter would not do." + +"If you please, how do you expect I am to live till then?" he +said smiling. "With half a right to you." + +"Yes - with that, - and without writing to me," I answered. + +"Daisy!" exclaimed Thorold, raising himself half up. + +"Yes," I said - "I know - I have been wanting to talk to you +about it. You _know_, Christian, I could not write nor receive +your letters without my father's and mother's permission." + +"Can _you_ bear that, Daisy?" he asked. + +My heart seemed to turn sick. His words suggested nothing new, +but they were his words. I failed to answer, and my face went +down in my hands. + +"There, is no need of that, darling," he said, getting one of +them and putting it to his lips. "Here you are fearing dangers +again. Daisy -with truth on your side and on mine, nothing can +separate us permanently." + +"But for the present," - I said as soon as I could speak. "I +am sure our chance for the future is better if we are patient +and wait now." + +"Patient, and wait?" said Mr. Thorold. "If we are patient now? +What do you mean by patience? You in Switzerland, with half a +hundred suitors by turns; and I here in the smoke of artillery +practice, unable to see twenty yards from my drill - and _that_, +you think, does not call for patience, but you must cut off +the post-office from our national institutions. And to wait +for you is not enough, but I must wait for news of you as +well!" + +"Christian!" said I, in desperation - "it is harder for me +than for you." + +He laughed at that; laughed and looked at me, and his eyes +sparkled like a shower of fireworks, and then I was sure that +a mist was gathering in them. I could scarcely bear the one +thing ands the other. My own composure failed. He did not this +time answer by caresses. He got up and paced the turf a little +distance below me; his arms folded, his lips set, and the +steps never slackening. So he was when I could look up and +see. This was worse than anything. And the sun was lowering +fast, and we had settled nothing, and our time was going. I +waited a minute, and then I called him. He came and stood +before me, face and attitude unchanged. + +"Christian," I said, - "don't you see that it is best - my +plan?" + +"No," he said. + +I did not know what to urge next. But as I looked at him, his +lips unbent and his face shone down at me, after a sort, with +love, and tenderness and pleasure. I felt I had not prevailed +yet. I rose up and stood before him. + +"Indeed it is best!" I said earnestly. + +"What do you fear, Daisy?" His look was unchanged and feared +nothing. It was very hard to tell him what I feared. + +"I think, without seeing you and knowing you, they will never +let us write; and I would rather they did not know anything +about the - about us - till you can see them." + +He took both my hands in his, and I felt how hard it is for a +woman to move a man's will when it is once in earnest. + +"Daisy, that is not brave," he said. + +"No - _I_ am not," I answered. "But is it not prudent?" + +"I do not believe in cowardly prudence," he said; but he +kissed me gently to soften the words; "the frank way is the +wisest, always, I believe; and anyhow, Daisy, I can't stand +any other. I am going to ask you of your father and mother; +and I am going to do it without delay." + +"I wish they could see you," I said helplessly. + +"And as I cannot be present to do my pleading in person, I +must trust you to plead for me." + +"You forget," said I; "it is against you that you are a +Northern officer." + +"That may depend upon the event of the war," he said; and I +saw a sparkle again. Wilful and manly as he could be; but he +did not know my father and mother. Yet that last word of his +might be true; what if it were? The end of the war! When might +that be? and how? If all the Northern army were Thorolds, - +but I knew they were not. I felt as if my magazine of words +was exhausted. I suppose then my face spoke for me. He +loosened his hold of one hand to put his arm round me and draw +me to him, with a fine tenderness, both reverent and +masterful. + +"My Daisy" - he said, - "what do you want of me?" + +And I could not tell him then. As little could I pretend to be +dignified. Pain was too sharp. We drew very close to each +other, and were very silent for those minutes. I would command +myself, and did, hard work as it was, and though my face lay +on his shoulder. I do not know how his face looked; when he +spoke again the tone was of the gravest tenderness. + +"What do you want of me, Daisy?" + +"I think, this," I said, raising my head and laying my hand on +his shoulder instead. "Suppose, Christian, you leave the +question undecided - the question of letters, I mean, - until +I get there, - to Switzerland, - and see my father and mother. +Perhaps I can judge then what will be safe to do; and if I can +write, you know I will write immediately." + +"And if you cannot?" + +"Then - I will write once, to let you know how it is." + +He stood still, reading my face, until it was a little hard to +bear, and my eyes went down. + +"Suppose your father and mother - suppose they are obdurate, +Daisy, and will not have me, being a Northern man and in the +Government service?" + +What then? I could not say. + +"Suppose it, Daisy." + +"Well, Christian?" I said, raising my eyes to his face. + +"What will you do?" + +"You know, Christian, I _must_ obey my father and mother." + +"Even as I my other duty. Well, we are both soldiers. But what +would you do, Daisy?" + +"Do? -" I repeated. + +"Yes," he said very gravely, and with a certain determination +to have the answer. + +"I should do nothing, Christian. I should be just the same." +But I believe my cheeks must have answered for me, for I felt +them grow pale. + +"What if they chose a Southern husband for you, and laid their +commands in his favour?" + +"I am _yours_ -" I said, looking up at him. I could not say any +more, but I believe Mr. Thorold understood it all, just what I +meant him to understand; how that bond could never be +unloosed, what though the seal of it might be withheld. He was +satisfied. + +"You are not brave, Daisy," he said, holding me again very +close; "here are these cheeks fairly grown white under my +supposings. Does that bring the colour back?" he added +laughing. + +"Christian," I said, seizing my time while my face was half +hidden, "what would _you_ do, supposing I should prove to be a +very poor girl?" + +"What is that?" said he, laughing more gayly, and raising my +face a little. + +"You know what our property is." + +"No, I do not." + +"You know - I mean, you know, my father's and mother's +property is in Southern lands mostly, and in those that +cultivate them." + +"Yes. I believe I have understood that." + +"Well, I will never be the owner of those people - the people +that cultivate those lands; and so I suppose I shall not be +worth a sixpence; for the land is not much without the +people." + +"You will not be the owner of them?" + +"No." + +"Why do you tell me that?" said Mr. Thorold gravely. + +"I wanted you to know -" I said, hesitating and beginning very +much to wish my words unsaid. + +"And the question is, what I will do in the supposed +circumstances? Was that it?" + +"I said that," - I assented. + +"What shall I do?" said Mr. Thorold. "I don't know. If I am in +camp, I will pitch a tent for my wife; it shall have soft +carpets and damask cushions; as many servants as she likes, +and one in especial who will take care that the others do her +bidding; scanty accommodations, perhaps, but the air full of +welcome. She will like it. If I am stationed in town +somewhere, I will fill her house with things to please her. If +I am at the old farm, I will make her confess, in a little +while, that it is the pleasantest place she ever saw in her +life. I don't know what I will do! I will do something to make +her ashamed she ever asked me such a question." + +"Oh, don't!" said I, with my cheeks burning. "I am very much +ashamed now." + +"Do you acknowledge that?" he said, laughing and taking his +revenge. "So you ought." + +But then he made me sit down on the grass again and threw +himself at my feet, and began to talk of other things. He +would not let me go back to the former subjects. He kept me in +a state of amusement, making me talk too about what he would; +and with the light of that last subject I had unluckily +started, shining all over his face and sparkling in his eye +and smile, until my face was in a condition of permanent +colour. I had given him an advantage, and he took it and +played with it. I resolved I would never give him another. He +had gone back apparently to the mood of that evening at Miss +Cardigan's; and was full of life and spirits and mischief. I +could do nothing but fall in with his mood and be happy; +although I remembered I had not gained my point yet; and I +half suspected he had a mind I should not gain it. It was a +very bright, short half hour; and then I reminded him it was +growing late. + +"Moonlight -" he said. "There is a good large moon, Daisy." + +"But Mrs. Sandford -" I said. + +"She knows you are your own mistress." + +"She _thinks_ I am," I said. "You know better." + +"You are mine," said Mr. Thorold, with gentle gravity, +immediately. "You shall command me. Do you say go, Daisy?" + +"May I influence you in something else?" I said putting my +hand in his to enforce my words. + +"Eh?" said he, clasping the hand. "What, Daisy?" + +"Christian, I want you not to write to my father and mother +until I give you leave." I thought I would let go arguing and +try persuasion. + +He looked away, and then looked at me; - a look full of +affection, but I saw I had not moved him. + +"I do not see how we can settle that, Daisy." + +"But you said - you said -" + +"What?" + +"You said just now, you intimated, that my wishes would have +weight with you." + +He laughed a little, a moved laugh, and kissed me. But it was +not a kiss which carried any compromise. + +"Weight with me? Yes, a little. But with me, Daisy. They must +not change me into somebody not myself." + +"Would that? -" + +"If I could be content to have your faith in secret, or to +wait to know if I might have it at all? I must be somebody not +myself, Daisy." + +I pondered and felt very grave. Was it true, that Mr. Thorold, +though no Christian, was following a rule of action more noble +and good than I, who made such professions? It was noble, I +felt that. Had my wish been cowardly and political? Must not +open truth be the best way always? Yet with my father and +mother old experience had long ago taught me to hold my tongue +and not speak till the time came. Which was right? I felt that +his rule of action crossed all my _inner_ nature, if it were not +indeed the habit which had become second nature. Mr. Thorold +watched me. + +"What is it, Daisy? - my Daisy?" he asked with a tender +inquisitiveness, though looking amused at me. + +"I was thinking -" I answered, - "whether you are a great deal +better than I am." + +"Think it by all means," he said laughing. "I am certainly a +good deal braver. But what else, Daisy? there was something +else." + +"That," said I. "I was thinking of my habit, all my life long, +of keeping things back from my father and mother till I +thought it was safe to show them." + +"Are you going to let that habit live? What lessons you will +have to learn, my little Daisy! I could never bear to have my +wife afraid of me." + +"Of you!" I said. "I never should." - But there I stopped in +some confusion, which I knew my neighbour enjoyed. I broke up +the enjoyment by standing up and declaring that it was now +time to go. + +We had a pretty ride home. My mind was disburthened of its +various subjects of care which I had had to communicate to Mr. +Thorold; and although I had not been able entirely to prevail +with him, yet I had done all I could, and my conscience was +clear. I let myself enjoy, and the ride was good. Mr. Thorold +said we must have another; but I did not believe that +feasible. + +However, it fell out so. Dr. Sandford lingered on in the same +disabled state; his sister-in-law was devoted to her +attendance on him; I was left to myself. And it did come to +pass, that not only Mr. Thorold and I had walks continually +together; but also we had one more good ride. I did not try +moving him again on the point of my father and mother. I had +read my man and knew that I could not. And I suppose I liked +him the better for it. Weakness is the last thing, I think, +that a woman forgives in men, who ought to be strong. +Christian was not weak; all the more he was gentle and tender +and thoughtful for those who were. Certainly for me. Those +days, those walks, - what music of thought and manner there +was in them! The sort of protecting care and affection I had +from him then, I never had from any other at any time. Care +that seemed to, make my life his own; affection that made it +something much before his own; but all this told, not in +words, which could not have been, but in indescribable little +things of manner and tone; graces too fine to count and +measure. Once I had fancied I ought to put more reserve into +my manner, or manage more distance in his; that thought fled +from me after the first afternoon's ride and never came back. +I did not take care for myself; he took care for me. The +affection that held me as a part of himself, held me also as a +delicate charge more precious than himself; and while he +protected me as one who had a right to do it, he guarded me +also as one whose own rights were more valuable than his. He +never flattered, nor praised, nor complimented me; or with +rare exceptions; but he showed me that he lived for me, and +sometimes that he knew I lived for him. + +What days and walks! The extreme and impending gravity of the +time and the interests at work, lent only a keen and keener +perception of their preciousness and sweetness. Any day our +opportunities might suddenly come to an end; every day they +were welcomed as a special fresh gift. Every evening, as soon +as Mr. Thorold's engagements allowed it, he met me on the +avenue, and we walked until the evening was as far spent as we +durst spend it so. I basked in a sunshine of care and +affection which surrounded me, which watched me, which catered +to my pleasure, and knew my thoughts before they were spoken. +We were both grown suddenly older than our years, Mr. Thorold +and I; the coming changes and chances in our lives brought us +to life's reality at once. + +One ride besides we had; that was all. Except one other +experience; which was afterwards precious to me beyond price. + +As it became known that Dr. Sandford's illness was persistent +and not dangerous, and that I was in consequence leading a +(supposed) bitterly dull life; it naturally happened that our +acquaintances began to come round us again; and invitations to +this or that entertainment came pouring upon me. I generally +refused; but once thought it, best, as a blind to Mrs. +Sandford, to accept an invitation to ride. Mrs. Sandford as +before demurred, but would not object. + +"Who is it this time, Daisy?" she asked. + +I named Major Fairbairn; luckily also an officer whom I had +known the last summer at West Point. + +"Nothing but officers!" she remarked in a dubious tone. "Not +much else to be had here." + +"And nothing much better anywhere," I said, "when, one is +going on horseback. They know how to ride." + +"All Southerners know that. By the way, Daisy, I have heard +yesterday of Lieutenant Gary. He is in Beauregard's army." + +"Are you sure?" I asked. + +"Quite, I think. I was told by Mr. Lumpkin; and he knows all +the Southern doings, and people." + +"Then he ought not to be here." I said. "He may let them know +our doings." + +"_Ours!_" said Mrs. Sandford. "How fierce you are. Is Major +Fairbairn South or North? I don't remember." + +"From Maine." + +"Well. But, Daisy, what will your father and mother say to +you?" + +There was no use in considering that question. I dismissed it, +and got ready for the major and my horse. Mounted, my +companion asked me, where should we go? I had considered that +point; and after a little pause asked, as coolly as I could, +where there were any troops drilling in cavalry or artillery +exercises. Major Fairbairn pondered a minute and told me, with +rather a rueful countenance. + +"Let us go there first," I said. "It is an old story to you; +but I never saw such a thing. I want to see it and understand +it, if I can." + +"Ladies like to see it, I know," said the major. + +"You think, we cannot understand it?" + +"I don't see how you should." + +"I am going to try, Major Fairbairn. And notwithstanding your +hopeless tone, I expect you to give me all the help you can." + +"I think, the less you understand of it, the better," said the +major. + +"Pray why?" + +"Doesn't seem comfortable knowledge, for those who cannot use +it." + +"Men think that of many things," I said. "And they are much +mistaken. Knowledge is always comfortable. I mean, it is +comfortable to have it, rather than to be ignorant." + +"I don't know -" said the major. "Where ignorance is bliss -" + +"Ignorance never is bliss!" I said energetically. + +"Then the poet must be wrong." + +"Don't you think poets may be wrong as well as other people, +Major Fairbairn?" + +"I hope so! or I should wish to be a poet. And that would be a +vain wish for me." + +"But in these war matters," I resumed, as we cantered on, "I +am very much interested; and I think all women ought to be - +must be." + +"Getting to be serious earnest -" said the major, resignedly. + +I was silenced for a while. The words, "serious earnest," rang +in my heart as we went through the streets. + +"Is it getting to be such serious earnest?" I asked as lightly +as I could. + +"We shall know more about it soon," the major answered. _His_ +carelessness was real. + +"How soon?" + +"May be any day. Beauregard is making ready for us at Manassas +Junction." + +"How many men do you suppose he has?" + +"Can't tell," said the major. "There is no depending, I think +myself, on any accounts we have. The Southern people generally +are very much in earnest." + +"And the North are," I said. + +"It is just a question of who will hold out best." + +I thought I knew who those would be; and a shiver for a moment +ran through my heart. Christian had said, that the success of +his suit with my father and mother might depend on how the war +went. And certainly, if the struggle should be at all +prolonged and issue in the triumph of the rebels, they would +have little favour for the enemies they would despise. How if +the war went for the North? + +I believe I lost several sentences of my companion in the +depth of my musing; remembered this would not do; shook off my +thoughts and talked gayly, until we came to the place where he +said the drilling process was going on. I wondered if it were +the right place; then made sure that it was; and sat on my +horse looking and waiting, with my heart in a great flutter. +The artillery wagons were rushing about; I recognised _them;_ +and a cloud of dust accompanied and swallowed up their +movements, a little too distant from me just now to give room +for close observation. + +"Well, how do you like it, Miss Randolph?" my major began, +with a tone of some exultation at my supposed discomfiture. + +"It is very confused -" I said. "I do not see what they are +doing." + +"No more than you could if it was a battle," said the major. + +"Won't they come nearer to us?" + +"No doubt they will, if we give them time enough." + +I would not take this hint. I had got my chance; I was not +going to fling it away. I had discerned besides in the distant +smoke and dust a dark figure on a gray horse, which I thought +I knew. Nothing would have drawn me from the spot then. I kept +up a scattering fire of talk with my companion, I do not know +how, to prevent the exhaustion of his patience; while my heart +went out at my eyes to follow the gray horse. I was rewarded +at last. The whole battery charged down upon the point where +we were standing, at full gallop, "as if we had been the +Secession army," Major Fairbairn remarked; adding, that +nothing but a good conscience could have kept me so quiet. And +in truth guns and horses and all were close upon us before the +order to halt was given, and the gunners flung themselves from +the wagons and proceeded to unlimber and get the battery in +working order, with the mouths of the cannon only a few yards +from our standing-place. I hardly heard the major now, for the +gray horse and dark rider were near enough to be seen, +stationed quietly a few paces in the rear of the line of guns. +I saw his eye going watchfully from one point to another of +his charge; his head making quick little turns to right and +left to see if all were doing properly; the horse a statue, +the man alive as quicksilver, though nothing of him moved but +his head. I was sure, very sure, that he would not see me. He +was intent on his duty; spectators or the whole world looking +on were nothing to him. He would not even perhaps be conscious +that anybody was in his neighbourhood. I don't know whether I +was most glad or sorry; though indeed, I desired nothing less +than that he should give any sign that he saw me. How well he +looked on horseback, I thought; how stately he sat there, +motionless, overseeing his command. There was a pause now; +they were all still, waiting for an order. I might have +expected what it would be; but I did not, till the words +suddenly came out - + +"Battery - Fire!" + +The voice went through my heart; but my horse's nerves were +immediately as much disturbed as mine. The order was followed +by a discharge of the whole battery at once, sounding as the +burst of one gun. My horse, exceedingly surprised, lifted his +fore feet in the air on the instant; and otherwise testified +to his discomposure; and I had some little difficulty to keep +him to the spot and bring him back to quietness. It was +vexatious to lose such precious minutes; however, we were +composed again by the time the smoke of the guns was clearing +away. I could hardly believe my eyes. There lay the cannon, on +the ground, taken from their carriages; the very carriages +themselves were all in pieces; here lay one wheel, there lay +another; the men were sitting around contentedly. + +"What is the matter?" I exclaimed. + +"The officer in charge of the drill, seeing what mischief his +guns have unwittingly done, you see, Miss Randolph, has taken +his battery to pieces. He will not fire any more while you are +here. By George!" said the major, "I believe here he comes to +tell us so." + +I wished myself away, as I saw the gray horse leap over some +of the obstacles before him and bear down straight towards me. +I bowed low, to hide various things. Mr. Thorold touched his +cap gravely, to the major as well as to me, and then brought +his gray horse alongside. + +"Your horse does not like my battery," he remarked. + +I looked up at him. His face was safely grave; it meant +business; but his eyes sparkled a little for me; and as I +looked he smiled, and added, + +"He wants a spur." + +"To make him run? I had difficulty enough to prevent his doing +that just now, Mr. Thorold." + +"No; to make him stand still. He wants punishing." + +"Miss Randolph deserves a great deal of credit," said the +major. "But all Southern women know how to ride; and the men +to fight." + +"We are going to have a hard time then," said Thorold; with a +wilful presuming on his privileges. + +"But what have you done with your battery?" I asked. + +"Taken it to pieces - as you see." + +"Pray, what for? I thought something was the matter." + +"Nothing was the matter, I am glad to know," Thorold said +looking at me. "It is sometimes necessary to do this sort of +thing in a hurry; and the only way to do it then in a hurry, +is to practise now when there is no hurry. You shall see how +little time it will take to get ready for another order to +fire. But Miss Randolph had better be out of the way first. +Are you going farther?" + +The major said he hoped so, and I answered certainly. + +"I shall fire no more while you are here," Thorold said as he +touched his cap, and he gallopped back to his place. He sat +like a rock; it was something pretty to see. Then came an +order, which I could not distinguish; and in an incredibly +short time wheels were geared, guns were mounted, and the +dismantled condition of everything replaced by the most alert +order. The major said it was done very well, and told me how +quick it could be done; I forget, but I think he said in much +less than a minute; and then I know he wanted to move; but I +could not. I held my place still, and the battery manoeuvred +up and down the ground in all manner of directions, forming in +various forms of battery; which little by little I got the +major partially to explain. He was not very fluent; and I did +not like his explanations; but nevertheless it was necessary +to give him something to do, and I kept him busy, while the +long line of artillery wagons rushed over the ground, and +skirted it, and trailed across it in diagonal lines; walking +sometimes, and sometimes going at full speed of horses and +wheels. It stirred me, it saddened me, it fascinated me, all +at once; while the gray horse and his rider held my eye far +and near with a magnet hold. Sometimes in one part of the +line, sometimes in another, the moving spirit and life of the +whole. I followed and watched him with eye and heart, till my +heart grew sick and I turned away. + +CHAPTER VI. + +IN THE FIRE + + +My ride with Major Fairbairn made me unsettled. Or else it was +my seeing Mr. Thorold at his drill. A certain impatience +seized me; an impatience of the circumstances and position in +which I found myself privately, and of the ominous state and +position of affairs in public. The horizon black with clouds, +the grumble of the storm, and yet the portentous waiting and +quiet which go before the storm's burst. It irked me to see +Mr. Thorold as I had seen him yesterday; knowing ourselves +united, but standing apart as if it were not so, and telling a +lie to the world. It weighed on me, and I half felt that +Christian was right and that anything openly acknowledged was +easier to bear. And then Major Fairbairn's talk had filled me +with fears. He represented things as being so very +threatening, and the outbreak of the storm as being so very +near; I could not regain the tranquillity of the days past, do +what I would. I did a very unwise thing, I suppose, for I went +to reading the papers. And they were full of Northern +preparations and of Southern boastings; I grew more and more +unsettled as I read. Among other things, I remember, was a +letter from Russell, the _Times_ correspondent, over which my +heart beat wearily. For Mr. Russell, I thought, being an +Englishman, and not a party to our national quarrel, might be +expected to judge more coolly and speak more dispassionately +than our own writers, either South or North. And the speeches +he reported as heard from Southern gentlemen, and the feelings +he observed to be common among them, were most adverse to any +faint hope of mine that the war might soon end, or end +advantageously for the North, or when it ended, leave my +father and mother kindly disposed for my happiness. All the +while I read, a slow knell seemed to be sounding at my heart. +"We could have got on with those fanatics if they had been +either Christians or gentlemen" - "there are neither +Christians nor gentlemen among them." "Nothing on earth shall +ever induce us to submit to any union with the brutal, bigoted +blackguards of the New England States, who neither comprehend +nor regard the feelings of gentlemen." That was like what +Preston said. I recognised the tone well. And when it was +added, "Man, woman, and child, we'll die first" - I thought it +was probably true. What chance then for Christian and me? +"There is nothing in all the dark caves of human passion," Mr. +Russell wrote, "so cruel and deadly as the hatred the South +Carolinians profess for the Yankees." The end of the letter +contained a little comfort in the intimation of more moderate +counsels just then taking favour; but I went back to my father +and mother, and aunt, and Preston, and others; and comfort +found no lodgment with me. Then there was an extract from a +Southern paper, calling Yankees "the most contemptible and +detestable of God's creation" - speaking of their "mean, +niggardly lives - their low, vulgar and sordid occupations" - +and I thought, How can peace be? or what will it be when it +comes? + +I went out for my usual evening walk, longing and half +dreading to see Mr. Thorold; for I did not like to show him my +fears; they gave him pain; and yet at the same time I wanted +him to scold them away. But this time I did not see him. I +walked the avenue, at first eagerly, then anxiously; then with +an intense pressing pain and suspense which could hardly be +borne. Neither Thorold nor Thorold's horse appeared among all +the figures moving there; and after walking as long as I +dared, I was fain to go home with that pain in my heart. It +seemed, as I went up the stairs to my room, almost as if I +could die at once with it. Yet I had to make my hair smooth +and meet Mrs. Sandford at tea, and hear all her little details +about Dr. Sandford's illness; which, as they were precisely +the same as those of the day before, had nothing even to hold +my attention for a moment. But I attended. It was necessary. +And I eat toast and drank tea. That was necessary too; with +every mouthful a stab of pain, and every little ordinary +incident of the tea-table a wrenching of my heartstrings. One +does those things quietly and the world never knows. But I +hailed it as a great relief when Mrs. Sandford rose from the +table. + +"Poor Daisy!" she said. "I must leave you to yourself again - +all alone. It's too bad!" + +"I like it very well so," I told her. + +"It mustn't go on," she said. "Really it must not. You will +mope, if you don't already. _Don't_ you, Daisy? Where are all +your admirers?" + +She had touched my face caressingly with her fingers, and I +had to look up and meet her. It was one of the hardest minutes +of self-control I ever knew. I met her and answered calmly, +even coldly; and she went; and I sat down and shrank, I +remember how I shrank, lowering my head and neck and shoulders +in a crushing reaction from the erect self-assertion of the +moment before. The next thing, two hands were on my shoulders +and a voice whispered in my ear a question, "what was the +matter?". So as no other voice ever asked me that question; - +with the tender assumption of the right to know, and an +equally gentle hint that there was comfort and help somewhere +not far off. Now, however, I only started up with terror at +hearing that voice there; - terror instantly displaced by +another terror at the reason of its being there. I knew, I +can't tell how I knew, by the first glance into Mr. Thorold's +face. + +"Yes," said he, in a low voice, "I have got orders." + +"Where?" I managed to ask. "To do what?" + +"I must take a battery across the country to General +Patterson." + +"That will take you out of the way," I said. + +"Out of the way of what?" said he, drawing me to his breast, +and looking down into my face with his hazel eyes sparkling +over a depth of something that was not merry. "Out of the way +of what, Daisy?" he repeated. "Out of the way of fighting, do +you mean? Is that your way of being a proper soldier's wife? +It is out of your way, love; that is what I think of." + +I hid my face and we stood still. It was no time then to be +dignified. + +"How long?" - I whispered at last. + +"Impossible to tell, you know. I could not meet you this +evening. I must be off in an hour." + +"To-night?" + +"Yes." + +There was another silence. + +"What is General Patterson doing?" I ventured then. + +"I suppose he has to keep Johnston in order. How long will you +stay in Washington? - can you tell?" + +"Till Dr. Sandford can travel. - He is no better." + +"Well!" - and a breath of a sigh came then which went to my +heart - "Something will be decided before a few days; and then +we shall know a little better where we stand. I must go!" + +He clasped me close and gave me kisses all over my face; but I +would not have lost one this time. Then he gently put me on +the sofa, pressed his lips to mine one last time, and was out +of the room in an instant. I listened to every step in the +hall; I heard him open the door and shut it; I heard his foot +upon the stone steps outside two or three times; and then I +had lost all. + +I sat very still and stunned for a long time. There seemed +nothing to do. I could not rouse myself. It was the fear of +being found there that roused me at last. I gathered myself +up, and went to my room. Oh days, days! How much one lives +through. + +I was keen set now for news, army news especially; and I spent +hours in studying all the public prints that were within reach +of my hand. So contradictory they were, and so confusing, that +they made me only the more long for actual living advices. The +second day, Major Fairbairn came to ask me again to ride; and +though at first I thought I could not, the next feeling of +restless uncertainty and suspense decided me. Better be on a +horse's back than anywhere else, perhaps. And Major Fairbairn +was not a bad person to talk to. But I had to nerve myself +forcibly to the task of entering upon the subject I wanted. + +"How perplexing the papers are," I remarked, by way of making +an easy beginning. + +"Find them so?" said the major. "That is because you read all +sides." + +"How else can one make up one's mind? How can you know what is +the truth?" + +"Apparently you do not know it that way," said the major, +smiling. "No; the way is, to choose your side, and stick to +it. Then you stand a chance to be comfortable." + +"But you cannot go into society without hearing more sides +than one." + +"Silence the wrong." + +"I want to know first which is right." + +"Haven't you found _that_ out yet?" my companion said, with a +surprised glance at me. "I thought, Miss Randolph, you were a +safe person; all right for the good cause." + +"Oh, yes, of course, that is not the question. I do not want +to hear both sides to decide that. But I mean lesser +questions; movements, probabilities, dangers; the truth of +actual events. _Those_ I want to know about." + +"I am sure, so do I," said the major. + +"I hoped you could enlighten me, Major Fairbairn." + +"About movements?" said the major. "Well, our forces are +moving; there is no doubt. McDowell is going forward in +earnest at last." + +"Against Beauregard?" + +"Against whatever he meets; and I suppose Beauregard will meet +him." + +"Then there will be a battle?" + +"I hope so." + +"Why do you hope so, Major Fairbairn?" + +"It is the shortest way to peace, Miss Randolph. But it is not +likely that one battle will do it." + +"I know it will not if the North succeed," I said; "but how if +the Southern army should get the better?" + +"You aren't a rebel in disguise?" said the major, looking +askance at me. "Is my reputation in danger, to be riding with +you?" + +"It is just as well to look the truth in the face, Major +Fairbairn." + +"So it is; you are right there," said my companion seriously +enough. "Well, I look for a long tussle of it, whichever way +this particular game goes to-day. It will be well if there is +anything left to fight for, by the time it is over." + +"There is always the truth" - I said. + +"The truth gives poor board wages to its servants, though," +said the major. "It is all very well to cry 'victory,' when +there is no corn in the hopper." + +"Is it likely that Patterson will fight?" I asked, with my +heart in my mouth. I had been trying to get this question out; +and it seemed to me now as if every word were as big as two. + +"Humph! - I don't know," said the major. "I suppose he will, +if he can't help it." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, he has got work enough to do," said Major Fairbairn. "I +don't know if it is work that he likes. I have some private +acquaintance with the man. His business is to keep Johnston +busy, so that he will not have leisure to look our way." + +"And suppose Patterson does not do his duty?" + +"Then we may have too much on our hands. Beauregard doesn't +want any help just now." And weary, no doubt, of the subject, +the major diverged to some lighter matters of conversation. I +tried to answer and make talk, but my heart was very sick. I +could hardly know what he was saying; Beauregard, and +Patterson, and Johnston, so ran in my thoughts. I suppose the +major did not find it out, for he seemed very well satisfied, +and at parting said that "after the victory" he would come and +have another ride with me. + +So I waited now for news. Dull, dreadful days; long with an +interminable length of quarters and half hours; heavy with +fear. They were not many; for the morning but one, I think, +after my last ride, a gentleman stopped me in the street to +tell me that firing had been heard that morning, and McDowell +had, it was thought, met his enemy. I calculated the days +since I had seen Mr. Thorold; speculated on Patterson's +probable activity or non-activity, and Christian's consequent +place and duty in the position of affairs; and could only know +that it was all a confusion of pain. At first I thought to go +at once back to the house and give up my walk; but a second +thought of that dull weary waiting inside of walls sent me on +up the avenue. I might hear something more; at any rate, the +open sky was a better breathing-place. + +The open sky! Blue and calm as ever; moveless and pure; while +the grim strife of a battlefield was raging beneath it. Was +there another struggle where Johnston's forces were opposed by +General Patterson? And why could I not leave my cares now, as +so many a time I had left them, as I longed to leave them this +minute, - in the hand that upheld that blue sky? I could not. +That is to say, I did in some fashion, which kept me from +utterly fainting; but I was not confident; I was not willing +that the will of God should be done irrespective of mine, If +writhed from under the pressure of a coming possibility. Could +I help it? My one first earthly joy, the treasure that +gathered up all life's riches for me; could I think of that +treasure being scattered and not know that should be left +poor? And what if God willed I should be thus poor? Ah, I was +not ready. + +I had a long, feverish walk, made as long as I could; and came +home with a sort of thirst of heart, and very weary. Mrs. +Sandford met me, and I had to turn into the parlour. + +"Grant is a little better, I think," she said. + +I could not find words to speak to her. If he was better, why, +then, he would be taking me from Washington. I knew how it +would be. + +"He is certainly better," she repeated, with exultation in her +voice; "and now, my dear Daisy, we will get away from this +horrid place. My dear, how - how _grey_ you look! What is the +matter? you are tired to death." + +I almost wished I was. However, I commanded myself, and told +her I had been walking far, and it was hot, and no doubt I was +grey with dust. + +"And do you know," Mrs. Sandford went on, "they say the attack +has commenced. Firing has been heard from some direction down +in Virginia; the doctor told me." + +"Mr. Vinton told me." + +"Did he? while you were out? and you never mentioned it! +Daisy, you are the coolest creature! I envy you for that more +than for everything else you have got; though people do say - +some people - that Miss Randolph's grey eyes are depths of +delight. My dear! whose possible encomiums have I hit in your +memory, that your cheeks are taking up the matter with such a +delicious rose colour?" + +She did not know what she touched. It was no vanity, but her +words brought up suddenly what Thorold had told his aunt about +Vermont lakes, and all the bitter-sweetness of that evening. +My heart swelled. I was very near bursting into tears and +astonishing Mrs. Sandford. + +"Daisy, my dear," she said fondly and half seriously, "you are +too great a treasure to be risked out of your parents' hands. +The responsibility is weighing upon me. I hope Grant will get +well, I am sure, and take us away. What with one sort of +danger and another, it is really too much. Fancy, what it +would be if we were to lose this battle! Why, the rebels would +be here in no time; the doctor said so." + +"Well -" I said. I could not tell all my thought; that in such +an event I would not be anywhere but where I was, for worlds; +unless indeed I could be with the army of General Patterson +before Johnston. + +"Is Dr. Sandford really better?" I asked. + +"He certainly is; I am so glad! and I will tell him you asked +so earnestly about him, and that will make him better still. +Yes, we will get away now from this dismal place some time, I +do believe. Do go and lie down, Daisy; and I will send you +some lemonade." + +The lemonade stood by me all day; while I thought of the smoke +and the conflict to which no refreshment could come. I could +not touch the lemonade. + +I cannot tell now whether that day was Friday or Saturday. I +have tried to recollect, and I cannot. I am not sure whether +it was not Thursday. But I know it was Saturday evening when +the next thing happened which stands clear in my memory. I was +in my own room, forlornly endeavouring to work some worsted +embroidery; - though the sickness of my heart seemed to find +its way into my fingers, and it was with pain and difficulty +that they pulled the needle in and out. It was only more +difficult to sit still and do nothing; and to read was +impossible. I sat drawing the wool through the canvass-drawing +long threads of thought at the same time - when Mrs. Sandford +burst in. + +"Daisy! - they say McDowell has had a bad time - they have +driven him back, or something; isn't it dreadful! - and there +you sit embroidering as quiet as can be. But bless me, child! +you haven't a bit of colour. Washington will kill us all yet." + +"Who told you?" + +"Doctor Barnard says it's so; it's all through the city. And +if the rebels get the better of McDowell, they'll come +straight here, Daisy, and take Washington. Oh, I wish Grant +was well enough to set right off to-morrow! but he isn't. How +can you be so quiet? I tell you, our army has been repulsed, +and how bad it is nobody knows." + +"We had better wait till somebody does know," I said. "We have +had repulses before. There was Big Bethel - and Vienna - and a +great many." + +"But this is McDowell and the great army; and Beauregard has +hosts at his back." + +"Well! -" I said. + +"But you are dreadfully pale, Daisy. How can you keep so +quiet? What are you made of?" + +"I do not think they will take Washington," I said. "I am in +no hurry, for my part, to get away. Look - do you say maroon +or dark purple for this bit of grounding? I cannot make up my +mind." + +Mrs. Sandford dived into the purples and browns of my coloured +wools; came back again to McDowell and Beauregard, but came +back quieted, and presently left the room. Then, I put down my +needle and laid my head on the table, and shook from head to +foot with the trembling she had given me. And a longing to see +Christian took possession of me; a sick, crying thirst for the +sight, if it were only for a minute; the impatient agony of +self-will. Necessity's bands and manacles put it down after a +time. + +The next day was Sunday. I went to church alone, and with my +usual average of calm. But I heard some one say to his +neighbour, that there was a great battle going forward - with +what promise nobody knew. The words sent me home with a sort +of half breath. I avoided Mrs. Sandford, took no dinner; and +in the afternoon feverishly crept out to church again. The air +seemed to me full of bodings. Yet I heard nothing. I saw +people whisper each other, and nod; I thought good news was +given and received, and I breathed a little easier. It was not +till I was coming out from the service that any one spoke to +me. I found myself then near a gentleman whom we knew. + +"Glorious news, Miss Randolph!" he half whispered. "General +Scott will dine with a good appetite to-day." + +"What is the news" + +"Oh, a great victory! We have not got the details yet, of +course; but it seems all is going right." + +"It _seems_ going right." + +"Yes. You know we have not details yet. There's been heavy +fighting, though." + +"Is it a general engagement?" + +"Oh, yes! All in that could be in. And some that had no +business to be in. They say, Johnston has reinforced +Beauregard; but they are totally routed, I believe. So it is +said." + +"Who says it?" + +"The accounts from the battlefield, I presume. They are coming +in all the time. The Nation has triumphed. I congratulate you. +I know you are loyal. Mrs. Sand- ford will be rejoiced. Good +afternoon." + +It was too sudden, too soon, and too confused. I could not +breathe freely yet. Johnston reinforced Beauregard? That was +just what Patterson was expected to prevent; ought to have +prevented. Then, probably, Patterson had done no fighting? I +was pondering, when I suddenly found Major Fairbairn beside +me. He belonged with the troops left to guard Washington. + +"Oh, Major," said I, "what is the news?" + +"Firing down in Virginia, -" said the major, laconically. + +"Is it true, that a battle has been won by McDowell?" + +"I wish it were," said he; "but in general it is safe not to +speak of a fight till it is over." + +"Then it is not over?" + +"I have not heard that it is." + +"But they tell me a fight has been won." + +"They tell every conceivable thing in war-time," said the +major. "Don't you know that? It is safe to believe nothing." + +"Has Johnston joined Beauregard?" + +"I am afraid he has. The advices seem to put that beyond +disbelief." + +"You are _afraid!_ Then the news means nothing to you; nothing +good, I mean?" + +"The rumours mean nothing to me," said the major, smiling. +"The reliable news is really, so far, not much. It is certain +there is a battle going on, Miss Randolph, and a battle along +the whole line. And it is certain that Patterson had orders to +follow up Johnston, and keep him from troubling us. And I am +afraid it is also certain that he has not done it - confound +him! Excuse me; but a man who don't obey orders deserves to +have people swear at him, Miss Randolph." + +I left the major at a corner, and before I got home, another +acquaintance informed me that the victory was undoubted, +though severely purchased, and that the city was in a state of +exultation. I did not know what to think. I said as little as +possible to Mrs. Sandford; but later in the evening Dr. +Barnard came with the details of the day, and the added +intelligence that since seven o'clock the firing had +recommenced. + +"What for? if the victory is sure?" said Mrs. Sandford; and I +went to my room feeling that it was not sure. Nevertheless I +slept that night. I cannot tell why, or how. Whether it were +most akin to weariness or despair, I slept, and quietly, and +the whole night through. But I know very well that I awaked +with a full sense that it was not to quietness nor peace. I +took up my burden as I got out of bed. + +My room was at the back of the house. Consequently I heard and +saw nothing of the outer world till I came down to the +breakfast-room. Nobody was there yet, and I went to the +window. The first thing I saw then made my heart stand still. +A group was gathered just before the window, on the sidewalk. +In the midst a soldier, one of a gay Zouave regiment, not at +all gay now, stood talking to a little crowd of listeners; +talking in a pouring rain, which nobody seemed to care about. +He was wet; his bright uniform was stained and draggled; he +had no musket; and his tasseled cap sat on a head which in +every line and movement expressed defeat and disgrace. So they +all listened who stood around; I read it as well as if I had +heard the words they were hearing. I saw dejection, profound +sorrow, absorbed attention, utter forgetfulness of present +bodily discomfort. I noticed that one man who carried an +umbrella had put it down, and stood listening in the rain. +Occasionally the soldier raised his arm to eke out his words +with a gesture; and then moved a step as if to go on, but they +closed around him again and staid him with eager questions or +urgings. I was very near throwing up the sash to ask what it +all was; and then I thought, what matter! I should know soon +enough, But I could not move from the window; and Mrs. +Sandford entering and seeing me there came and looked over my +shoulder. I did not know it, till I heard her - + +"Good Heavens! - Daisy, my dear, what is the matter?" + +"We shall hear presently," I said, turning away from the +window. + +"But what is it?" - And Mrs. Sandford first took my place, and +then did what I had been tempted to do; - threw up the sash. + +"What is the matter?" she said. "Is there news. Men, is there +news?" + +I do not know what was answered; I did not hear; I had gone +into the middle of the room; but Mrs. Sanford closed the +window presently and came to me, looking even pale. A rare +thing for her. + +"Daisy, there is trouble," she said. + +"Yes, -" I answered. + +"How do you know? They say - they say, the army is all cut to +pieces!" + +I could not speak about it. We knew nothing yet; but Mrs. +Sandford went on - + +"He says, everybody is killed. All routed and destroyed, the +army is. Can it be possible?" + +I thought it was very possible: I never had doubted but that +the Southerners - as a body - were the best fighters. But I +said nothing; while Mrs. Sandford poured out sorrows and fears +and speculations in a breath. I could have smiled, but that I +could not have smiled. We stood still, looking at each other, +nobody remembering breakfast. I was thinking, if the cause was +lost, where would Mr. Thorold be then. And I ceased to hear +Mrs. Sandford. + +"But Daisy!" she said suddenly - "the other army - +Beauregard's - they will be here directly to take Washington, +if all this is true; and it must be true; or that soldier +would not have been out there in the rain. They will be coming +here directly, Daisy. And, bless me! how wicked I am! You are +standing there, patient and pale, and you have had no +breakfast. Come here and let me give you some coffee. Grant +said he would be down to dinner perhaps; and how angry he +would be." + +We drank cups of coffee, but I do not think either of us broke +bread. + +That was a weary day. All the day long new groups were forming +and dispersing in the street, telling and talking over the +news; groups of all sorts. Soldiers discoursing to audiences +like the one in the morning; knots of officers; twos and +threes of business men; debating, inquiring, discussing; all +under the dark rain, all with downcast faces and dispirited +bearing. Late in the day Major Fairbairn called. He somewhat +reassured us. The carnage was not so great; the loss not so +tremendous, as we had at first been told; the damage done not +so absolutely overwhelming. + +"Then you do not think Beauregard will come and take +Washington?" Mrs. Sandford asked. + +"I don't know!" the major said, with a smile. "He must be +quick about it, or it will be too late." + +"But is this a final settling of the question, Major +Fairbairn?" I inquired. "That is what I want to know." + +"We have been whipped," he said, looking at me. + +"Yes, I know; but the North - will they take this as a +settlement of the question?" + +"The North!" echoed the Major. "Will they give up, you mean? +Not just yet! The Government does not feel like it. Do you?" + +"I am so ignorant -" I answered. + +"You must be, - pardon my saying so. Not at all. The sting of +the whip will make us move faster. Orders are issued already +for the reinforcement and reorganisation of the army. General +McClellan is to take command here; and we will get things upon +a new basis." + +"Is McClellan the man we want?" Mrs. Sandford inquired. + +"I cannot say. If he is not, we will wait for another." + +"You are very cool, Major Fairbairn!" said the lady. + +"It is the best plan, in July." + +"But it is very hard to keep cool." + +The major smiled and looked at me. + +"What has Patterson been doing all this while?" I asked. +Smiles died out of the major's face. + +"_He_ has kept cool," he said. "Easy - when a man never was +warm." + +"And you think, major," said Mrs. Sandford, "you really think +that the truth is not so bad as it has been reported. Why, Mr. +May was positive the rebels would come and take Washington. +You think there has not been such dreadful loss of life after +all?". + +"A tenth of the story will be nearer the mark," said the +major. "But we shall know more particulars to-morrow; and I +will step in again, as I can, and let you know what I know. I +must not stay now." And with a bow to me, the major went. + +I did not stop then to inquire what his bow meant. Nor did I +hear Mrs. Sandford's long string of comments and speculations, +any further than was necessary to enable me to reply from time +to time with some show of connectedness. I was eagerly +calculating chances, without any basis of data to go upon. +Trying to conjecture General Patterson's probable coming duty, +and to what it might lead. If his foe had disappeared from +before him, must he not follow on this way, where (I thought) +men were so imperatively needed? If he came, there would be +fighting for him, certainly, the next time! Beauregard would +muster again for the fray; I knew that; and it seemed the +Union army was going to make ready also on its side. If +Patterson and his command staid where he was, to take care of +that part of the country, perhaps it might be a bloodless +charge for a while; it might, till the two grand armies should +encounter once more, and one or the other get the mastery. +Then, how long might it be, before these two armies would be +ready to try another, a third tussle together? and would Mr. +Thorold be willing to stay permanently where inaction would be +his portion? Twenty such incongruous unreasonable questions I +was mooting and turning over, while Mrs. Sandford's running +fire of talk made it impossible for me to think to any +conclusion. + +When I went up to my room, however, and got free of her, I sat +down to it. There had been no fighting for this bout in that +part of the army where Patterson commanded and where Thorold +served. So far he had escaped. Now, if Patterson could only be +kept in that region, for a little time, and the question +between the North and South be brought to an issue meanwhile +and decided here - + +I was in a fever of hope and fear, cogitating deeply things +which I had no means of knowing or settling, when the question +suddenly occurred to me, What was I doing? What was I doing? +Only, trying to arrange the wheels of Providence; trying to +make peace and war; to kill and to keep alive. I was taking +and bearing on my shoulders the burden of the nation's armies +and of their destiny. It fell on my heart all at once, what I +was doing. And my nerves were straining, even now, to throw +around my beloved the shield of circumstances; to keep him +where he would be safe; to put my hand between his life and a +blow. Could Daisy do that? Was her arm long enough, or her eye +enough far-seeing? In despair and in humiliation both, I fell +on my knees. _This_ must be given up. I must leave armies and +battles, yes and every several bullet and cannon ball, yes, +yes, and more; I must leave Mr. Thorold's life and heart in +other hands than mine. I must put the care of them out of +mine; I must give up even the thought of shielding him, or +arranging for him. More. Yes, though it pressed upon my heart +with the great difficulty, I must be willing to have God do, +with him and with me, just what He pleased. How else could I +live, with the struggle before me? How else could I live at +all as a believing and obedient child of God? "I must," and "I +will," are not words for a child to say. + +My heart, my heart, how it died within me as I saw my duty! as +I saw that it behoved me to give up all, and then wait in +patience to see what the Lord would let me have. My heart died +first, and then rose again to the struggle. But those only +know what a struggle it is, who, have tried. It seems to me, +most people, even Christians, do not try. Yet, to "forsake +all," the test of discipleship, what is it but to cease saying +"I must" and "I will," about anything, and to hold everything +thenceforth at the will of God. I spent that night on my +knees, when I was not walking the floor. I spent it in tears +and in pleading the promises; sometimes almost in despair. But +I reached at last a place of great calm. I gave up insisting +upon my own will; and though with every nerve of affection +throbbing, as it were, I gave up the care of myself and of +Thorold; I gave up the disposal of the lives of both. And when +the calm was once reached, it grew deeper and quieter, and the +throbbing nerves were stilled, and a great burden was taken +off my shoulders. And then, the sense of a love better than +mine, and of a power stronger than mine, stole over my heart +with an infinite sweetness; the parched and thirsty places of +my spirit seemed to catch the dews of heaven; and still +soothed and quieted more and more, I went to sleep with my +head upon the bed's side, where I was kneeling. + +CHAPTER VII. + +DETAILED FOR DUTY + + +I awaked in the peace of one who has laid his burden down. My +joints were a little stiff, from the position in which I had +slept; my mind was set free. The charge of the rival armies +and their conflicts was no longer on my shoulders; even the +care of individual life and safety I thought no longer to +secure. Myself I was a soldier, in a different army; and I had +been forgetting my business and presuming into the General's +province. No wonder my nerves were strained and my heart +almost broken. That was now all given up; and I went through +my morning duties in a quiet that was profound, if it was also +very humble. I had found the only harbour of rest that can be +found on the shores of this world; that one which is entered +by paying the tribute of one's self-will. The tides of the +great sea do not rise and fall there; the anchorage is good; +the winds that weep over the waters bring balm with them; and +the banner that floats at the entrance bears this inscription +- + +"He shall not be afraid of evil tidings; his heart is fixed, +trusting in the Lord." + +The first thing I heard from Mrs. Sandford was that he doctor +was almost well, and would come down stairs after breakfast. I +knew what that portended for me; thought I knew; but as I +said, I had given up the management of myself and my concerns. +"If ye be not able to do that thing which is least, why take +ye thought for the rest?" I got my worsted and sat down stairs +at my work, to be ready to see the doctor when he should come. +Mrs. Sandford took post at the window; and so we waited. The +weather to-day was clear and bright; the street full yet of +motley groups, returned soldiers and gathered civilians, +looking however far less dismal than the day before. Mrs. +Sandford from the window detailed all she saw; while my +worsted needle went in and out to an interrupted refrain - "He +shall not be afraid of evil tidings" - "Why take ye thought?" +- + +Then Mrs. Sandford said, "Here comes the major, Daisy. It +seems to me he is very attentive -" and in the major walked. + +He gave his hand to me, and his eye glanced at the figure in +the window. I could not help the thought that he wished it not +there. But things too far down had been stirred in me, for a +little surface matter like this to move my calm. + +"What news, major?" my friend asked. + +"Good. How do you do, Mrs. Sandford? I told you yesterday that +it would be good." + +"Yes, but how good is it, Major Fairbairn?" + +"Fine." + +"Well, go on and tell us. You are a nice major." + +"Thank you. In the first place, as you may remember I said it +would be, the lists of casualties are greatly reduced." + +"Casualties?" said Mrs. Sandford. "What is that? I am learning +so many new things." + +"The lists of the killed and wounded." + +"Oh! That is what a military man calls _casualties_, Daisy, my +dear." + +"It is the term in common use -" said the major, looking +somewhat taken aback. + +"I know. Pray, Major Fairbairn, have the officers of the army +the reputation of making good husbands and heads of families?" + +"I have always heard that they did," said the major, colouring +a little and by no means free of his astonishment. + +"I don't see how they can have any sympathy for little common +heartaches and headaches, though, when to be run through the +body is such a trifle. They can't, I think, major." + +"But Mrs. Sandford -" + +"For instance," the lady went on, unmercifully, - "for +instance, Miss Randolph has her head taken off by a cannon +ball. The doctor and I are desolate; but Major Fairbairn says +it is a 'casualty.' Or, the doctor himself may be hit by a +shot not intended for him, and put out of charge of his +hospital for ever. Miss Randolph and I are in ashes; but our +friend Major Fairbairn says it is only a 'casualty.' " + +"But _friends_, Mrs. Sandford, -" the major began. + +"Everybody has friends," said Mrs. Sandford. "I was reading in +the paper just now a list of these little accidents. One man +had his leg shattered by a minie ball; it killed him in a few +hours. Another had a charge of grape-shot in his breast; it +struck the spine. _He_ is dead. What is grape-shot, Major +Fairbairn?" + +The major hastily passed to the sideboard in the other room +and brought me a glass of water. + +"Daisy!" Mrs. Sandford exclaimed. "Are you faint, my dear? +These are only casualties. My dear, are you faint? what is the +matter? - Bless me, how white you are! What is it?" + +I drank the water, and struggled back into composure, at least +outwardly; being very much surprised at myself. + +"But what _is_ the matter, Daisy? what is the matter? I have +said nothing in the world. Cannot you bear that?" + +"Major Fairbairn was going to tell us something, ma'am," I +said, endeavouring to throw my thoughts off. + +"That can wait until you are better." + +"No," I said, "do not wait. I am well. What were you going to +say, major?" + +"Only that things are much better than they were supposed to +be yesterday." + +"You said that before. Please go on." + +"Well, it is always so," said the major. "At first all the +stragglers are counted for lost. Then they come in. They are +coming in now, by scores, all the while. Instead of thousands +killed and wounded, it is found to-day that there are but five +or six hundred; and without being particularly hard-hearted, I +rejoice at it. That is part of what I was going to say." + +The major spoke gravely, and looked at me with an anxious +expression. I assured him I was better, and begged him to tell +us the rest. + +"You have put it all out of my head, Miss Randolph. Will you +have - won't you have - something else? - wine? Pardon me, you +have not regained your usual colour." + +"The best thing would be some more of your good news. I have a +great appetite for good news, after yesterday." + +"Naturally. Well, the rest of my news is very good. The +country is answering the call made upon her." + +"The call for fortitude?" said Mrs. Sandford. + +"The call for men, - and for pluck, if you like," said the +major. + +"More men," - said Mrs. Sandford. + +"Certainly. We must have men. And from every quarter, wherever +we have heard, there comes an enthusiastic response. Sixty +thousand new men have been accepted already by the Government; +and they are coming in all the while. There will be a very +great number of fresh arrivals here in a very few days. Miss +Randolph, your question is answered." + +"What question, Major Fairbairn?" + +"Whether the North would give up, you know." + +"I am glad," I said. "I am glad!" + +"And even in saying it, you grow pale again, Daisy. You are +not well!" Mrs. Sandford exclaimed. + +"Perfectly well. These times are exciting." + +"Rather too exciting. I like the excitement that brings the +blood into the cheeks. Do go out and take a walk; you want +fresh air; or yesterday has unstrung your nerves. But you were +so quiet, I thought nothing moved you. Do go and take a walk, +Daisy." + +The major added a quiet word of urging, saying that if I could +go at once, he would see that I did not faint before I got +home. + +I was bewildered, I think, or I should not have gone; but I +wanted to get away from the talk and to feel the fresh air; I +was stifled; and I went. My nervous perturbation was a +surprise to me. I had given up everything, I thought; I was +quite calm, ready for everything. I thought I was; and yet, so +little a word had unsettled me. So I went with the major. And +then, I was brought to myself presently by more than the fresh +air; for I found my friend somewhat too happy in his charge, +and more careful of me than I chose he should think there was +any occasion for. Moreover, I could not bear to accept his +care. I summoned my forces and plunged him into a depth of +political and philosophical discussion which he could not get +out of till he left me again at my own door. I reassured Mrs. +Sandford then; and sat down to my worsted embroidery with a +profound sense of how little my strength was. A few minutes +afterwards Dr. Sandford came in. + +I had not seen him now for several weeks; and I never saw him +look better. It immediately struck me, that with him well, it +mattered comparatively little whether Mr. Thorold and I were +in the same place together or not. Dr. Sandford's clear blue +eye was not to be braved with impunity. No more was it to be +shunned. But I needed not to shun it. I met it full now. I +could, since last night. The disposal of my affairs, if it was +not in me, it certainly was not in him. He met me with a smile +and a look of pleasure; and sat down by me to watch the +progress of my worsted work. So ostensibly; but I soon knew +that he was watching not my work, but me. + +"How have these weeks been with Miss Randolph? Dull?" + +"No," I said; - "not dull." + +"How have they escaped that?" + +"There has been too much to interest, Dr. Sandford." + +"Yet I see you at your Berlin wools. Pardon me - but whenever +I see a lady busy with her needle and a bit of canvass, I +always think she is hard up for something to think of. Pardon +again, Daisy. I know you have no mercy upon slang." + +"See how mistaken you are, Dr. Sandford." + +"In that? Not in that." + +"No; but in your notions about wool and canvass." + +"They are true!" said the doctor. + +"Ah, but, don't you know that extremes meet?" + +"What extremes?" + +"All extremes, perhaps. I have been working worsted; for a +day or two, just because I had so much to think of." + +"They have been exciting days," said the doctor slowly, "to a +sick man who could do nothing." + +"Why not to a woman, for the same reason?" + +"Have they tried you very much, Daisy?" + +"Why, she was turning faint here a little while ago," broke in +Mrs. Sandford, "because I was giving an account of some +wounded soldiers I had read about in the papers; and the major +and I persuaded her to go out and take a walk to recover +herself." + +"The major? - that is indefinite, though you use the definite +article. What major?" + +"Oh, we have a number of military friends. They have kept us +alive since you have been shut up. What is this one, Daisy? He +is a very good one. Major Fairbairn." + +"Fairbairn? I do not know him," said the doctor. + +"It is not necessary that you should know everybody," said his +sister-in-law. "Daisy knows him very well." + +"And likes him -" said the doctor; "or he could not have a +share in persuading Miss Randolph to anything." + +"Yes, I like him," I said. I thought, the more friends in the +army I had, the better; and also, that Dr. Sandford must not +be permitted to push his lines too far. + +"Who _is_ Major Fairbairn?" + +"I do not know; he is from Maine or New Hampshire, I think." + +"Your parents, Daisy, would not desire these Northern +associations for you; would they?" + +I do not know with what calm I faced the doctor and answered +him. "These Northern associations" - the words touched the +innermost beatings of my heart - if such an expression can be +used. Yet I looked at Dr. Sandford in absolute calm, knowing +all that the doctor did not know, and spoke with perfect +composure. + +"I cannot escape them, you know, Dr. Sandford, unless I were +to go over to the enemy's lines; and I cannot do that." + +"I would not wish that," said the doctor. + +"Then your feelings continue all with the Northern men, +Daisy?" + +"All -" I said. + +I went back to my worsted work, but I had a sense that the +doctor was studying me. One cannot judge, of course, of one's +own manner, or know what is in it; so I cannot tell what had +been in mine. The doctor sat and considered me; I thought, in +some perplexity. + +"Daisy's feelings are appreciated and returned by the Northern +men," Mrs. Sandford said, laughing. "Rides and walks - how +many rides and walks have you taken, Daisy, these forlorn +weeks, with officers of the Northern army? Oh! they are not +ungrateful." + +Dr. Sandford made no answer, and when he spoke I knew he was +not making answer to these words. But they startled me. + +"Is there anybody engaged in this struggle, Daisy, that you +are concerned for?" + +"Certainly!" I said; - "several." + +"I was not aware -" the doctor began. + +"Some whom you know, and some whom you don't know, and on both +sides." + +"You have a cousin, I believe, somewhere in the Southern army. +He was at West Point, if I remember." + +"Preston Gary. I do not know where he is now, only he is among +them. They say, he is with Beauregard. I was very fond of him. +Then there is my brother; he either is with them or he will +be; and there are still others." + +"On the Southern side," said the doctor. + +"Those two are on the Southern side," I said. "Others are on +the Northern. I am there myself." + +"Not exactly in the struggle," said the doctor; "and yet, I do +not know. These women!" + +I think the doctor was baffled by my perfect quietness and +readiness. He spoke presently in a disengaged manner, - + +"Mr. Ransom Randolph is in no danger at present. I know from a +word in a late letter from your father, that he is in Europe +still. Would you not like to get out of this confused state of +things, and join them there?" + +"I would like better to go if it was peace here," I said. + +"Would you? Then you are not afraid lest the rebels should +take Washington and confiscate the whole of us?" + +"Major Fairbairn thinks the danger of that is past." + +"He does! However, other dangers might arise -" + +"I knew you would not think Washington very safe ground for +us," Mrs. Sandford rejoined. + +"Mrs. Sandford is at her own risk. But I should hardly be +doing the duty of a good guardian if I risked anything, where +so important a charge is committed to me. I shall get you away +from here without delay. How soon can you both be ready?" + +I wanted to say I was ready, but I could not get out the +words. My two friends debated the matter, and the doctor fixed +his own time. The day after to-morrow. + +It was good for me, that I had given up the charge of my own +interests; or I never could have maintained the ease of manner +which it was desirable to maintain in face of this +proposition. I was very calm, remembering that "a man's heart +deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps." I went on +with my worsted stitching under the eye of the doctor. I do +not know why he watched me so. + +"Has anybody ventured to tell you, Miss Randolph, that you +have changed within a few months?" This question was put after +I had forgotten the doctor and was marching somewhere before a +battery in Patterson's column. I started a little. + +"Yes, indeed! has she not?" exclaimed Mrs. Sandford. "Changed! +She came out of school the dearest little schoolgirl that ever +lived; or I should say, she went back to school so, last year. +What has the year done to you, Daisy?" + +"What _has_ it done to me?" I replied, smiling at her. "How am I +changed?" + +"Changed!" Mrs. Sandford repeated. "Tell her, Grant, what is +she now?" + +"She would not thank me for telling her," said the doctor. + +"But I will thank you, Mrs. Sandford," I said. "I _was_ 'the +dearest little schoolgirl.' " + +"My dear, you are not that now," Mrs. Sandford said solemnly. + +"It all comes to this, Daisy," said the doctor. "You are a +psychological puzzle to me. For the matter of that, now I +think of it, you always were. When you went to visit Molly +Skelton, and carried rose-bushes round the country in your +pony-chaise, just as much as now. You are not the same Daisy, +however." + +"Yes, I am; just the same," I said earnestly. + +"Fancy it!" said Mrs. Sandford. "My dear, you do I not see +yourself; that is clear." + +"I would like to do the same things again," I insisted. But +that nearly choked me. For a vision of myself in my happy +pony-chaise; the free, joyous child that I was, ignorant of +soldiers and wars, further than as I knew my dear Captain +Drummond; the vision of the Daisy that once was, and could +never be again; went nigh to shake all my composure down. The +emotion came with a rush, and I had nearly succumbed to it. + +"Miss Randolph has a philosophy," the doctor went on, still +watching me, - "which is not common to the world, and which I +have hitherto in vain endeavoured to fathom. I have always +fancied that I should be happier if I could find it out." + +"Did I never tell you what it was, Dr. Sandford?" + +"Never - intelligibly. You will excuse me. I do not mean to +accuse you, but myself." + +"But you know what it is," I said, facing him. "My philosophy, +as you call it. It is only, to live for the other world +instead of this." + +"Why not live for this world, while you are in it, Daisy?" + +"I am not going to stay in it." + +"I hope, very long!" said the doctor - seriously. "And do you +not think that people are meant to enjoy this world, while +they have it?" + +"Yes, when they can," I answered; remembering vividly that +enjoyment is not always the rule. "But I enjoy the world +better than you do, Dr. Sandford; because, living for the +other, I take the good of both. And if this fails at any time, +the other - cannot." + +Dr. Sandford's blue eye went as deep into mine, and into me, I +think, as it could; and he did not look satisfied. + +The preparations for our journey were pressed with a diligence +that admitted of no delay, all that day and the next. I was +quietly busy too, thinking that it did not matter; that the +time must come, and as well then as ever. + +I had miscalculated my strength, or my weakness. Or perhaps +the emotional part of our nature is never to be depended on. +That dim morning of our early departure is fixed in my memory +as one of the most heart-sinking times my heart ever knew. My +companions were brisk and bright, in travelling mood, taking +cars and porters and ticket offices and crowds, as pleasant +concomitants of a pleasant affair. Glad to get away from +Washington, both of them. And I, alone in my heart, knew what +a thread was breaking for me; knew that Thorold's path and +mine were starting from that point upon divergent lines, which +would grow but further and further apart every day. Until that +moment I had not realised what it would be, to leave the +neighbourhood of his work and his danger, and cut off all but +the most distant and precarious communication between him and +me; what it would be, too, to him, to know that I was gone. It +did seem then for a minute as if I could not go; as if I must, +as necessity, remain within hailing distance of him, and at +the headquarters of information. But there was another "must," +stronger than mine; I was seated in the car, the whistle blew +its mockery of me; and the slow movement which immediately +followed was the snapping of the thread, - the parting of the +lines. It was something that no human action could stay or +avert now; and the gentle motion soon grew to a whirl of speed +which bore me relentlessly away. The slow pang of that first +stir of the cars, I can feel yet. + +It was a dumb pain at my heart all day. I could not understand +myself. For several days I had been quiet and prepared, I +thought, and submissive; now to-day all was disorder; no +preparedness; no quiet. Instead were heartaches and regrets +and wild wishes; sometimes in dull and steady force, like a +still rain storm; and sometimes sweeping over me with the fury +of a tempestuous blast. I had not strength to resist; my +utmost was to keep a calm front before my friends. I did that, +I think. But what torture is it not, to be obliged to hear and +answer all manner of trifling words, to enter into every +trivial thought, of people at ease around one, when the heart +is bending and bowing under its life burden; to be obliged to +count the pebbles in the way, when one is staggering to keep +one's footing at all. Yes, and one must answer with a +disengaged face, and one must smile with ready lips, and +attention must not wander, and self-absorption for a minute +cannot be allowed. Perhaps it was good for me. + +My companions attended to me well, so that I got no respite +all day. Not till night, when I reached my room; and when I +had respite, I found no rest. It was great relief to put my +head down without fear lest somebody should ask me if it +ached; but all night long I struggled with the pain that had +fought me all day. The next morning I went to find Miss +Cardigan. To my great disappointment she was not at home; and +would not be at home, I was told, under a week. + +I passed slowly in, over the familiar stones of the marble +floor, in through the empty rooms, to the innermost one which +opened upon the little conservatory. That too was stripped of +its beauties; most of the plants were set out in the open +ground, and the scaffolding steps were bare. I turned my back +upon the glass door, which had been for me the door to so much +sweetness, and sat down to think. Not only sweetness. How +strange it was! From Miss Cardigan's flowers, the connecting +links led on straight to all my sorrow and heartache of the +present and perhaps of many future days. They had led me here; +and here Mr. Thorold had said words to me that had bound him +and me together for the rest of our lives, and made his +welfare my welfare. And now, he was in the shock of +battlefields; and I - afar off - must watch and listen. And I +could not be near and watch. I must be where even good news +would be no news, except of the past; where nobody would speak +to me of Mr. Thorold, and where I could not speak of him to +anybody. I was sure, the more I thought of it, that the only +possible chance for a good issue to our engagement, would be +to wait until the war should be over; and if he persisted in +his determination of speaking to my father and mother before +such a favourable conjuncture, the end would be only disaster. +I somewhat hoped, that the pressure of active duty on his +part, or some happy negligence of post-office officials, or +other contingency, might hinder such a letter as he had +threatened from coming to my father's hands at present. + +Meanwhile, in Miss Cardigan's little room, I struggled for a +right mind. If I was sorrowful, I told myself, I was also +glad. If I pitied myself a little for all that had happened, +it was also true that I would not have undone it - that is, my +part in it, - for the world. I would rather belong to Mr. +Thorold, even through all this pain, than be nothing to him +and have him nothing to me. Yes, even going away on my distant +journey to Europe, the knowledge of his love was a richer +jewel in my heart than any other of earth's jewels that I +carried. So what was I crying about? + +I washed away some of the soreness of the days past in those +tears. And then I came quietly back to my position; willing +that God should dispose of me and do with me what He pleased; +send me away or bring me home; give or take from me. At least +so far I was willing, that I gave up all care-taking and +ceased to struggle. My mood grew even sunshiny as I walked +back to the hotel where we were all stationed. Hope began to +execute little dances before me. + +The doctor was busy now, I understood, with trying to find +some party with whom I might make the journey to Switzerland. +Mrs. Sandford was eager to get back to Melbourne, or its +neighbourhood; I always called the whole region by that name. +How I wished I could be allowed to go with her, and wait there +till an opportunity offered for my further journey! But such +were not the views of my guardian. + +"Here's devotion!" exclaimed Mrs. Sandford as I came in to tea +one evening. "My dear, he says he will go with you himself." + +"Where? - who?" I asked. + +"Why, Grant, to be sure. He says he will go with you, himself, +and then his mind will be easy." + +"How can he?" I said. "An army surgeon, - how can he get +away?" + +"Yes, and in war-time," said Mrs. Sandford. "But the truth is, +that he needs to get away, he says; he is not fit for duty; +and the voyage over and back will just set him up. I think it +is a capital plan, for my part. He won't be gone any length of +time, you know; and indeed he must not; he will just run +across and put you in the hands of your friends; and so your +passage is engaged, Daisy, in the _Persia_. I only wish I was +going along, but I can't. I advise you never to marry Grant. +It ties one up terribly." + +"It does not tie _you_ very close," the doctor answered. + +"When does the _Persia_ go?" I asked. + +"Yes, indeed; that _is_ a question," said Mrs. Sandford. "Just +think - she sails Saturday, and this is Thursday. Only one +single day for you, Daisy; but after all, it is best so. You +can be ready just as well, and the sooner you are off now the +better. I shall miss you dreadfully, though." + +I felt my cheeks turn cold, and I busied myself with my cup of +tea. + +"You are not so eager to be off, Miss Randolph, as my good +sister is to have you," I heard the doctor say. + +"No, not quite. I would like better to go if all this trouble +in the country were ended." + +"That would be to wait some time, I am afraid, said the +doctor, helping himself to a piece of toast. And I do not know +what in his motion and his manner of speech conveyed to me the +notion that he was glad I could not wait. And, my mother's +child though I was, I could not thwart him this time. + +"It is a good time to be away, _I_ think," said Mrs. Sandford. +"I'd keep the news from her, Grant, if I were you. She sits +and studies the papers as if her life were in them." + +"There will be no news on board the steamer," said the doctor. + +Yes, I knew that. The very beginning of my journey was to cut +me off from tidings. How should I get them in Switzerland? And +I must go too without seeing Miss Cardigan. Well, I thought, +nothing can take my best Friend from me. + +CHAPTER VIII. + +DAISY'S POST + + +Dr. Sandford and I stood together on the deck of the steamer, +looking at the lessening shore. I was afraid the doctor should +see how I looked, yet I could not turn my eyes from it. I had +given up the care of myself; I could bear to see America +fading out of my sight; yet it seemed to me as if I left Daisy +and her life there, and as if I must be like a wandering +spirit from another world till I should come back to those +shores again. I would minister to my father and mother, but +nobody would minister to me. And I thought it was very likely +very good for me. Maybe I was in danger of growing selfish and +of forgetting my work and all happiness except my own and +Thorold's. I could do nothing for either of those now; nothing +actively. But I called myself up as soon as that thought +passed through me. I could always pray; and I could be quiet +and trust; and I could be full of faith, hope and love; and +anybody with those is not unhappy. And God is with his people; +and he can feed them in a desert. And with that, I went down +to my stateroom, to sob my heart out. Not altogether in +sorrow, or I think I should not have shed a tear; but with +that sense of joy and riches in the midst of trial; the +feeling of care that was over my helplessness, and hope that +could never die nor be disappointed sin spite of the many +hopes that fail. + +After that, my voyage was pleasant, as every voyage or journey +is when one goes in the Lord's hand and with Him for a +companion. I had no news, as the doctor had said, and I laid +down all the matter of the war; though I was obliged to hear +it talked of very much and in a way that was often extremely +hard to bear. The English people on board seemed to think that +Americans had no feeling on the subject of their country, or +no country to feel about. Certainly they showed no respect for +mine; and though Dr. Sandford and one or two other gentlemen +could and did answer their words well and cogently, and there +was satisfaction in that; yet it was a warfare I did not +choose to enter into unless good breeding could be a defence +on both sides. They abused Mr. Lincoln; how they abused him! +they have learned better since. They abused republics in +general, rejoicing openly in the ruin they affected to see +before ours. Yes, the United States of America and their +boasted Constitution were a vast bubble - no solidity - rather +a collection of bubbles, which would go to pieces by their own +contact. Specially the weight of dislike and maligning fell on +the Northern portion of the country; sympathy was with the +South. These natives of the free British Isles were +unmistakably disposed to cheer and help on a nation of +oppressors, and wished them success. It was some time before I +could understand such an anomaly; at last I saw that the +instinct of self-preservation was at work, and I forgave as +natural, what I could not admire as noble. + +This element in our little society troubled somewhat my +enjoyment of the voyage. I _had_ some patriotic nerves, if I was +an American; and every one of them was often tingling with +disagreeable irritation. Besides, ill-breeding is of itself +always disagreeable enough; and here was ill-breeding in well- +bred people, - worst of all. And I had my own private reasons +for annoyance. A favourite theme with the company was the want +of soldiers or generals at the North, and the impossibility +that a set of mechanics and tradesmen, who knew only how to +make money and keep it, should be able in chivalrous and +gentlemanly exercises to cope with the Southern cavaliers, who +were accustomed to sword and pistol and the use of them from +their youth up. Bull Run, they said, showed what the +consequence must always be, of a conflict between soldiers +with the martial spirit and soldiers without it. It would be +much better and cheaper for the North to succumb at once. I +had Southern prejudice enough to believe there might be a good +deal of truth in this, but I could not bear to hear it or to +think it; for besides the question of country and right, the +ruin of the North would be disaster to Mr. Thorold and me. I +shunned at last all conversation with our English companions, +as far as I could, and bent my thoughts forward to the joyful +meeting which lay before me with father and mother and +brother. Brighter and brighter the prospect grew, as each day +brought it nearer; and I sat sometimes by the hour looking +over the waters and resting my heart in the hope of that +meeting. + +"Almost in, Miss Randolph," said the doctor, coming to my side +one of those times. + +I brought my eyes from the dancing sea, and answered "You are +glad." + +"Very glad." + +"What route will you take, when we get to land?" + +"The shortest." + +"You do not wish to see anything by the way?" + +"I can see enough, after I get to them," I answered. + +"You are at a happy time of life!" the doctor said after a +pause. + +"Are you past it, Dr. Sandford?" I asked, replying, I think, +to something in the tones of his voice. + +"I do not know. I think, yes. Cologne cathedral will never be +to me what it will be to you." + +"What will it be to me?" + +"I wish you would tell me, when you see it." + +"Does it lie in our route?" I asked somewhat eagerly. + +"It can - if you choose." + +"But I should not want to stop to look at it," I said; "and I +could not see it without stopping, I suppose." + +"I suppose not. Well, we will push forward as fast as +possible. To Lausanne, is it?" + +"They _were_ at Lausanne. They were talking of going to +Lucerne." + +"To stay?" + +"For some time, I think. Papa was getting tired of Lausanne. +We shall know as soon as we reach our port." + +"Wonderful things will crowd upon you now, Daisy," the doctor +said meditatively. "And you are as ready for them as ever." + +"Don't they crowd upon everybody?" I said, remembering what +strange ones life had lately brought to me. + +"Everybody does not see them - does not know it. You have this +peculiarity, that you will not fail to note every one that +comes within your knowledge. Europe will be a wonder gallery +to you. And life, perhaps." + +"Oh, life is now, Dr. Sandford." + +He had been looking very grave. He smiled at me then, one of +his bright, winsome smiles that the child Daisy used to get. +It made my heart sore with longing for him, and sorrow. + +"Isn't it a wonder, that I live, and that I shall live for +ever?" I said. "That this world is only the portal to glory? +Isn't it a wonder, that there is a highway from these low +grounds to Heaven's court, and that the gates of brass and +bars of iron that stopped the way, are broken asunder? Isn't +it a wonder, that the Prince of Heaven came down to open the +way and to show it to us? and is there any wonder so great, as +that, after this, any mortal should refuse to walk that way?" + +"Grant Sandford, to wit!" said the doctor with an odd +expression, something between pleased and displeased. "I am +afraid, Daisy, he would want an angel to go before him after +all." + +I remember this little talk well, for it puzzled me and did +not seem like Dr. Sandford. I remember nothing else of any +interest till we came to Switzerland and I was near my +journey's end. We had pushed on, sometimes by night and day; +stopping only for necessary meals and refreshment. I wanted no +delay. When we reached the glories of the Swiss mountains, +even yet distant, my mood oddly changed, and I was no longer +in a hurry. My life, I knew, would take a new turn, in among +those mountains somewhere; and it might not, I had a shrewd +suspicion that it would not, be a turn for my ease and +comfort; and even while I was as eager as ever to see my +father and mother, at the same time I was willing to take the +last steps of the way more slowly, and enjoy what I had and +what I hoped for together, before reality should displace +anticipation. This is my understanding of the mood as I look +back to it; at the time I did not reason, but only was +conscious of being ready to linger and willing to lose nothing +of novelty and beauty on my way. However, lingering was not +possible. By one conveyance and another we pushed our way on, +till Lucerne, our place of destination, was reached. + +I saw nothing in the town, almost literally, while we were +making our way through its streets. I was in a breathless +state; my senses could not play, or my mind could receive no +impression from them. It was disappointment and relief too, +when coming to the house where my father and mother lived, we +were told that the family were gone out of town on some +excursion and would not be back till evening. The servants +told us. This was no hotel, but a nice little private house +which my father had hired and where he and my mother were +living entirely at home. + +I knew I was at home, as my feet pressed the stairs going up +to the little drawing-room. "At home." Not since we left +Melbourne had the exquisite sensation come over me. It came +now like a subtle perfume, pervading and surrounding +everything. My eyes filled with tears of great joy, as I +mounted the stairs. I would not let Dr. Sandford see them. He, +I knew, felt like anything but crying for joy. He was +certainly very honestly fond of me and of my company, and I +was grateful for it. + +The servant led us to a little drawing-room, out of which +another opened; over the simple furniture of which my mother's +hand had thrown a spell of grace. And luxurious enjoyment too; +that belonged to her. A soft rug or two lay here and there; a +shawl of beautiful colour had fallen upon a chair-back; +pictures hung on the walls, - one stood on an easel in a +corner; bits of statuary, bronzes, wood-carvings, trifles of +art, mosaics, engravings, were everywhere; and my mother's +presence was felt in the harmony which subdued and united all +these in one delicious effect. My mother had almost an +Oriental eye for colour and harmony. It was like seeing a bit +of her, to be in her room. I lost my head for a moment, +standing in the middle of the floor; then I turned to Dr. +Sandford. + +"Now you are happy," he said, extending his hand - "and I will +leave you." + +"No, Dr. Sandford - you will sit down and be happy too." + +"You could command me to sit down, undoubtedly; but I am +afraid my happiness is beyond your power." + +"I wish it was not!" I said earnestly. "You have been very +good to me, Dr. Sandford." + +His face flushed a little and paled, and the eyes which were +so fond of reading other people's seemed now to shun being +read. I could not understand his expression, but it troubled +me. + +"Happiness is always beyond other people's power," I said; - +"but not beyond one's own." + +"That's your confounded theory!" he answered, bringing the +word out very gingerly and with a little laugh. "I beg ten +thousand pardons, Daisy; but a slight expression of +indignation was an unavoidable indulgence just then. You would +make every one responsible for all the troubles that come upon +him!" + +"No - only for their effect upon his happiness," I ventured, +doubtfully. + +"You think the effect of troubles upon happiness is then +optional!" - he said, with a humorous expression so cool and +shrewd that I could not forbear laughing. + +"I do not mean exactly that." + +"Your words were well chosen to produce that impression." + +"No, Dr. Sandford - yes, perhaps they were; - but the real +truth is, that we may have a happiness that is beyond the +reach of trouble. So much is optional." + +"With Daisy Randolph," said the doctor. "For the rest of the +world, a brown study will never be a golden reflection." He +held out his hand as he spoke. + +"But are you going?" I said; - "before my father and mother +come home?" + +"I will call before I leave Lucerne." + +"How soon do you expect to do that?" + +"Immediately, Daisy; to-morrow. I must hasten back to my post, +you know; before there is another Bull Run, if possible. It is +very good that you are out of the way of such things," he +said, eyeing me earnestly. "The very mention of them - do you +know what it does?" + +"It gives me a great feeling of pain, I know," I said, trying +to rally. + +"It does that, I see. I did not know the power of imagination +was so strong in you. I thought you were rather a literalist." + +"And I think I am," I answered as calmly as I could. "It does +not require much imagination. It did not, when I was in +Washington." + +"It does not now," said the doctor; "for your cheeks have not +got back their colour yet. What banished it, Daisy?" + +It was the old tone and look I used to meet in my childhood, +and to which I always then rendered obedience. For an instant +the spell was upon me now; then I threw it off, shook hands +with the doctor and parted from him with a bow and smile which +told him nothing. And he succumbed in his turn; made me a +profound reverence and left the room. + +My first feeling was of gladness that he was gone. My next +was, the sense that I was under my natural guardians once +more. I felt it with a thrill of delight, even though I had a +full consciousness that I was going to be far less my own +mistress than for some time I had been accustomed to find +myself. Dr. Sandford rather took laws from me, in most things. +This however did not give me much concern. I went round the +rooms to quiet myself, for I was growing more and more +excited. I went studying one by one the objects in the little +home museum, for such those drawing-rooms were to me. I read, +not natural history but family history in them; here my +father's hand had been, here By mother's, leaving some token +of study, or luxury, or art, or feeling. A very handsome +meerschaum seemed to give also a hint of my brother's +presence. The home review did not quiet me; I found it would +not do; I went to the window. And there I sat down +immediately, to hear all that nature said to me; as once Miss +Cardigan's flowers. + +I had expected to see the town; and it was part of the town no +doubt that stretched away before me, but it had rather the +beauty of the country. There was nothing regular in streets or +buildings, nor compact; the houses scattered away down the +hill, standing here and there, alone and in groups, with +fields or pieces of fields intermingling. Pretty houses, with +quaint dormer windows and high sloping roofs. We were on a +height, I found, from which the eye went down delightfully +over this bit of the rambling old town. A courtyard, with +grass and young trees, was the first thing next the house on +this side; which I found was not the front; then the ground +fell sharply, and most of the houses stood upon a level below +bordering the lake. A stretch of the lake lay there, smooth, +still, bearing the reflection of some houses on its opposite +edge; where softened under a misty atmosphere another little +town seemed to rest on a rising bank. And then, just behind +it, rose the mountain, looking down upon lake and towns as if +to forbid a thought of foolishness in any one who should ever +live there. So, in its beautiful gravity, Mont Pilatte seemed +to me, then and always. Are not mountains always witnesses for +God? This first time I saw it, a misty cloud had swept across +the breast of the mountain and hid part of the outline; but +the head lifted itself in sunlight just above the veiling +cloud, and looked down in unspeakable majesty upon the lower +world. Always my eyes went back to that wonderful mountain +head; then fell to the placid lake and the little town +sleeping in misty sunlight on its further border; then caught +the sharp pointed towers of a church or cathedral close by at +my left hand, just within my picture; I could not see the +whole church; then back to the soft veiled mountain. A more +picturesque combination never went into a view. I sat still in +a trance of pleasure, only my eyes moving slowly from point to +point, and my heart and soul listening to the hidden melodies +which in nature's great halls are always sounding. I do +believe, for the matter of that, they are always sounding in +nature's least chambers as well; but there is the tinkle of a +silver bell, and there is the thunder of the great organ. At +any rate I was quieted, comforted, soothed, and entirely +myself again, by the time I had listened to Mont Pilatte for a +couple of hours. + +The day wore on, and the lights changed, and the cloud +deepened on the mountain. The lights had not begun to fade +yet, though it was the time of long shadows, when a little +bustle below and steps on the stairs drew me away from the +window and brought me to my feet; but I stood still. The first +one was mamma, and her first word of course broke the spell +under which I had been standing and brought me into her arms. +And that word I pondered many a time afterwards. It was +simply, "Why, Daisy!" - but the letters put together tell +nothing of what was in the expression. Pleasure and affection +there were, of course; and there was something beside, which I +could not help thinking gave token of gratified surprise. What +should have excited it I do not know, unless it were that my +appearance pleased her better than she had expected. It was +not surprise at my being there, for the servants had told of +that. My father, who was next, said exactly the same words; +but his "Why, Daisy!" had an altogether different expression. +I flung myself into his arms, and then almost broke my heart +with the thought that I had been so long out of them. My +father pressed me very close, and kept very still. I felt my +mother touch me on the shoulder, and heard her tell me not to +be so excited; but I could not mind her. And papa, sitting +down, kept me in his arms and held me fast and kissed me, and +I sobbed myself into content. + +"Is that Daisy?" said mamma. I was sitting on papa's knee yet. +I looked up at her. She was standing beside us. + +"Doesn't she look like it?" my father said, fondly, stroking +my hair. + +"She does not act like it," said my mother. + +But I hid my face in papa's neck at that, and he kissed me +again. + +"Don't you mean to speak to anybody else?" said mamma, with an +amused voice. + +"Nobody else has any right," said papa. I looked up however, +eagerly, and saw what I could only guess was Ransom, he had so +grown and changed. He was looking curious and pleased. I got +up to salute him. + +"Why, Daisy!" said he, returning my embrace with more new than +old emotion as it seemed to me, - "you are a sister of whom a +fellow may be proud." + +"Can't you say as much for him, Daisy?" said my mother. + +"As far as looks go -" I answered slowly, surveying him. He +was excessively handsome, and his mother's own boy in grace of +person and manner. I could see that in the first moment. + +"As far as looks go" - my mother repeated. "_That_ is like +Daisy. Is it the very same Daisy?" + +I looked up at her, and they looked at me. Oddly enough, we +were all silent. Had I changed so much? + +"Mamma, there is the difference between ten and seventeen," I +said. "I don't think there is much other." + +"And between formed and unformed," said my brother Ransom; for +my father and mother were still silent, and I could hardly +bear to meet their eyes. + +"What is formed, and what is unformed?" I asked, trying to +make it a light question. + +"My opinion is not unformed," said Ransom, - "and your destiny +is - formed." + +"Papa," said I, "Ransom is very quick in deciding upon my +destiny." But with that look into each other's eyes, Ransom's +words were forgotten; my father clasped me in a fresh fond +embrace and my head went down upon his shoulder again. And we +were all still. Words are nothing at such times. I think one +rather speaks light words, if any; thoughts are too deep to +come out. At last my mother remarked that our toilettes were +among the unformed things, and suggested that we should go to +our rooms for a little while before dinner. I got up from +papa's knee and followed mamma; and passing Ransom with a +smile, he suddenly clasped me in his arms and kissed me. + +"I am proud of you, Daisy," he whispered. + +Arrived in mamma's room, her tenderness came out after her own +fashion. She examined me; her hands touched me caressingly; +she helped me to dress, although her maid was at hand. + +"You did not tell me you had such beautiful hair," she said, +when I had unbound it to put it in order. + +"Mamma!" I laughed. "Why should I?" + +"And there are a great many other things you have not told +me," she went on. I had to control myself to prevent a start, +though her words meant nothing. + +"Of course, mamma," I answered. + +"Yes; you could hardly have been expected to give me a +catalogue raisonné of your advantages. Do you know them +yourself, Daisy?" + +"Mamma, - I suppose I know some of them." + +"Do you know, for instance, that your skin is exquisite, in +colour and texture?" + +"Mrs. Sandford used to tell me so," I said. + +My mother drew the tips of her fingers over my cheek. + +"And now, at my saying that, comes a little rose hue here, as +delicate as the inside of a shell. But you have lost all the +look of delicate condition, Daisy; this is the colour of +perfect health." + +"Dr. Sandford has taken care of me, mamma." + +"Your father trusted a great deal to Dr. Sandford. Do you +think his trust was well placed?" + +"Nobody could have taken more care of me, mamma. Dr. Sandford +has been very good." + +"He always was your favourite," she remarked. + +"Well, mamma, he deserved all I have given him." + +"Don't give anybody much, - unless I bid you," my mother said, +laughingly. "Daisy, you have matured better even than I ever +thought you would, or than your aunt Gary told me. Your figure +is as good as ever mine was." + +She took up one of my hands, looked at it, kissed it, and as +she let it drop asked carelessly, - + +"What has become of Preston now?" + +I felt as if breakers were all around me. "He has joined the +Southern army," I said. + +"When did you see him?" + +"Not since a year ago." + +"Where then?" + +"At West Point, mamma. He only graduated this spring." + +"Were you long at West Point?" + +"Yes, ma'am - some weeks." + +"Dr. Sandford did not show remarkable care in that." + +"He thought so, mamma, for he found me not well, and took me +away immediately from school, without waiting for the term to +close. Mrs. Sandford and he, were going to West Point - and so +-" + +"West Point did you good?" + +"I grew well there." + +"Your aunt tells me, your voice is very uncommon, Daisy. Is +she right in that?" + +"Mamma - you can judge better than I. It is not so easy for me +to judge how it sounds." + +"You know how it sounds to you." + +"Yes, but then I am thinking of the music. I cannot tell, +mamma, how it sounds to other people." + +"Well, we shall be able to judge by and by," my mother said, +in a satisfied tone. "Your speaking voice is as calm and sweet +as I ever heard." + +"_Calm?_ mamma," I said, laughing. + +"Yes, child. Don't you know most people's voices have a little +thread, if it is not more, of sharpness or roughness, coming +out somewhere. It is sure to come out somewhere; in one form +of speech or another; with some people it only appears in the +laugh, and they should never laugh. Your voice is like a chime +of bells." And my mother took me in her arms, half-dressed as +I was, and pressed her lips full upon mine; looking into my +face and playing with me and smiling at me; finishing with +another pressure of her mouth to mine. + +"Your lips are very sweet," she said, with a half sigh. "I +wonder who else will think so!" + +And if one bit of vanity or self-exaltation could have been +stirred in my thoughts, though it were by my mother's praises, +these last words banished it well. I was sobered to the depths +of my heart; so sobered, that I found it expedient to be busy +with my dressing, and not expose my face immediately to any +more observations. And even when I went down stairs, my +father's first remark was, - + +"It is the same Daisy!" + +"Did you doubt it, papa?" I asked, with a smile. + +"No, my pet." + +"Then why do you say that as soon as I make my appearance!" + +"I can hardly tell - the consciousness forced itself upon me. +You are looking at life with a microscope, - as of old." + +"With a microscope, papa!" + +"To pick up invisible duties and find out indiscernible +dangers -" + +"When one is as old as I am," I said, "there is no need of a +microscope to find out either dangers or duties." + +"Ha!" said my father, folding me in his arms - "what dangers +have you discovered, Daisy?" + +"I believe they are everywhere, papa," I said, kissing him. + +"Not here," he said, fondly; "there shall be none here for +you." + +"Mr. Randolph," said mamma, laughing, "if Daisy is to be meat +and drink as well as scenery to you, we may as well dispense +with the usual formalities; but I hope you will condescend to +look at dinner as usual." + +CHAPTER VIII. + +SKIRMISHING + + +That first dinner at home! how strange and sweet it was. So +sweet, that I could scarcely hear the note of the little +warning bell down in the bottom of my heart. But mamma had +struck it up stairs, and its vibrations would not quite be +still. Yet there was a wonderful charm in my own home circle. +The circle was made larger in the evening, by the coming in of +two of Ransom's friends, who were also, I saw, friends of my +father and mother. They were two Southern gentlemen, as I +immediately knew them to be; MM. de Saussure and Marshall, +Ransom's worthy compeers in the line of personal appearance +and manner. De Saussure especially; but I liked Marshall best. +This I found out afterward. The conversation that evening +naturally went back to America which I had just come from, and +to the time of my leaving it, and to the news then new there +and but lately arrived here. I had to hear the whole Bull Run +affair talked over from beginning to end and back again. It +was not so pleasant a subject to me as to the rest of the +company; which I suppose made the talk seem long. + +"And you were there?" said Mr. de Saussure, suddenly appealing +to me. + +"Not at Manasses," I said. + +"No, but close by; held in durance in the capital, with +liberators so near. It seems to me very stupid of Beauregard +not to have gone in and set you free." + +"Free?" said I, smiling. "I was free." + +"There will be no freedom in the country, properly speaking, +until that Northern usurper is tossed out of the place he +occupies." + +"That will be soon," said my mother. + +"In what sense is Mr. Lincoln a usurper?" I ventured to ask. +"He was duly elected." + +"Is it possible Daisy has turned politician?" exclaimed my +brother. + +"He is not a usurper," said Mr. Marshall. + +"He is, if being out of his place can make him so," said De +Saussure; "and the assumption of rights that nobody has given +him. By what title does he dare shut up Southern ports and +send his cut-throats upon Southern soil?" + +"Well, they have met their punishment," my father remarked. +And it hurt me sorely to hear him say it with evident +pleasure. + +"The work is not done yet," said Ransom. "But at Bull Run +rates - 'sixty pieces of splendid cannon' taken, as Mr. Davis +says, and how many killed and prisoners? - the mud-sills will +not be able to keep it up very long. Absurd! to think that +those Northern shopkeepers could make head against a few dozen +Southern swords." + +"There were only a few dozen swords at Manasses," said De +Saussure. "Eighteen thousand, Mr. Davis puts the number in his +Richmond speech; and the Northern army had sixty thousand in +the field." + +"A Richmond paper says forty thousand instead of eighteen," +Mr. Marshall remarked. + +"Mr. Russell, of the London _Times_, estimated Beauregard's +force at sixty thousand," I said. + +"_He_ don't know!" said De Saussure. + +"And Mr. Davis does not know," I added; "for the whole loss of +cannon on the Northern side that day amounted to but +seventeen. Mr. Davis may as well be wrong in one set of facts +as in another. He said also that provisions enough were taken +to feed an army of fifty thousand men for twelve months." + +"Well, why not?" said Ransom, frowning. + +"These gentlemen can tell you why not." + +"Pretty heavy figures," said Mr. Marshall. + +"Why are they not true, Miss Randolph?" Mr. de Saussure asked, +bending as before a most deferential look upon me. + +"And look here, - in what interest are you, Daisy?" my brother +continued. + +"Nothing is gained by blinking the truth anywhere, Ransom." + +"No, that is true," said my father. + +"Daisy has been under the disadvantage of hearing only one +side lately," my mother remarked very coolly. + +"But about the provisions, Miss Randolph?" Mr. De Saussure +insisted, returning to the point with a willingness, I +thought, to have me speak. + +"Mamma says, I have heard only one side," I answered. "But on +that side I have heard it remarked, that twelve thousand +wagons would have been required to carry those provisions to +the battlefield. I do not know if the calculation was +correct." + +Mr. De Saussure's face clouded for an instant. My father +seemed to be pondering. Ransom's frowns grew more deep. + +"What side are you on, Daisy?" he repeated. + +"She is on her own side, of course," my mother said. + +"I hope there is no doubt of that, Mrs. Randolph," said Mr. +Marshall. "Such an enemy would be very formidable! I should +begin to question on which side I was myself." + +They went off into a long discussion about the probable +movements of the belligerent parties in America; what might be +expected from different generals; how long the conflict was +likely to last, and how its certain issue, the discomfiture of +the North and the independence of the South, would be +attained. Mingled with this discussion were laudations of +Jefferson Davis, scornful reviling of President Lincoln, and +sneers at the North generally; at their men, their officers, +their money, their way of making it and their way of spending +it. Triumphant anticipations, of shame and defeat to them and +the superb exaltation of the South, were scattered, like a +salt and pepper seasoning, through all the conversation. I +listened, with my nerves tingling sometimes, with my heart +throbbing at other times; sadly inclined to believe they might +be right in a part of their calculations; very sadly sure they +were wrong in everything else. I had to keep a constant guard +upon my face; happily my words were not called for. My eyes +now and then met papa's, with a look that gave and received +another sort of communication. When the evening was over, and +papa was folding me in his arms to bid me good-night, he +whispered, - + +"You and I cannot be on two sides of anything, Daisy?" + +"Papa - you know on what side of most things I am -" I replied +to this difficult question. + +"Do I? No, I do not know that I do. What side is it, Daisy?" + +"On the Lord's side, papa, when I can find out what that is." + +"Make me sure that you have found it, and I will be on that +side too," he said, as he kissed me. + +The words filled me with a great joy. For they were not spoken +in defiance of the supposed condition, but rather, as it +seemed to me, in desire and love of it. Had papa come to that? +The new joy poured like a flood over all the dry places in my +heart, which had got into a very dry state with hearing the +conversation of the evening. I went to bed tired and happy. + +Nevertheless I awoke to the consciousness that I had a nice +piece of navigation before me, and plenty of rough water in +all probability. The best thing would be for me to be as +silent as possible. Could I be silent? They all wanted to hear +what I would say. Every eye had sought mine this past evening. + +I was the first in the breakfast-room, and papa was the next. +We were alone. He took me tenderly in his arms and held me +fast, looking at me and kissing me by turns. + +"Are you well now, papa?" I asked him. "Are you quite well +again?" + +"Well enough," he answered; "not just as I was once." + +"Why not, papa?" + +"I have never quite got over that unlucky fall. It has left my +head a little shaky, Daisy; and my strength - Never mind! you +are my strength now, my pet. We should have gone home before +this, only for the troubles breaking out there." + +I leaned my head upon his breast, and wished the troubles were +not! What a division those troubles made, unknown to him, +between his heart's happiness and mine - yes, between him and +me. Mamma came in and looked at us both. + +"It is a very pretty picture," she said. And she kissed me, +while papa did not let me out of his arms. "Daisy, you are a +beauty." + +"She is a great deal better than a beauty," said my father. +"But, now I look at you, Daisy - yes, you _are_ a beauty, +certainly." + +They both laughed heartily at the colour which all this raised +in my face. + +"Most exquisite, her skin is," said my mother, touching my +cheek. "Did you ever see anything superior to it, Mr. +Randolph? Rose leaves are not any better than that. Pshaw, +Daisy! - you must get accustomed to hear people say it." + +"Nobody shall say it to me, mamma, but you." + +"No," said my father. "That is my view of it, too." + +"Nonsense!" said mamma - "there are a thousand ways of doing +the same thing, and you cannot stop them all. Your hair is as +fine as possible, too, Daisy, although it has not had me to +take care of it." + +"But I did just as you told me with it, mamma," I said. + +She kissed me again. "Did nobody ever tell you you were +beautiful?" she asked archly. "Yes, I know that you did just +as I told you. You always did, and always will. But did you +not know that you were beautiful?" + +"Speak, Daisy," said papa. Said as it was with a smile, it +brought childish memories vividly back. + +"Mamma," I said, "I have heard something of it - and I suppose +it may be true." + +They laughed, and mamma remarked that I was human yet. "There +is a difference between the child and the woman, you will +find, Mr. Randolph." + +Papa answered, that it was no very remarkable token of +humanity, to have eyes and ears. + +"Daisy's eyes were always remarkable," said my mother. + +"But, mamma," said I, "in other things there is no difference +between the child and the woman. My outside may have altered - +my mind is not changed at all; only grown." + +"That will do," said mamma. + +I was obliged to leave it to time, and hoped to make myself so +pleasant that what I could not change in me might be at least +tolerated, if it were not approved. It seemed an easy task! I +was such a manifest subject of joy, to father and mother, and +even Ransom too. A newly discovered land, full of gold, is not +more delightfully explored by its finders, than I was watched, +scrutinised, commented on, by my family. + +That first day, of course, they could not let me out of their +sight. It was nothing but talk, all day long. In the evening +however our last evening's guests reappeared. The conversation +this time did not get upon American politics, so everybody +showed to better advantage; I suppose, myself included. We had +music; and the gentlemen were greatly delighted with my voice +and my singing. Mamma and papa took it very coolly until we +were left alone again; then my mother came up and kissed me. + +"You have done your duty, Daisy, in improving your voice," she +said. "You are a Daisy I am perfectly satisfied with. If you +can sing as well in public as you have done to-night in +private, papa will be proud of you." + +"In public, mamma?" I said. + +"Yes. That does not frighten you. Nothing does frighten you." + +"No, mamma, but - what do you mean by 'in public'?" + +"Not on the stage," said mamma. + +"But mamma, - papa," - I said, anxiously, "this is what I want +you to understand. I will do anything in the world you wish me +to do; only, I am - I must be, - you know, - a servant of +Christ." + +"I said nothing against that," my mother replied. But my +father, clasping me in his arms, whispered, - + +"We will be servants together, Daisy." + +That word sent me to bed with a whole heartful of +thankfulness. I could bear anything now, if his words meant +what I hoped they did. And I should have security, too, +against any too great trial of my affection and duty to him +and to mamma. + +An expedition had been arranged for the next day; in which my +brother and his friends were to take me upon the lake. Mamma +and papa would not go. It was a day, in one sort, of such +pleasure as I had never known till then. The beautiful water, +the magnificent shores of the lake, the wonderful lights on +the mountains, almost took me out of this world; to which they +seemed scarcely to belong. I cannot tell what a pang in the +midst of this pleasure the thought of Mr. Thorold brought with +it. The life I was living now was so very far from his life, +and so unlike; my part of the world was now so very distant +from his, - there was such an abyss between; - and yet the +Swiss hills were so glorious, and I was enjoying them. I began +to wonder, as we were sailing towards home in the end of the +day, what work I had to do in this new and strange place; why +was I here? Perhaps, to learn patience, and have faith grow +strong by trial, while all my life hopes waited upon a will +that I did not know and must trust. Perhaps, to stand up for +Christian truth and simplicity in the face of much opposition. +Perhaps, to suffer, and learn to bear suffering. + +"You are fatigued, Miss Randolph?" said the soft voice of De +Saussure. + +"Or beauty of scenery, so much beauty, makes you melancholy," +said Mr. Marshall. "It always makes me so, if I let myself +think of it." + +"Why should it make any one melancholy?" I asked. "I think +beauty has the contrary effect." + +"A little beauty. But very great and wonderful loveliness - I +don't know why, it always moves me so. It is something too far +beyond me; it is unlike me; it seems to belong to another +stage of being, while I am held fast in this. It mocks me, - +somehow." + +"It does not do so with me," I said. + +"Ah, it is your world!" De Saussure said, laughing. "It could +not do so with you very well." + +"But look at Mont Pilatte now," resumed Mr. Marshall, - "with +that crown of light on its brow; - does it not give you the +feeling of something inapproachable - not literally but +spiritually, - something pure, glorious, infinite - something +that shames us mortals into insignificance?" + +I looked, and I thought I knew why he felt as he did; but I +did not think I could explain it to him just then. + +"Have you a little of my feeling?" he said again. "Do you +understand it?" + +"I understand it, I think," I said. + +"And do not share it at all?" + +"No, Mr. Marshall. Of course, the mountain is great, and I am +small; but the purity, and the glory, - that is not beyond +reach; and no human being ought to be insignificant, and none +need be." + +"Not if his life is insignificant?" + +"Nobody's life ought to be that," I answered. + +"How can it be helped, in the case of many a one?" + +"Yes indeed," said De Saussure; "there is a question. I should +like to hear Miss Randolph answer it." + +One spoke lightly and the other earnestly. It was not easy to +answer them both. + +"I should like to have you define insignificance first," I +said. + +"Can there be a more significant word?" said Mr. De Saussure. +"It defines itself." + +"A life of insignificance, is a life that does not signify +anything," Mr. Marshall added. + +"Most people's lives signify something," I said, stupidly, my +thoughts running on far ahead of my words. + +"Yes, to somebody in the corner at home," Mr. Marshall said, +"whose affection cannot make a true estimate. But do most +people's lives signify anything, except to some fond judgment +of that sort?" + +"Who is estimating you, in a corner at home?" said Mr. de +Saussure. + +"Nobody - and that you know. Nobody, except my old mammy." + +"You are a lucky fellow, Hugh. Free as air! Now I have five or +six dear appraisers at my home; who are of opinion that an +epaulette and a commission would add to my value; or rather, +to do them justice, they are very desirous to have my life - +or my death - tell for something, in the struggle which +occupies all their, thoughts at present. I do not mean that +they have no choice, but, one or the other. And so am I +desirous; but - Lucerne is so very captivating! And really, +as, I said, one signifies so little." + +"One is half of two," said Ransom - "and a hundredth part of a +hundred." + +"I should like, I think, to be half of two," said De Saussure, +comically. "I don't care about being the hundredth part of +anything." + +"But you are going when I go?" said Ransom. + +"Mrs. Randolph says so; and I suppose she will command me. +What does Miss Randolph say?" + +"Yes, to my question," said Hugh Marshall. + +"I do not quite know what is either question," I replied; "and +a judge ought to understand his cause." + +"Is it my duty to go and plunge into the mêlée at home, +because my mother and two aunts and three sisters are all +telling me they will renounce me if I do not? I say, what does +one signify?" + +"And _I_ say, how may one escape from insignificance? - anyhow?" + +"A man with your income need not ask that," said Ransom. + +"What does Miss Randolph say?" De Saussure insisted. + +"If you will tell me, Mr. De Saussure, what the South is +fighting for, I can better answer you." + +"That speech is Daisy all over!" said Ransom impatiently. "She +never will commit herself, if she can get somebody to do it +for her." + +"Fighting for freedom - for independence, of course!" Mr. De +Saussure said, opening his eyes. "Is there any question?" + +"How was their freedom threatened?" + +"Why," said Ransom, hotly, "what do you think of armies upon +the soil of Virginia? - invading armies, come to take what +they like? What do you think of Southern forts garrisoned by +Northern troops, and Southern cities in blockade? Is that your +idea of freedom?" + +"These are not the cause, but the effect, of the position +taken by the South," I said. + +"Yes, we fired the first gun, Randolph," said Mr. Marshall. + +"Sumter was held against us," said Ransom. + +"Not till South Carolina had seceded." + +"Well, she had a _right_ to secede!" cried Ransom. "And this +right the Northern mudsills are trying to trample out. If she +has not a right to be governed as she likes, she is not free." + +"But why did she secede?" I asked. "What wrong was done her?" + +"You are a girl, and cannot understand such matters!" Ransom +answered, impatiently. "Just ask mamma to talk to you; - or I +will!" + +"Miss Randolph's question is pertinent though," said Mr. +Marshall; "and I am ashamed to confess I am as little able to +answer it as she. What wrong had they to complain of?" + +"Why, Hugh, you certainly know," his companion answered, "that +Lincoln was elected; and that if the government is to be in +the hands of those who do not think and vote with us - as this +election shows it will - we shall be pushed to the wall. The +South and her institutions will come to nothing - will be in a +contemptible minority. We do not choose that." + +"Then the wrong done them was that they were out-voted?" Mr. +Marshall said. + +"Put it so!" De Saussure replied, with heat; "we have a right +to say we will govern ourselves and sail our own boat." + +"Yes, so I think we have," said the other. "Whether it is +worth such a war, is another question, Such a war is a serious +thing." + +"It would be mean-spirited to let our rights be taken from +us," said Ransom. "It is worth anything to maintain them." + +"It will not be much of a war," resumed De Saussure. "Those +poor tailors and weavers will find their workshops are a great +deal more comfortable than soldiers' tents and the battle- +ground; and they won't stand fire, depend upon it." + +"Cowardly Yankees!" said Ransom. + +"That is Preston's favourite word," I remarked. "But I am not +clear that you are not both mistaken." + +"You have lived among Yankees, till it has hurt you," said +Ransom. + +"Till I have learned to know something about them," I said. + +"And is your judgment of the probable issue of the war, +different from that I have expressed, Miss Randolph?" Mr. De +Saussure asked. + +"My judgment is not worth much," I said. "I have doubts." + +"But you agree with us as to the right of preserving our +independence?" Mr. Marshall said. + +"Does independence mean, the governing power? Does every +minority, as such, lose its independence?" + +"Yes!" said De Saussure - "if it is to be permanently a +minority." + +"That would be our case, you see," Mr. Marshall went on. "Are +we not justified in endeavouring to escape from such a +position?" + +I was most unwilling to talk on the subject, but they were all +determined I should. I could not escape. + +"It depends," I said, "the settlement of that question, upon +the other question, whether our government is one or twenty." + +"It is thirty!" said Ransom. + +I had thrown a ball now which they could keep up without me. +To my joy, the whole three became so much engaged in the game, +that I was forgotten. I could afford to forget too; and +quitting the fair lake and the glorious mountain that looked +down upon it, ceasing to hear the eager debate which went on +at my side, my thoughts flew over the water to a uniform and a +sword that were somewhere in that struggle of rights and +wrongs. My heart sank. So far off, and I could not reach him; +so busy against the feelings and prejudices of my friends, and +I could not reconcile them; in danger, and I could not be +near; in trouble, perhaps, and I could not help. It would not +do to think about. I brought my thoughts back, and wondered at +old Mont Pilatte which looked so steadily down on me with the +calm of the ages. + +CHAPTER X. + +WAITING + + +For weeks after this sail on the lake my life was like a fête +day. Expeditions of all sorts were planned and carried out for +my pleasure. One day we were exploring the lake shores in a +boat; the next, we went back into the country, as far as we +could go and return before evening; a third day we climbed the +mountains somewhere and got glorious new views of what the +world is. Nothing could hinder, in those days, but that my +draught of pleasure was very full. Whatever weight might lie +at my heart, when I found myself high, high up above the +ordinary region of life, resting on a mountain summit from +which I looked down upon all that surrounded me other days; a +little of that same lifting up befel the thoughts of my heart +and the views that have to do with the spirit's life. I stood +above the region of mists for a little. I saw how the +inequalities of the lower level, which perplex us there, sink +into nothing when looked upon from a higher standpoint. I saw +that rough roads led to quiet valleys; and that the blessed +sunlight was always lying on the earth, though down in one of +those depths one might lose sight of it for a time. I do not +know how it is, but getting up into a high mountain has a +little the effect of getting out of the world. One has left +perplexities and uncertainties behind; the calm and the +strength of the everlasting hills is about one; the air is not +defiled with contentions or rivalries or jealousies up there; +and the glory of creation reminds one of other glory, and +power, and wisdom and might; and one breathes hope and rest. +So I used to do. Of all our excursions, I liked best to go up +the mountains. No matter how high, or by how difficult a road. + +Mamma and papa were only now and then of the party. That I was +very sorry for, but it could not be helped. Mamma had seen it +all, she said; and when I urged that she had not been to this +particular "horn," she said that one "horn" was just like +another, and that when you had seen one or two you had seen +them all. But I never found it so. Every new time was a new +revelation of glory to me. If I could have had papa with me, +my satisfaction would have been perfect; but papa shunned +fatigue, and never went where he could not go easily. I was +obliged to be content with my brother and my brother's +friends; and after I had made up my mind to that, the whole +way was a rejoicing to me, from the time I left the house till +we returned, a weary and hungry party, to claim mamma's +welcome again. Our party was always the same four. Mr. de +Saussure and Hugh Marshall were, I found, very intimately at +home with my father and mother, and naturally they were soon +on the same footing with me. As far as care went, I had three +brothers to look after me, of whom indeed Ransom was not the +most careful; and as to social qualifications, they were +extremely well-bred, well-educated, and had a great deal of +general and particular cultivation. In the evenings we had +music and conversation; which last was always very pleasant +except when it turned upon American affairs. Then I had great +twinges of heart, which I thought it wise to keep to myself as +closely as possible. + +I remember well the twinge I had, when one evening early in +September De Saussure came in, the utmost glee expressed in +his eyes and manner, and announced his news thus; - + +"They have had a battle at Springfield, and Lyon is killed." + +"Who is Lyon?" I could not help asking, though it was +incautious. + +"You should not ask," he said more gently as he sat down by +me; "you have no relish for these things. Even the cause of +liberty cannot sweeten them to you." + +"Who is Lyon, De Saussure?" my father repeated. + +"A Connecticut fellow." The tone of these words, in its utter +disdain, was inexpressible. + +"Connecticut?" said my father. "Has the war got into New +England? That cannot be." + +"No, sir, no, sir," said Ransom. "It is Springfield in +Missouri. You find a Yankee wherever you go in this world." + +"Wilson's Creek is the place of the battle," Mr. De Saussure +went on. "Near Springfield, in Missouri. It was an +overwhelming defeat. Lyon killed, and the next in command +obliged to beat off." + +"Who on our side?" asked my mother. + +"Ben McCulloch and Price." + +"How many engaged? Was it much of an affair?" + +"We had twenty thousand or so. Of course, the others had +more." + +"It doesn't take but one or two Southerners to whip a score of +those cowards," said Ransom. + +"Why should not the war have got into New England, Mr. +Randolph?" my mother asked. "You said, 'That cannot be.' Why +should it not be?" + +"There are a few thousand men in the way," said my father; +"and I think they are not all cowards." + +"They will never stand before our rifles," said De Saussure. + +"Our boys will mow them down like grass," said Ransom. "And in +New Orleans the fever will take care of them. How soon, +mother, will the fever be there?" + +Mamma and Ransom compared notes upon the probable and usual +time for the yellow fever to make its appearance, when it +would wield, its scythe of destruction upon the fresh harvest +of life made ready for it, in the bands of the Northern +soldiers in Louisiana. My whole soul was in a stir of +opposition to the speakers. I had to be still, but pain +struggled to speak. + +"You do not enjoy the prospect -" Hugh Marshall said, softly. + +I only looked at him. + +"Nor do I," said he, shaking his head. "A fair fight is one +thing. - It is a terrible state of affairs at home, Miss +Randolph." + +I had the utmost difficulty to keep quiet and give no sign. I +could have answered him with a cry which would have startled +them all. What if Thorold were ordered down there? He might +be. He would go where he was ordered. That thought brought +help; for so would I! A soldier, in another warfare, I +remembered my ways were appointed, even as his; only more +wisely, more surely, and on no service that could by any means +be in vain. But yet the pain was very sharp, as I looked at +the group who were eagerly discussing war matters; my father, +my mother, my brother, and De Saussure, who in the interest of +the thing had left my side; how keen they were! So were others +keen at home, who had swords in their hands and pistols in +their belts. It would not do to think. I could but repeat to +myself, - "I am a soldier - I am a soldier - and just now my +duty is to stand and bear fire." + +There was little chance in those days at Lucerne for me to be +alone with papa. The opportunities we had we both enjoyed +highly. Now and then mamma would be late for breakfast, or +even take hers in bed; once in a while go out to a visit from +which I begged off. Then papa and I drew together and had a +good time. One of these chances occurred a few days after the +news came of General Lyon's death. We were alone, and I was +drawing, and papa had been watching me a little while in +silence. + +"Daisy," he began, "am I wrong? It seems to me that you do not +look upon matters at home with just the eye that the rest of +us have for them?" + +"What matters, papa?" I said, looking up, and feeling +troubled. + +"You do not like the war." + +"Papa, - do you?" + +"Yes. I think our countrymen are right, and of course I wish +that they should have their rights." + +"Papa," said I, "don't you think it must be very strong +reasons that can justify so dreadful a thing as a war?" + +"Undoubtedly; but the preservation of liberty is one of the +strongest that can be conceived." + +"Papa - you know I want liberty for the blacks." + +"It is like you, my dear child," my father said, after pausing +a minute; "it is like your generous nature; but Daisy, I think +those people do not want it for themselves." + +"Papa, if they did not, I should think it would be one of the +strongest arguments on my side; but I am sure they do. I know +a great many of them that do." + +"Did not you, perhaps, bring about that desire in them, by +your kind and possibly somewhat misjudged indulgences?" + +"No indeed, papa; it was our overseer, with his wicked ways. +That Mr. Edwards is dreadful, papa!" + +"All overseers are not good," said my father with a sigh. "The +people at Magnolia are as well treated, on the whole, - as +they can be anywhere, I think, - I hope." + +"You do not know, papa. If they are, you have said all. And +there is our old Maria, who has nothing to do with Mr. +Edwards; she has no hope nor anticipation which does not go +beyond this world; and it is so with a great many of them. +They have that hope; but they sing, "I am bound for the +promised land!" - in a minor key; and to a plaintive air that +makes your heart ache." + +"Yours, Daisy," said my father with a somewhat constrained +smile. + +"Papa," I went on, trembling, but I thought it best to +venture, - "if the issue of this war could be to set all those +people free, I could almost be glad." + +"That will not be the issue, Daisy," he said. + +"Papa, what do you think will?" + +"It can have but one issue. The Southern people cannot be put +down." + +"Then, if they succeed, what will be the state of things +between them and the North?" + +"It is impossible to tell how far things will go, Daisy, now +that they have actually taken up arms. But I do not think the +Southern people want anything of the North, but to be let +alone." + +"How would it be, if the North succeeded, papa?" + +"It cannot succeed, Daisy. You have heard a different +language, I suppose; but I know the men, - and the women, - of +the South. They will never yield. The North must, sooner or +later." + +I could not carry this on, and turned the conversation. But I +had to listen to a great deal of the same sort of thing, in +which I took no part. It came up every day. I discovered that +my mother was using her influence and all her art to induce +our two young friends to return home and enter the Southern +army. She desired with equal vehemence that Ransom should take +the same course; and as they all professed to be strong in the +interests and sympathies that moved her, I was a little +puzzled to understand why they delayed so long. For they did +delay. They talked, but nothing came of it. Still we went on +fresh excursions and made new expeditions; spending days of +delight on the mountain sides, and days of enchantment in the +mountain valleys; and still our party was of the same four. It +is true that papa did not at all share mamma's eagerness to +have Ransom go; but Ransom did not greatly care for papa's +likings; and in the case of the others, I did not see what +held them. + +The printed news from home we had of course, regularly; and as +far as I could without being watched, I studied them. The +papers after all were mostly Southern, and so filled with +outrageous invective and inflated boasting, that I could not +judge anything very certainly, from what they said. Nothing of +great importance seemed to be transpiring between the +belligerent parties. I supposed that it wanted but some such +occurrence or occasion to send off our three young men like a +ball from a rifle, straight to the seat of war. Meanwhile we +enjoyed ourselves. Others did, and I did also, whenever I +could put down fear and lift up hope; and I was young, and +that happened to me sometimes. So the weeks ran on. + +"I really don't see why I should be in a hurry to plunge +myself into that angry confusion of things at home," Hugh +Marshall said one day. "It seems to me, they can get through +it without my help." + +"Well, you are not in a hurry." I answered. + +We were out as usual for a day's pleasure among the mountains, +and Hugh and I were resting on a sunny bank waiting for the +others to come up. We had distanced them. + +"What do you think about it?" he said, suddenly drawing +himself up from the grass and looking in my face. + +"Men do not rule their course by what women think," - I +answered. + +"No, you are wrong; they do! Sometimes they do," - he said. "I +have no mother nor sister to counsel me; only Mrs. Randolph +bids me go home and be a soldier; but I would as lieve take +advice from you. What would you tell me to do - if I were your +brother?" + +"I do not tell Ransom anything." + +"He is under his mother's tutelage; but I am not. Tell me what +to do, Miss Randolph. I am sure your counsel would be good. Do +you wish me to go and fight the North, as your mother says I +ought?" + +"I wish people would not fight at all," I said, with my heart +straitened. + +"Of course; but here we are in it, or they are; and it is the +same thing. Don't you think they can get through it without +me? or do you say as your mother, - 'Every one go!' " + +He looked at me more earnestly than was pleasant, and I was +greatly at a loss what to answer. It was wisest for me not to +commit myself to a course opposed to my mother's; and yet, +truth is wisest of all. I looked to see Ransom and Mr. De +Saussure, but they were not in sight. + +"You are not speaking in jest," I said; "and I have no +business to speak in earnest." + +"You never speak any other way," he rejoined. "Tell me your +mind. You are never violent; do you feel as Mrs. Randolph does +about it? Would you like me better if I went heart and soul +into the fray at home?" + +"That would depend upon the-views and motives with which you +went into it." + +"Well - if I did it for love of you?" he said smiling. + +"I cannot imagine that anybody should do such a thing for love +of me. Nothing but the strongest and purest convictions of +duty can justify such a thing as fighting." + +"I suppose I know what that means," he said somewhat gloomily. + +"No," said I hastily, "I don't think you do." + +"What does it mean, then?" he asked. + +"Permit me to ask first, Are your convictions strong and +clear, that it is your duty to go home and enter the war for +the South?" + +"That's a searching question," he said laughing. "To say yes, +would be to condemn myself at once. To say no, - what would +that do for me with Mrs. Randolph?" + +"You are not speaking to Mrs. Randolph," I said, half under my +breath. + +He looked up eagerly in my face. "You do not think as she +does!" he said. "You do not believe in fighting, under any +circumstances?" + +"Yes, I do, Mr. Marshall," I said; and I felt myself colour. +"I do believe in fighting, when it is to relieve the +oppressed, to deliver those who are trampled upon, or to save +ourselves or others from worse than death." + +"Our friends at the South can hardly be said to be in such +extremity," he said, looking rather perplexed; "unless you +believe all that the papers say about Yankee invaders; and I +for one am not ready to do that." + +"Nor I," I said; "I know them too well." + +"Then who is so bitterly oppressed just now, Miss Randolph?" + +"If you do not know of anybody, I would not fight, Mr. +Marshall." + +"Really?" said he. "Perhaps I ought to go home and take care +of my twelve hundred people at Vincennes. Is that your +thought?" + +"Are they in need of care?" I asked. + +" 'Pon my word, I don't know. Perhaps it would be nearer right +to say, take care of myself; for if the war should come the +way of Vicksburg, and Yankee arms have a little success, there +might be the mischief to pay at Vincennes. On reflection, I +don't see how I could take care of myself, either. Then you do +not bid me go?" he asked again. + +"You remember our words one day about insignificant lives?" + +"Yes!" he cried eagerly; "and I have been longing ever since +to ask you to explain more fully what interested me so much. I +never could get a chance. I assure you, I have felt to the +bottom of my heart what it is to have one's existence really +worth nothing, to anybody. How may it be better? My life has +to do with nothing but insignificant things." + +"But you must define insignificance," I said. + +"Is it needful?" + +"I think so. What makes things insignificant? Not their being +small, - or common?" + +"What then, Miss Randolph?" + +"Small things, and common things, are often to the last degree +important, you know, Mr. Marshall." + +"Yes; but however small and common, I cannot feel that I am +important, in any degree," he said, half laughing. + +"We were talking of lives, and things." + +"Yes. Excuse me. Well?" + +"I think I see the crowns of two hats, down below, which +belong to some people that we know." + +"Is it they?" he exclaimed; - "and I wish they were farther +off. Finish what you were going to say, Miss Daisy! Do not +leave me in ignorance now, after bringing me so far." + +"I can only tell you what I think," I said. + +"And that is precisely what I want to hear," he answered +earnestly. + +"You will not agree to it, though, and I do not know that you +will even understand me. Mr. Marshall, I think that nothing is +insignificant which is done for God; and that everything which +is not done for Him, directly or indirectly, is insignificant +or worse." + +"I do _not_ understand -" he said thoughtfully. "In what sense +can a thing be 'done for God?' Unless it is building a church +or founding a hospital." + +"Very few churches have been built for God," I said. "At +least I think so." + +"Why, the old monks -" Mr. Marshall began. But just then our +missing companions came up, and he stopped. They had been +lured aside from the way by the sight of some game. We had no +more private talk; but Hugh Marshall was sober and thoughtful +all the rest of the day. + +He sought such talks with me now whenever he could; and seemed +to enter into them like a man, with an earnest purpose to know +the truth and to do his work in the world if he could find it. +I grew, in a way, very fond of him. He was gentle, well-bred, +happy-tempered, extremely careful of my welfare and pleasure, +and regardful of my opinions, which I suppose flattered my +vanity; well-read and sensible; and it seemed to me that he +grew more agreeable every day. + +The accounts from the seat of war in America were not very +stirring just then; nothing great was done or expected; and +the question of our young men's return to take part in what +was going on, was suffered for a time to fall out of sight. +Meanwhile we left Lucerne and went to Geneva. There was more +society, in a quiet way; and there was a fresh harvest of +pleasure to be reaped by me and for me in the domains of +nature. + +CHAPTER XI. + +A VICTORY + + +"Daisy, - you are very happy!" my father said one day when I +was sitting with him. We were looking out upon the lake, which +our windows commanded; but I found papa's look had come back +from the window to me. + +"You are very happy!" he said. + +"Yes, papa, - pretty happy." + +"Pretty happy?" said he, putting his hand under my chin and +turning my face again round to him, and then kissing me. +"Pretty _and_ happy, you mean." + +"No, papa," I said laughing; - "I don't mean that." + +"It is true, though," said he. "There was a bit of a smile +upon your mouth just now - before I spoke; - what were you +thinking of?" + +"Papa, it is so glorious, - the lake and its shores in this +sunlight." + +"That was all?" + +"No, not quite all, papa." + +"I thought not. What was the rest of it, Daisy?" + +"Papa, I was thinking with joy, that I belong to the wonderful +One who made all that; and so, that the riches of his power +and glory are in a certain sense mine; - just as everything +good in you is mine, papa." + +He folded me in his arms and kissed me again, very fondly. + +"There is not much good in me, Daisy." + +"Yes, papa, - for me." + +"But there is a great deal in you, - for somebody." + +"For you, papa." + +"Nobody else, Daisy?" + +He was holding me close in his arms and looking down into my +face. I believe the colour must have come into my cheeks. + +"Ah, I thought so!" he said. "Even so soon, Daisy, you are +leaving me for somebody else." + +"Papa!" I exclaimed, hiding my face in his neck, - "I will +never leave you, till you say so." + +"Till I say so? I will not be over selfish, my dear child. I +do not mean that." + +"Who is it to be, Daisy?" my mother's voice said behind us. + +I started up in absolute terror. What had I said? and what did +she mean? I looked at her, speechless. + +"Well?" she said laughing, "what is the matter? You need not +turn white about it. Is your father the only one to be in your +confidence? I will withdraw then." + +"Stop! - Mamma!" I cried; "what are you saying? There is no +confidence. What are you talking about?" + +"I only asked, who it was to be, Daisy? I thought you were +talking of leaving us, and naturally concluded it was to be +with somebody." + +"Mamma - oh, mamma, I was speaking only in the abstract." + +Mamma laughed. "In the abstract! Well, you will have to come +from generals to particulars, Daisy. Abstractions will not +satisfy anybody long." + +I was in great difficulty and great confusion. Papa drew me +into his arms again and kissed my lips and cheeks and eyes, as +if he would have hid my blushes. + +"You shall be as abstract as you like," he said; "and as long +as you like. I give you leave." + +"That's nonsense, though, Mr. Randolph," said my mother, +standing at the back of his chair. "Daisy cannot live in +abstractions for ever. She must choose, and let her choice be +known; and the sooner the better. Nobody can guess it now. She +has been abstract enough." + +I was in the greatest perplexity at this speech, which +conveyed to me no meaning whatever. Let my choice be known? +Did mamma know about Mr. Thorold? I knew she could not; but +then, what did she mean? + +"There is no hurry, Felicia," said papa. + +"I will not have Daisy marry any but an American, Mr. +Randolph." + +"Agreed. There is no present likelihood that she will." + +"But when we get to Florence, Mr. Randolph, and she is seen in +the great world, things may not absolutely be within your +control - or mine." + +Mamma stood tapping her fingers upon the back of my father's +chair, and I thought her very odd indeed. Her last sentence, +however, had a word that I could answer. I stood up and faced +her. + +"Mamma," I said, "I am going to say something that you will +not like." + +"Then do not say it, Daisy." + +"I would not, if I could help it. But you know, mamma, I am a +servant of God - I have not changed, - and I and the 'great +world' have nothing in common." + +"Well? -" said mamma calmly. + +"I do not belong to it. I have no place in it." + +"No, of course. You are just out of school. A few months more +will change all that." + +"No, mamma, - please!" + +"Yes, Daisy, - please!" she said, tapping my cheek with her +finger, and then leaning forward to kiss me with smiling lips. +"You do not know what you are talking about, my love. You are +made for the great world, Daisy. There is no danger of turning +your head; so I have no objection to explain to you that you +are magnificent." + +"Mamma, what difference can that possibly make?" + +They both laughed at me, and mamma said I would soon see. + +"But, mamma," I urged, "that world and I have nothing in +common. I should be out of my place in it, and it would find +me something strange." + +"It is quite time to have that altered then," she said. "You +may be a nun if you choose afterward; but you shall know what +the great world is, before you give it up; and it shall know +you. You may spend your odd minutes in considering what dress +you will wear for your first appearance, Daisy. Don't ask me +for a white cambric and an apron with pockets." + +I stood in much perplexity, not resolved what I ought to say +next. Papa took my hand. + +"It is not much, to show yourself," he said kindly. "What is +the difficulty, Daisy?" + +"You mean, show myself in a fine dress and in a fine assembly, +papa?" + +"I don't care about the dress," he answered. + +"Yes, but you do, Mr. Randolph," said my mother. "Daisy would +not wear a print, for instance, to the Grand Duke's ball. Your +complexion, Daisy, will take any sort of colour; but rubies +will look especially well on this skin, and pearls." She +touched my face caressingly as she spoke, pushing back the +hair from my temple and then bringing her hand down to take +hold of my chin. "Little fool!" said she laughing - "does it +dismay you?" + +"Yes, mamma, - the thought of crossing your pleasure." + +"You shall not do that. Good children always obey their +mothers, I am not going to have you settled down on a +plantation at home, east or west, without at least letting the +world see you first." + +"Daisy does not want jewels," said my father. "She is too +young." + +"One day she will," said mamma; "and an occasion might make it +proper, even now. I hope so; for I want to see the effect." + +Mamma went away, with that; and I sat down again by papa's +side. Not to dream over the sunlight on the lake any more; I +was busy with cloudy realities. "Children, obey your parents +_in the Lord_." Oh, why did duty bid me go contrary to the +pleasure of mine! I would have so gladly pleased them to the +utmost limits of my power. Papa was watching me, though I did +not know it, and presently said very gently, - + +"What is it, Daisy?" + +"Papa, I want to please you and mamma so much!" + +"And cannot you?" + +"Not in this, papa." + +"Why? Explain to me. I do not understand your position, +Daisy." + +"Papa, I am a servant of Christ; and a servant is bound to do +his Master's will." + +"But you are begging the question." + +"If you will have patience, papa, I will try to tell you how +it is. You know the Lord said, 'If any man serve me, let him +follow me.' You know how He lived and what He lived for. +Should I be following in his footsteps, when I was dressing +and dancing and talking nonsense or nothings and getting so +tired that I could do nothing but sleep all the next day? And +papa, that is not all. It is so difficult, when one is dressed +to look well and others are dressed in like manner, or for the +same object, I mean, - it is very difficult not to wish to +look well, and to wish to look better than other people, and +to be glad if one does; and then comes the desire for +admiration, and a feeling of pride, and perhaps, emulation of +somebody else; and one comes home with one's head filled with +poor thoughts, and the next day one is fit for nothing. And is +that, following Christ? who went about doing good, who sought +not His own, who was separate from sinners. And He said to His +people, 'Ye are not of the world, even as I am not of the +world.' " + +"Why, Daisy," said my father, passing over the last part of my +speech, "how do you know all this? Have you been out into the +great world already?" + +"No, papa; but if the little world has such effects what must +the great one do?" + +"Pray, what little world have you seen?" + +"The little world of West Point, papa. And something of the +world of Washington." + +"_That_ is not much like a European court," said my father. "How +did you like West Point?" + +"Very much indeed." + +"Did you go to balls there?" + +"Oh, no, sir! only little hops, that the cadets have in the +evenings." + +"Was Preston there then?" + +"He was entering upon his last year at the Academy." + +"Had he improved?" + +"Papa. - I thought he had _not_." + +My father smiled. "Which of these young friends of ours do you +like the best, Daisy?" + +"Mr. Marshall and Mr. De Saussure, do you mean?" + +"I mean them." + +Something in papa's tone made my answer, I was conscious, a +little constrained. I was very sorry, and could not help it. + +"Papa - I think - Don't you think, Mr. Marshall has the most +principle?" + +"Do you always like people best that are the best, Daisy?" +said papa laughing. "Because, I confess I have a wicked +perverseness to do the other way." + +After this conversation I seemed to see several clouds rising +on my horizon in different quarters. I thought it was wisest +not to look at them; but there was one that cast a shadow +always on the spot where I was. It was so long since I had +heard from Mr. Thorold! I had told him he must not write to +me; but at the same time he had said that he would, and that +he would enclose a letter to my father. Neither letter had +come. It was easy to account for; he might not have had a +chance to write; or in the confusions at home, his despatch +might have been detained somewhere; it might reach me after a +long interval, or it might never reach me! There was nothing +strange about it; there was something trying. The hunger of my +heart for one word from him or of him, grew sometimes +rapacious; it was a perpetual fast day with me, and nature +cried out for relief. _That_ cloud cast a shadow always over me +now; only except when now and then a ray from the eternal +sunshine found a rift in the cloud, or shot below it, and for +a moment my feet stood in light. I had letters from the +Sandfords; I had even one from Miss Cardigan; it did me a +great deal of good, but it broke my heart too. + +Mamma and I kept off the subject of the great world for a +while; I think my father purposely prolonged our stay at +Geneva, to favour my pleasure; and I hoped something after all +might prevent the discussion of that subject between mamma and +me, at least for the present. So something did. + +I came down one afternoon to the green bank behind the house, +where a table stood, and where we took our meals when the +weather was fine. Our three young men were around it and the +air was fragrant with the fumes of their cigars. The cigars of +two of them were tossed away on my appearance. Ransom held his +in abeyance. + +"I did not know you were here," I said, "or I should have +scrupled about interrupting anything so pleasant." + +"You do not think it pleasant, confess, Miss Randolph," said +De Saussure, drawing near to look over the progress of my +work. + +"Do you dislike it, honestly, Miss Randolph?" said Hugh +Marshall. + +"I don't dislike sugar-plums," I said. + +"Daisy likes nothing that ordinary people like," cried Ransom. +"I pity the man that will marry you, Daisy! He will live +within a hedge-row of restrictions. You have lived among +Puritans till you're blue." + +I lifted my eyes to Ransom without speaking. What there was in +my look, I do not know; but they all laughed. + +"What connection is there between cigars and sugar-plums?" +Hugh Marshall asked next. + +"None, I suppose," I said. "Only, - what would you think of a +lady who sat down regularly to eat sugar-plums three or four +times a day and the last thing before going to bed? and who +evidently could not live without them." + +"But why not take a sugar-plum, or a cigar, as well as other +things - wine, or fruit, for instance?" said Marshall. + +"It is an indulgence - but we all allow ourselves indulgences +of one sort or another." + +"Besides, with a lady it is different," said De Saussure. "We +poor fellows have nothing better to do, half the time." + +I had no wish to lecture Mr. De Saussure, but I could not help +looking at him, which again seemed to rouse their amusement. + +"You seem to say, that is an insignificant way of life," Hugh +Marshall added. + +"We'll try for something better to-morrow," said De Saussure. +"We have laid a plan to go to see the lake of Annecy, Miss +Randolph, if we can secure your company and approbation. It +will just take the day; and I propose that each one of us +shall go prepared to instruct the others, at luncheon, as to +his or her views of the worthiest thing a man can do with his +life; - cigars being banished." + +"Cigars are not banished yet," said Ransom, taking delicate +whiffs of his own, which sent a fragrant wreath of blue smoke +curling about his face. + +"What do you say, Miss Randolph?" Hugh asked. + +"Wouldn't you like to see the house of Eugene Sue?" said De +Saussure. + +"Who was Eugene Sue?" was my counter question; and they +laughed again, our two friends with sparkling eyes. + +"Look here, Daisy!" said Ransom, suddenly bringing down his +chair on four feet and sitting upright, - "I wish you would +put an end to this indulgence of sight-seeing and your +society, and send these gentlemen home with me. I must go, and +they ought to go too and do their duty. A word from you would +send either of them straight to Beauregard's headquarters. +Talk of indulgences!" + +"I do not wish to send either of them there," was my +incautious answer. + +"Do you think it is always wrong to fight?" De Saussure asked. + +I said no, with an internal shiver running through me from +head to foot. They went into a mutual gratulation on the +causes for fighting that existed on the part of the Southern +States, and the certainty that the warlike spirit of the North +would "die off like a big fungus," as one of them phrased it. +I could not discuss the point with them, and I got away as +soon as it could gracefully be done. + +But something in this little talk, or in what went before it, +had unsettled me; and I slept little that night. Anxieties +which had lain pretty still, and pain which had been rather +quiet, rose up together and shook me. My Bible reading had +given me a word which for a time helped the confusion. "No man +that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life, +that he may please Him who hath chosen him to be a soldier." + +Not to be entangled with the affairs of this life! - and my +heart and soul were in a whirl of them; I might say, in a +snarl. And true the words were. How could I please Him who had +chosen me to be a soldier, with my heart set on my own +pleasure, and busy with my own fears? I knew I could not. The +quiet subjection of spirit with which I left Washington, I had +in a measure lost at Lucerne. Somehow, opposition had roused +me; and the great distance and the impossibility of hearing +had made my imagination restless; and the near probability +that mamma would not favour our wishes had caused me to take a +sort of life and death grasp of them. The management of +myself, that I had resigned, I found I had not resigned it; +but my heart was stretching out yearning hands to Thorold and +crying for a sight of him. Meanwhile, the particular work that +I had to do in Switzerland had been little thought of. What +was it? + +I spent that night waking. My room looked not to the lake, but +over an extent of greensward and orchards, lit up now by a +bright moon. I knelt at my window, with a strong recollection +of former times, and a vain look back at my little old self, +the childish Daisy, whose window at Melbourne, over the +honeysuckles, had been so well used and had entertained such a +quiet little heart. Then there had been Miss Pinshon's Daisy; +but all the Daisies that I could remember had been quiet +compared to this one. Must joy take such close hold on sorrow? +Must hopes always be twin with such fears? - I asked amid +bitter tears. But tears do one good; and after a little +indulgence of them, I brought myself up to look at my duty. +What was it? + +I might love, and fear, and hope; but I must not be +"entangled." Not so concerned about myself, either for sorrow +or joy, that I should fail in anything to discern the Lord's +will, or be unready, or be slow, to do it. Not so but that my +heart should be free, looking to God for its chief strength +and joy always and everywhere, - yes, and holding my hopes at +his hand, to be given up if he called them back. With Thorold +parted from me, in the thick of the war struggle, almost +certain to be rejected by both my father and my mother, could +I have and keep such a disentangled heart? The command said +yes, and I knew there were promises that said yes too; but for +a time I was strangely unwilling. I had a sort of +superstitious feeling, that the giving up of my will about +these things, and of my will's hold of them, would be a +preliminary to their being taken away from me in good earnest. +And I trembled and wept and shrank, like the coward I was. + +"And if a man also strive for masteries, yet is he not +crowned, except he strive lawfully." + +"God's way is the way," I said to myself, - "and there is no +other. I know, in what I said to mamma that afternoon about +dressing and going into the world, it was not all principle. +There was a mixture of selfish disinclination to go into +society, because of Mr. Thorold and my feeling about him. My +thoughts and will are all in a tangle; and they must be +disentangled." + +The struggle was long and sore that night. Worse than in +Washington; because here I was alone among those who did not +favour Mr. Thorold, and were opposed in everything to his and +my views and wishes. Temptation said, that it was forsaking +their cause, to give up my will about them. But there is no +temptation that takes us and God has not provided a way of +escape. The struggle was sharp; but when the dawn broke over +the orchards and replaced the glory of the moonlight, my heart +was quiet again. I was bent, before all things, upon doing the +will of God; and had given up myself and all my hopes entirely +to His disposal. They were not less dear hopes for that, +though now the rest of my heart was on something better; on +something which by no change or contingency can disappoint or +fail. I was disentangled. I stood free. And I was happier than +I had been in many a long day. "The peace of God." If people +could only possibly know what that means! + +CHAPTER XII. + +AN ENGAGEMENT + + +The expedition to Annecy had been determined on, and papa and +mamma were to go. I went in a carriage with them, while the +others were on horseback; so I had a nice quiet time, which +suited me; a time of curious secret enjoyment. It seemed as if +a gratulation came to me from every blade of grass and every +ray of sunlight; because I was a servant of God, and as wholly +given up to do His will as they were. There was communion +between them and me. Of those "ministers of His, that do His +pleasure," I would be one; to do what He had for me to do in +the world, should be my care and joy at once; and the care of +myself - I left it to Him. One goes light when one does not +carry that burden. + +"Daisy, you are dreadfully sober," said mamma. + +"Not _dreadfully_, mamma, I hope," I said with a smile. + +"You are pale too," she went on. "Mr. Randolph, Daisy thinks +too much." + +"It is an old weakness of hers," said papa. "I am afraid it is +beyond our reach, Felicia." + +"I will break it up for to-day," said mamma as the carriage +stopped and Mr. De Saussure came to the steps. "Charles, Daisy +has got into a brown study. I give her to you in charge, not +to allow anything of the sort again till we get home. And +order luncheon at once, will you. I can't go walking or sight- +seeing without that." + +Mr. de Saussure gave me his arm and took me with him, as he +said, to help about the luncheon. It was soon spread out of +doors, beneath the shade of some large trees, and we gathered +round it in holiday mood. Bread was sweet, with that page of +beauty spread out before my eyes all the time; - for between +the boles of the trees and under their hanging branches I +could see the glittering waters of the lake and a bit of its +distant shore. I did not go into a brown study, however, not +wishing to give occasion to Mr. De Saussure's good offices. I +thought he had quite enough enjoyed his charge during the +business before luncheon. To my disappointment, after the meal +papa declared himself tired and went to lie down. + +"We have forgotten our agreement," said Mr. De Saussure. "At +luncheon, we were all to tell, Mrs. Randolph, what we think +the worthiest thing to live for." + +"Were we?" said mamma. "That sounds like one of Daisy's +problems." + +"It is not hers, however," he rejoined; "any further than that +I am mainly curious to know what she will say about it." + +"You ought to be equally anxious about my opinion, it seems to +me," mamma said. + +"Do I not know it already? Pour la patrie, - does anything go +before that in your mind? Honestly, Mrs. Randolph, - is it not +in your opinion the worthiest thing anybody can do, to fight, +or to die - still better, - for the independence of the +South?" + +"You do not think so," said mamma, "or you would be there." + +"I am selfish, and have selfish hopes and fears. But you think +so?" + +"Let us hear what you consider the worthiest object of life," +said mamma. + +"It is not my turn. Miss Randolph, your mother has spoken - +the next honour belongs to you." + +"The worthiest object of life?" I said. "Is that the +question?" + +"It will not be a question, when you have answered it," De +Saussure said gallantly. + +"You will not like my answer," I said. "I should think it +would be, To please God." + +"But that is not an answer, pardon me. Of course, the Supreme +Being is pleased to see people following the worthiest object; +and the question is, What is the _worthiest?_" + +I did not like to hear Mr. De Saussure's tongue touch themes +where it was not at home. The conversation was too serious for +light handling; but I could not get out of it. + +"You will find that my answer includes all," I said. "It is +impossible to lay down a rule, as to particulars, that will +fit all cases. It is the best thing one man can do, to lay +down his life for his country; the best thing another man can +do is to stay at home and devote himself to the care of an +infirm mother or father; but in either case, for God." + +"I do not understand -" said Mr. Marshall. + +"Suppose the one goes to the battlefield for his own glory, +and the other stays at home for his own ease?" + +"Don't you think glory is a thing to live for?" said Ransom, +with an indignant expression that reminded me painfully of our +childish days. + +"Yes," I said slowly, - "I do; but not the praise of men, +which is so often mistaken. The glory that comes from God, - +_that_ is worth living for." + +"What an incomprehensible girl you are!" Ransom answered +impatiently. + +"She'll mend -" said mamma. + +"But, Miss Randolph," said Mr. Marshall, "the care of infirm +relatives, a father or a mother, can anything make that +unworthy?" + +"Not in itself," I said; "but suppose a man's duty calls him +away? It might. You can suppose such a case." + +"I see what I have to expect," mamma said with a laugh. "Daisy +will take care of me, until some duty calls her away. I will +not count upon you, Daisy, any longer than that. De Saussure, +what is _your_ estimate of life's objects? On honour, now!" + +"I can think of nothing better than to live for somebody that +one loves," he said. + +"I knew you would say that," she rejoined. "Hugh, what do you +say?" + +"I need to go to school, Mrs. Randolph." + +"Well, go to school to Daisy," said mamma with another light +laugh. "And come, let us walk, or we shall not have time. +EugŠne Sue, is it, that we are going to see?" + +"Only his house, madam. Miss Randolph, I am charged, you know, +with your studies to-day." + +I was not in the mood of accepting Mr. De Saussure's arm, but +just then it was the only thing to do. My mother and Ransom +and Hugh Marshall were presently some little distance behind, +an interval separating us; and Mr. De Saussure and I followed +the shores of the lake, taking such counsel together as our +somewhat diverse moods made possible. I was thinking, what a +life of hard work the two prophets Elijah must have known in +their time; he who was first of the name, and his greater +successor, John the Baptist. Each of them worked alone, +against a universal tide of adverse evil that flooded the +land. If I found it so sorrowful to be alone in my family and +society, what must they have felt with the whole world against +them. And Elijah's spirit did once give out, brave as he was: +"It is enough, O Lord; take away my life." I thought I could +understand it. To be all alone; to have no sympathy in what is +dearest to you; to face opposition and scorn and ridicule and +contumely while trying to do people good and bring them to +good; to have only God on your side, with the bitter +consciousness that those whom you love best are arrayed +against him; your family and country; - I suppose nobody can +tell how hard that is to endure, but he who has tasted it. My +taste of it was light indeed; but a half hour with Miss +Cardigan would have been inexpressibly good to me that day. So +I thought, as I walked along the bank of the lake with Mr. De +Saussure; and then I remembered "my hiding-place and my +shield." + +"You are very silent to-day, Miss Randolph," said my companion +at length. I may remark, in passing, that _he_ had not been. + +"It is enough to look, and to think," I answered, "with such a +sight before one's eyes." + +"Do you know," said he, "such independence of all the exterior +world, - of mortals, I mean, - is very tantalising to those +disregarded mortals?" + +"Do you find it so? It is fair then to presume, in a place +like this, that what takes up my attention has not so much +charm for you." + +"That is severe!" he said. "Do you think I do not see all this +beauty before us? But pardon me, - have _you_ seen it?" + +"I have tasted it every step of the way, Mr. De Saussure." + +"I am rebuked," he said. "You must excuse me - I had counted +upon the pleasure of seeing you enjoy it." + +"One's enjoyment is not always heightened by giving it +expression," I said. + +"No, I know that is your theory - or practice," he said. "My +sisters are always so vehement in their praises of anything +they like, that nobody else has a chance to know whether he +likes it or not. I generally incline to the _not_." + +I added no remark upon Mr. De Saussure's or his sisters' +peculiar way of enjoying themselves. + +"But you _are_ uncommonly silent," he went on presently; - +"_triste_, _rêveuse_. It is impossible not to suffer from it, - in +one who values your words as much as I do." + +"Why, I thought you were apt to look upon things from a +different point of view, - not from mine," I said. + +"I must be wrong then - always. Miss Randolph, you are of a +gentle and kind disposition, - I wish you would be my Mentor!" + +"I am not old enough to be Mentor," I said. + +"To be mine! Yes, you are," he rejoined eagerly. "I would not +have you a day older." + +"I shall be that to-morrow," I said, laughing. + +"But if you were mine," he said, changing his tone, "every day +would only add to your power and your qualifications for doing +me good. And I know that is what you love." + +"I cannot see that I have done you the least good, so far, Mr. +De Saussure," I said, amused. "I think you must be mistaken." + +"Will you try, Daisy?" he said insinuatingly, and stopping +short in our walk. + +"Try what, Mr. De Saussure?" I said, beginning to be +bewildered. + +"Surely you know! You are a little cruel. But you have the +right. Be my Mentor - be my darling - promise to be, one of +these days, my wife." + +I dropped my arm from Mr. De Saussure's and stood in a maze, I +might say with truth, frightened. Up to that minute, no +suspicion of his purpose or mind regarding me had entered my +thoughts. I suppose I was more blind than I ought to have +been; and the truth was, that in the utter preoccupation of my +own heart, the idea that I could like anybody else but Mr. +Thorold, or that anybody else could like me, had been simply +out of sight. I knew myself so thoroughly beyond anybody's +reach, the prior possession of the ground was so perfect and +settled a thing, that I did not remember it was a fact hidden +from other eyes but mine. And I had gone on in my supposed +walled-in safety; - and here was somebody presuming within the +walls, who might allege that I had left the gate open. +However, to do Mr. De Saussure justice, I never doubted for a +moment that his heart might be in any danger of breaking if I +thrust him out. But for all that, I lost my breath in the +first minute of discovery of what I had been doing. + +"You hesitate," said he. "You shall command me, Daisy. I will +go instantly, hard as it would be, and give all my power to +furthering the war at home; - or, if you bid me, I will keep +out of it, which would be harder still, were you not here +instead of there. Speak, won't you, -a good word for me?" + +"You must do nothing at my command, Mr. de Saussure," I said. +"I have known you only as mamma's and my brother's friend; - I +never thought you had any other feeling; and I had no other +towards you." + +"Mrs. Randolph _is_ my friend," he said eagerly. "She does me +the honour to wish well to my suit. She looks at it, not with +my eyes, but with the eyes of prudence; and she sees the +advantages that such an arrangement would secure. I believe +she looks at it with patriotic eyes too. You know my estates +are nearly adjoining to yours. I may say too, that our +families are worthy one of another. But there, I am very +conscious, my worthiness ends. I am not personally deserving +of your regard - I can only promise under your guidance to +become so." + +A light broke upon me. + +"Mr. De Saussure" - I began; but he said hastily, "Let us go +on - they are coming near us;" and I took his offered arm +again, not wishing more than he to have spectators or hearers +of our talk; and now that the talk was begun, I wished to end +it. + +"Mr. de Saussure," I said, "you are under a serious mistake. +You speak of my estates; I must inform you that I shall never, +under any circumstances, be an heiress. Whoever marries me - +if I ever marry - will marry a poor girl." + +"Pardon me -" he began. + +"Yes," said I interrupting him; - "I know of what I speak." + +"What can you mean, Miss Randolph?" + +"I assure you, I mean exactly what I say. Pray take it so." + +"But I do not understand you." + +"Understand this, - that I shall be a penniless woman; or +something very like it. I am making no jest. I am no heiress - +as people think." + +"But you confound me, Miss Randolph," he said, looking both +curious and incredulous. "May I ask, what can be the +explanation of your words? I know your Magnolia property - and +it is, I assure you, a very noble one, and unencumbered. +Nothing can hinder you from inheriting it - at some, we hope, +of course, very distant day." + +"Nevertheless," I said, "if I live to see that day, I shall be +very poor, Mr. De Saussure." + +"You will condescend to explain so extraordinary a statement?" + +"Is not my word sufficient?" + +"Pardon me, a thousand times; but you must see that I am in a +difficulty. Against your word I have the word of two others - +your mother and your brother, who both assure me of the +contrary. May it not be, that they know best?" + +"No, Mr. De Saussure; for the fact depends on something out of +their knowledge." + +"It is out of my knowledge too," he said. + +I hesitated a little, and then said, - + +"I will explain myself, Mr. De Saussure, trusting to your +honour to keep silence about it. I am a friend of the coloured +people." + +"Oh! - So are we all," he said. + +"And I will never be rich at their expense." + +"By their means, is not necessarily at their expense," he said +gently. + +"It is at their expense," I repeated. "I do not choose to be +rich so. And the religion I live by, forbids me to do to +others as I would not like they should do to me." + +"I am sure, by that rule, your dependants at Magnolia would +implore you not to give them over to other hands. They will +never have so kind a mistress. Don't you see?" he said with +the same insinuating gentleness. + +"I shall give them over to no other hands. I would make them +as free as myself." + +"Make them free!" + +"That is what I would do." + +"You cannot mean it," he said. + +"You see, Mr. De Saussure, that I shall be very poor." + +"You are playing with me." + +"I am very serious." + +"It is rank Northern madness!" he said to himself. "And it is +Mrs. Randolph's daughter. The thing is impossible." + +"It _is_ Mrs. Randolph's daughter," I said, withdrawing my hand +from his arm. "I pray you not to forget it." + +"Pray, forgive me!" he said eagerly. "I was bewildered, and am +yet. I did not know where I was. It seems to me I cannot have +heard you aright." + +"Quite right, Mr. De Saussure." + +"But just reflect!" he said. "These creatures, whose cause you +are advocating, they are but half human; they cannot take care +of themselves; their very happiness is identified with their +present position." + +"It is not the view they take of it." + +"They are incapable of forming any judgment on the matter." + +"At least they know what _they_ mean by happiness," I said; "and +in their mouths it is not a synonym with slavery. And if your +words are true, Mr. De Saussure, in the case of some of those +poor people, - and I know they are, - it is one of the worst +things that can be said of the system. If some of them are +brought so low as to be content with being slaves, we have +robbed them of their humanity." + +"It is absolutely Northern radicalism!" said Mr. De Saussure +to himself. + +"No," I said, - "it is Christian justice and mercy." + +"You will allow me to represent to you, without any +presumption, that there are very many Christians, both at the +South and North, who do not look at the matter with your +eyes." + +"I suppose they have never really seen it," I answered sadly. +"People that have always lived close to something, often do +not know what it is. My father has never seen it - nor, my +mother. _I_ have." + +"They would not agree with you; your views would not harmonise +with theirs." + +"And therefore I trust to your honour to keep silence +respecting mine." + +"I am bound," he answered gloomily; and we walked a few +minutes in silence. + +"You will change your manner of thinking, Miss Randolph," he +began again. "Yours is the vision of inexperienced eyes and of +impulsive generosity. It will not remain what it is." + +"Inexperienced eyes see the clearest," I answered. "The habit +of wrong is no help towards judging of the right." + +"You will think differently by and by." + +"Not while I am a servant of God and He commands me to break +every yoke, to do as I would be done by, to look not on my own +things, but also on the things of others. We owe our poor +people not liberty only, but education, and every advantage +for restored civilisation; - a great long debt." + +"And is this the reason why you will not look favourably on my +suit?" he said after another interval. + +"It is a reason why you will not wish to prosecute it, Mr. De +Saussure." + +"You are very severe!" he said. "Do you really think that?" + +"You know it is true. I do not wish to be severe." + +"Have you then no kindness for me?" + +"Why do you ask?" + +"You are so dreadfully calm and cool!" he said. "One has no +chance with you. If this matter were not in the way, would you +have any kindness for me, Daisy? Is this all that separates +us?" + +"It is quite enough, Mr. De Saussure. It is as powerful with +you as with me." + +"I am too late, I suppose!" he said, as it seemed to me, +rather spitefully. As he was too late, it was no use to tell +him he could never have been early enough. I was silent; and +we walked on unenjoyingly. Vexation was working in his +countenance, and a trace of that same spite; I was glad when +we came to the end of our way and the other members of our +party closed up and joined us. + +As I cared nothing for the house they had come to see, I +excused myself from going any nearer, and sat down upon the +bank at a little distance while they gratified their +curiosity. The view of the lake and lake shores here was very +lovely; enough to satisfy any one for a long while; but now, +my thoughts only rested there for a minute, to make a spring +clear across the Atlantic. Mr. Thorold was very close to me, +and I was very far from him; that was the burden of my heart. +So close to me he had been, that I had never dreamed any one +could think of taking his place. I saw I had been a simpleton. +Up to that day I had no suspicion that Mr. De Saussure liked +me more than would be convenient; and indeed I had no fear now +of his heart being broken; but I saw that his unlucky suit +made a complication in my affairs that they certainly did not +need. - Mamma approved it; yes, I had no doubt of that. I knew +of a plantation of his, Briery Bank, only a few miles distant +from Magnolia and reputed to be very rich in its incomings. +And, no doubt Mr. De Saussure would have liked the +neighbourhood of Magnolia, and to add its harvest to his own. +And all the while I belonged to Mr. Thorold, and nobody else +could have me. My thoughts came back to that refrain with a +strong sense of pain and gladness. However, the gladness was +the strongest. How lovely the lake was, with its sunlit hills! + +In the midst of my musings, Hugh Marshall came and threw +himself on the ground at my side. I welcomed him with a smile; +for I liked him; he was a friend; and I thought, - This one +does not want me at any rate. I was a great simpleton, I +suppose. + +"I was afraid you had deserted me to-day," he said. + +"I am sure, it is I who might rather have thought that of +you," I answered; and indeed I had wished for his company more +than once. + +"You could not have thought it!" he said. + +"Have you satisfied your curiosity with Eugene Sue's house?" + +"I do not care to look at anything that you don't like," he +replied. + +"Cigars? -" I suggested. + +"No indeed. If you disapprove of them, I shall have no more +fellowship with them." + +"That is going quite too far, Mr. Marshall. A man should never +give up anything that he does not disapprove of himself." + +"Not to please somebody he wishes to please?" + +"Of course," I said, thinking of Mr. Thorold, - "there might +be such cases. But in general." + +"This is one of the cases. I wish to please you." + +"Thank you," I said earnestly. "But indeed, I should be more +pleased to have you follow your own sense of right than any +notion of another, even of myself." + +"You are not like any other woman I ever saw," he said +smiling. "Do you know, they all have a passion for command? +There are De Saussure's mother and sisters, - they do not +leave him a moment's peace, because he is not at home +fighting." + +I was silent, and hoped that Mr. De Saussure's friends might +now perhaps get him away from Geneva at least. + +"You think with them, that he ought to go?" Hugh Marshall said +presently with a shadow, I thought, on his words. + +"I would not add one more to the war," I answered. + +"Your mother does not think so." + +"No." + +"Mrs. Randolph has almost signified to me that her favour will +depend on my taking such a course, and doing all I can to help +on the Confederacy." + +"Yes, I know," I said rather sadly; "mamma feels very strongly +about it." + +"You do not?" + +"Yes, Mr. Marshall, I do; but it is in a different way." + +"I wish you would explain," he said earnestly. + +"But I do not like to set myself in opposition to mamma; and +you ought to do what you yourself think right, Mr. Marshall; +not what either of us thinks." + +"What do _you_ think is right?" he repeated eagerly. + +"My thoughts do not make or unmake anything." + +"They make - they will make, if you will let them - the rule +of my life," he answered. "I have no dearer wish." + +I was struck with dismay. + +"Please do not say that!" I said trembling. "My thoughts +should rule only my own life; not anybody, else's." + +"One more!" said Hugh Marshall. "They must rule one more. +There will be one, somewhere, whose highest pleasure will be +to please you, as long as he has a life to give to it. - Will +you take mine?" he said after a pause and in a lower tone. "I +offer it to you undividedly." + +It cannot be told, the sickness of heart which came over me. +The mistake I had made in my blindness, the sorrowfulness of +it, the pain I must give, the mischief it might do, I saw it +all at once. For a while, I could not find words to speak. +Hugh studied my face, and must have seen no ground of hope +there, for he did not speak either. He was quite silent and +left it to me. Oh, Lake of Annecy! what pain comes to me now +with the remembrance of your sweet waters. + +I turned at last and laid my hand upon Hugh's arm. He did not +mistake me; he took my hand in his, and stood looking at me +with a face as grave as my own. + +"What is the matter, Daisy?" he said sorrowfully. + +"I have made a miserable mistake!" I said. "Cannot we be +friends, Mr. Marshall? - dear friends, and nothing more?" + +"Why 'nothing more'?" + +"I can be no more to you," I answered. + +"Why not?" + +"I have not the feeling. I have not the power. I would, if I +could." + +"It is I who have made a mistake," he said, as he dropped my +hand. + +"No, it is I," I said bitterly. "I have been childishly wrong. +I have been foolish. It never entered my thought, that you - +or anybody - liked me, except as a friend." + +"And he got your heart without your knowing it?" + +"Who?" said I, frightened. + +"De Saussure, of course." + +"De Saussure! No indeed. I would a thousand times rather give +it to you, Hugh. But, I cannot." + +"Then it will come," said he, taking my hand again; "if you +can say that, it will come. I will wait." + +"No, it will not come," I said, as we looked one another in +the face. "I can be only a friend. May I not be that?" + +He eyed me keenly, I saw, and my eyes for a moment fell. He +let go my hand again. + +"Then, I understand," - he said. "Shall we go? I believe it is +time." + +"Where is mamma?" I asked, looking about in some bewilderment +now. + +"Mrs. Randolph and the rest have gone on; they are some +distance ahead of us by this time." + +And what were they all thinking too, by this time! In great +dismay I turned to go after them with my unwelcome companion. +We walked in silence; I blaming myself greatly for stupidness +and blindness and selfish preoccupation, which had made me +look at nobody's affairs but my own; and grieving sadly too +for the mischief I had done. + +"Mayn't we be friends, Mr. Marshall?" I said somewhat timidly +at last; for I could not bear the silence. + +"I can never be anything else," he said. "You may always +command me. But I have not misunderstood you, Daisy? You meant +to tell me that - _some one_ has been more fortunate than I, and +been beforehand with me ?" + +"I did not mean to tell you that," I said in a good deal of +confusion. + +"But it is true ?" he said, looking searchingly at me. + +"Nobody knows it, Hugh," I said. "Not my mother nor my +father." + +The silence fell again and again became painful. The others of +our party were well in advance. - We caught no glimpse of them +yet. + +"We will be friends, Mr. Marshall?" - I said anxiously. + +"Yes, we will be friends, Daisy; but I cannot be a friend near +you. I cannot see you any longer. I shall be a wreck now, I +suppose. You might have made me - anything !" + +"You will make yourself a noble name and place in the world," +I said, laying my hand on his arm. "The name and the place of +a servant of God. Won't you, Hugh? Then you will come to true +joy, and honour - the joy and honour that God gives. Let me +have the joy of knowing that! I have done so much mischief, - +let me know that the mischief is mended." + +"What mischief have you done?" he asked, with his voice +roughened by feeling. + +"I did not know what I was leading you - and others - into." + +"You led to nothing; except as the breath of a rose leads one +to stretch out one's hand for it," he answered. "The rose has +as much design!" + +He turned aside hastily, stooped for a little twig that lay on +the roadside, and began assiduously breaking it up. And the +silence was not interrupted again, till we came in sight of +our friends in advance of us, leisurely walking to let us come +up. Then Hugh and I plunged into conversation; but what it was +about I have not the least remembrance. It lasted though, till +we joined company with the rest of our party, and the talk +became general. Still I do not know what we talked about. I +had a feeling of thunder in the air, though the very stillness +of sunlight beauty was on the smooth water and the hilly +shore; and I saw clouds rising and gathering, even though Mont +Blanc as we returned that evening showed rosy hues to its very +summit in the clear heaven. I can hardly tell how, my mother's +manner or something in it, made me sure both of the clouds and +the thunder. It was full of grace, tact and spirit, to such a +point of admiration. Yet I read in it, yes, and in that very +grace and spirit, a certain state of the nervous powers which +told of excitement at work, or a fund of determination +gathering; the electric forces massing somewhere; and this +luminous play only foretold the lightning. + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A TRUCE + + +It is odd with what significance little things become endued, +from their connection with other things which are not little. +I remember the white dress mamma wore the next day, and the +red cashmere scarf she had wrapped round her. I remember how +happy and easy the folds of her drapery were, and how I +noticed her graceful slow movements, Surely grace is a natural +attribute of power, even though power be not always graceful; +at least any uncertainty of meaning or manner is fatal to +gracefulness. There was no uncertainty about mamma ever, +unless the uncertainty of carelessness; and that itself +belonged to power. There was no uncertainty in any fold of her +cashmere that morning; in any movement of her person, slow and +reposeful as every movement was. I knew by a sort of instinct +what it all meant. Indeed these were mamma's ordinary +characteristics; only appearing just now with the bloom of +perfection upon them. She was powerful and she knew it; I knew +myself naturally no match for her. It was always very hard for +me to withstand mamma. Nothing but the sense of right ever +gave me courage to do it. But striving for the right, the +Christian is not at his own charges, and has other strength +than his own to depend upon. + +"You do not eat, my darling," papa said to me. + +"Daisy has too much to think of," said mamma with a sort of +careless significance. "I will have another bit of chicken, +if you please, Mr. Randolph." + +"What is she thinking of?" + +"Girls' thoughts are unfathomable," said mamma. + +"_Is_ it thoughts, Daisy?" said my father. + +"I suppose it may be, papa." + +"Then I shall do something to break up thinking," he said. + +But I knew I must not look for help so. To appeal to one of my +parents against the other, was what it would never answer to +do, even if I could have done it. I felt alone; but I was as +quiet as mamma. I had not so good an appetite. + +In the course of the morning she had me up stairs to consider +the matter of dresses and fashions; and we were turning over a +quantity of laces and jewels. Mamma tried one and another set +of stones upon me and in my hair. + +"Rubies and pearls are your style," she said at length. +"Diamonds are out of harmony, somehow. You are magnificent, +Daisy; and pearls make you look like the Queen of Sheba. I +cannot imagine why diamonds do hot suit you." + +"I do not suit them, mamma." + +"Pardon me. You do not know yourself. But girls of your age +never do. That is where mothers are useful, I suppose. Which +is it to be, Daisy?" + +"I do not want either, mamma." + +"Yes; that is of course too. But which do you like best, of +the two? I suppose you have some preference." + +"Mamma, I think I prefer the pearls, but you know -" + +Mamma stopped my mouth with a kiss. "Little goose!" she said, +- "I am not talking of pearls. Did I not say what I was +thinking of? I supposed we both had the same thought, Daisy, +and that you would understand me." + +"I thought it was pearls and rubies, mamma." + +"Well, now you know it is not; and again I come back to my +question, - Which is it to be?" + +"Which - of what, mamma?" + +"Nonsense, Daisy; - you know." + +"I know nothing of any choice that I have to make, ma'am, if +you do not mean about jewels; and of them, as I said, I should +prefer neither." + +"You may choose and refuse among jewels," said my mother, - +"and refuse and choose; but among some other things it is +necessary to make a choice and stick to it." + +"Yes, mamma; but I am not in such a necessity." + +"What choice have you made, then? It is the same thing, Daisy; +only I want to know. Do you not think it is reasonable that I +should know?" + +"Please explain yourself, mamma." + +"Hugh Marshall, then, and Charles De Saussure. What is your +mind about them?" + +"I like them, mamma, as your friends and as mine, - very well, +- but no more." + +"Only very well." + +"No more, mamma." + +"Very well, is a good deal," said mamma coolly. "Which of them +must I like a little more than very well, Daisy?" + +"Mamma? -" + +"Whoever owns and possesses you, I should wish to like very +much. Which is it to be, Daisy?" + +"Neither of these gentlemen, mamma." + +"Did De Saussure propose to you yesterday?" + +"Yes." + +"What did you say to him?" + +"I made him understand that he was nothing to me." + +"He is something to me," said mamma. "He is one of the first +young men I know, and has one of the finest estates - close by +yours, Daisy." + +"Estates are nothing in such a matter, mamma." + +"That is like saying that pearls and rubies are nothing on +such a skin as yours," said mamma laughing. "But you may think +of the men, Daisy, and I will think of the estates; that is +all _en règle_." + +"I do not wish to think of these men, mamma." + +"It is late in the day to say that. You must have thought of +them both, Daisy, and long ago." + +"It never entered my head till yesterday, mamma, that either +of them liked me." + +"You must have seen it for weeks past." + +"I did not, mamma, - I never thought of such a thing as +possible, till yesterday." + +"Is it a possible thing," said mamma, "that a daughter of mine +can be such a simpleton? It is time you were married, Daisy, +if you can break hearts like that, without knowing it." + +"Better be a simpleton than wicked," I said. + +"And that comes to the point," said mamma. "You have most +unaccountably encouraged the addresses of these gentlemen - +and seeing that you did, so have I; - now, to clear both +yourself and me, let your preference be made known. It need +not take you long to make your mind up, I suppose." + +"I am very sorry, mamma. I have done wrong; I have been very +foolish; but I cannot do worse. I do not like either of these +gentlemen well enough for what you mean." + +"If you have done wrong, you can mend it," said mamma. "Liking +will come fast enough, Daisy; a girl like you does not think +she can like anybody but her father and mother; she finds out +her mistake in time. So will you. I will decide for you, if +you have no choice. Charles De Saussure is my friend, and I +think he is most of a man of the two. I will tell Charles that +you will make him happy by and by." + +"No, mamma, I will not. Do not tell him so." + +"Do you like Hugh Marshall better?" + +"I do not like either of them in the way you mean." + +"Do you like Hugh better? Answer me." + +"Mamma -" + +"No, answer me. A plain answer. Do you like Hugh better?" + +"A great deal better; but -" + +"That settles it," said mamma. "You shall be Hugh Marshall's +wife. Don't tell me a word against it, Daisy, for I will not +hear you. I do not like Marshall as well, myself, but his +property is even larger, I believe; and as I am not in love, I +may be allowed to think of such things. It is away over on the +Mississippi; but we cannot help that. I will make Hugh happy +to-day, and then - you shall, Daisy." + +"No, mamma, - never. It cannot be." + +"It must, Daisy. You have compromised yourself, and me. You +have allowed these gentlemen's attentions; you have been seen +everywhere with them; you owe it to yourself and them to +declare your choice of one of them now. You must make up your +mind to it. If you are not in love, it cannot be helped; that +will come in time; but I think you are. Hey, Daisy?" she said, +lifting my chin with her forefinger and looking into my face, +- "isn't it true? Isn't it true? Ah, silly thing! - Eyes that +are wells of sweetness for somebody - for all down they go, - +a mouth that has smiles enough for somebody, - though it +trembles, - and what does this rose leaf mean, that is +stealing over every one of your two cheeks? it is a witness to +somebody, who has brought it there. Go - I know all about it. +You may make your confession to Hugh, if you like it best." + +I thought mamma would have broken my heart. I rose up in +despair. + +"To-day, Daisy," mamma repeated. "It must be done to-day." + +What could I say? I did not know. + +"Mamma, it is not as you think. I do not care for Hugh +Marshall." + +"Is it De Saussure, then?" she asked, turning quickly upon me. + +"No, mamma." + +"Is it Preston Gary?" she asked, with a change in her voice. + +"No, Oh, no, mamma!" + +"Then it is one of these. Daisy, I protest I have not skill +enough to find out _which_ of them; but you know, and that is +sufficient. And they must know too; there can be no more of +this three-cornered game. It is time to put an end to it. I +have read you, if you have not read yourself; and now, my +child, you must be content to let the rose blossom, that you +keep so carefully folded up in its green leaves. One of these +gentlemen will leave us presently; and the other, whichever it +is, I shall consider and treat as your acknowledged suitor; +and so _must you, Daisy_. He will be going home to the war, he +too, in a short time more; and he must go with the distinct +understanding that when the war is over, you will reward him +as he wants to be rewarded. Not; till then, child. You will +have time enough to think about it." + +My mother had shut my lips. I was afraid to say anything good +or bad. She had read me; yes, I felt that she had, when she +looked into my face and touched my cheeks and kissed my lips, +which I knew well enough were trembling, as she had said. She +had read me, all but the name in my heart. What if she had +read that? The least movement now on my part might bring it to +the light; what if it came? I did not know what then, and I +was greatly afraid. An old awe of my mother and sense of her +power, as well as knowledge of her invincible determination, +filled me with doubt and fear. She might write to Mr. Thorold +at once and forbid him ever to think of me; she might send him +word that I was engaged to Mr. De Saussure. And indeed I might +also possibly clear my own action to Mr. Thorold; but change +hers, never. My faith failed, I believe. I was like Abraham +when he went into Egypt and feared somebody would kill him to +get possession of his wife. I did not, like him, resort to a +fiction for my safety; but neither did I trust God and dare +tell the truth. + +My own will was as good as mamma's. I was not afraid of weakly +yielding some time or other; I was only afraid of her outside +measures. + +She resumed her occupation of trying laces and jewels on me; +finally laughed, chucked me under the chin, kissed me, called +me a pretty goose, and bade me go and dress myself "for +whomever I liked best." I went to my room to have the +heartache. + +I had given up the management of myself; I was not struggling +now; I knew there would be a way out of all my perplexities +some time; but nevertheless my heart ached. I did dress +myself, however, for that is an important part of a woman's +work; and I went down stairs with a vague hope in my heart +that I might see Hugh and somehow enlist him on my side, so +far at least as to make him delay his departure; though I +could not imagine how I could ask it, nor what I could say to +him of any sort that would benefit me or that would not do him +harm. But I thought in vain. I did not see him. Mr. De +Saussure came, and played chess with me all the evening. I +played very ill, and he won every game, till I thought he +would stop for the very stupidness of it. + +Some painful days followed that day; during which mamma +managed to make me accept Mr. De Saussure's attentions in +public and in private. She managed it; I could not escape them +without making a violent protest, and I did not of course +choose that. Hugh Marshall was gone; he had come only to take +a hurried leave of us; suddenly obliged to return home, he +said; "he had lingered too long." Mr. De Saussure's eyes +flashed with I triumph; every line of mamma's face (to me) +expressed satisfaction, of course gracefully concealed from +everybody else. But Hugh and I parted with a great grasp of +the hand, which I am sure came from both our hearts and left +mine very sore. Then he was gone. After that, Mr. De Saussure +took Hugh's place and his own too in our little society; and +for a few days things went on in a train which I knew was +preparing mischief. + +Then one night the explosion came. We were out on the lake in +a boat; mamma, Mr. De Saussure, and I; we had gone to see the +colours come and go on the great head of Mont Blanc. In the +glory of the sight, I had forgotten who was with me and where +I was, for the moment; and I was thinking of the colours and +lights of the New Jerusalem, than which those before me seemed +scarcely less unearthly. Thinking, with a pang at the distance +between; with a longing for those pure heights where human +life never casts its flickering shadow; with a cry for Thorold +in my heart, whom every sight of joy or beauty was sure to +bring before me. I was rudely recalled from my momentary +dream, though it was by my mother's soft voice. + +"Daisy -" + +I started and came back to earth and the Lake of Geneva. + +"Mr. De Saussure is going soon to leave us and return home - +you know for what. Before he goes, he desires the satisfaction +of kissing your hand. I suppose he would have liked a little +more, but I have only promised the hand." + +"I have explained myself to Mr. De Saussure, mamma; he is +under no mistake." + +"So I have told him. He could not ask more than you have given +him; but leaving us for a long while, Daisy, and on such a +service, a little further grace would not be ill bestowed. I +shall give him leave, if you do not," she added laughing; "and +I may give him more than you would like, Daisy." + +I think at that minute I felt as if I would like to make one +spring out of this world and all its confusions into that +other world I had been thinking of; but one does not get quit +of one's troubles so easily. That minute on the Lake of Geneva +was one of the _ugliest_ I have ever known. Mamma was smooth and +determined; Mr. De Saussure looked triumphant and expectant; +for a moment my heart shrank, but I do not think I showed it +outwardly. + +"Daisy -" said mamma, smiling. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Mr. De Saussure is waiting. Will you speak the word? - or +shall I?" + +"I have spoken to Mr. De Saussure," I said, coldly. + +"Not very clearly. He understands you better now." + +"Permit me to say," put in blandly Mr. De Saussure, - "that I +am rejoiced to find I did _not_ understand you at a former +conversation we held together. Mrs. Randolph has been my kind +interpreter. You will not _now_ refuse me?" he said, as he +endeavoured to insinuate his fingers into mine. + +"Kiss her, Charles!" said mamma; "she is a coy girl. I give +you leave." + +And before I could anticipate or prevent it, Mr. De Saussure's +arm was round me and the salute was given. I think mamma +really thought she could bestow me away as she pleased. I am +sure she had no idea of the nature she was combating. Nobody +had ever withstood her successfully; she did not think that I +could be the first. But this little thing - it was not a +little thing to me at the time - cut the knot of my +difficulties. Released from Mr. De Saussure's encircling arm, +I removed myself to the other side of the boat and drew my +shawl round me. I do not know what significance was in my +action, but mamma said, "Nonsense!" + +"I have not offended, have I?" said Mr. De Saussure. +"Remember, I had liberty." + +"Mamma," I said, "if you will sit a little further that way, +you will restore the balance of the boat." + +"Which you have entirely disarranged, Daisy," she said as she +moved herself. + +"Daisy will acknowledge I had liberty," Mr. De Saussure +repeated. + +"Mamma," I said, "don't you think it is growing chill?" + +"Row us home, Charles," said my mother. "And, Daisy, don't be +a fool. Mr. De Saussure had liberty, as he says." + +"I do not acknowledge it, ma'am." + +"You must give her line, Charles," mamma said, half laughing +but vexed. "She is a woman." + +"I hope she will grant me forgiveness," he said. "She must +remember, I _thought_ I had liberty." + +"I shall not forget," I answered. "I understand, that respect +for me failed before respect for my mother." + +"But! -" he began. + +"Be quiet, Charles," my mother interrupted him. "Pull us to +shore; and let fits of perverseness alone till they go off. +That is my counsel to you." + +And the remainder of our little voyage was finished in +profound silence. I knew mamma was terribly vexed, but at the +same time I was secretly overjoyed; for I saw that she yielded +to me, and I knew that I should have no more trouble with Mr. +De Saussure. + +I did not. He lingered about for a few days longer, in moody +style, and then went away and I saw him no more. During those +days I had nothing to do with him. But my mother had almost as +little to do with me. She was greatly offended; and also, I +saw, very much surprised. The woman Daisy could not be quite +the ductile thing the child Daisy had been. I took refuge with +papa whenever I could. + +"What is all this about De Saussure and Marshall?" he asked +one day. + +"They have both gone home." + +"I know they have; but what sent them home?" + +"Mamma has been trying to make them go, this long while, you +know, papa. She wanted them to go and join Beauregard." + +"And will they? Is that what they are gone for?" + +"I do not know if they will, papa. I suppose Mr. De Saussure +will." + +"And not Marshall?" + +"I do not know about him." + +"What did _you_ do, Daisy?" + +"Papa - you know I do not like the war." + +"How about liking the gentlemen?" + +"I am glad they are gone." + +"Well, so am I," papa answered; "but what had you to do with +sending them home?" + +"Nothing, papa, - only that I unfortunately did not want them +to stay." + +"And you could not offer them any reward for going?" + +"Papa, a man who would do such a thing for _reward_, would not +be a man." + +"I think so too, Daisy. Your mother somehow takes a different +view." + +"She cares only for the soldier, papa; not for the man." + +Papa was silent and thoughtful. + +There were no other intimate friends about us in Geneva; and +our life became, I must confess, less varied and pleasant +after the young men had gone. At first I felt only the relief; +then the dulness began to creep in. Papa led the life of an +invalid, or of one who had been an invalid; not an active life +in any way; I thought, not active enough for his good. Some +hours I got of reading with him; reading to him, and talking +of what we read; they did my father good, and me too; but they +were few, and often cut short. As soon as mamma joined us, our +books had to be laid aside. They bored her, she said, or +hindered her own reading; and she and papa played draughts and +chess and piquet. Mamma was not in a bored state at other +times; for she was busy with letters and plans and +arrangements, always in a leisurely way, but yet busy. It was +a sort of business with which I had no sympathy, and which +therefore left me out. The cause of the South was not my +cause; and the discussion of toilettes, fashions, costumes and +society matters, was entirely out of my line. In all these, +mamma found her element. Ransom was no resource to anybody; +and of course not to me, with whom, now as ever, he had little +in common. Mamma held me aloof, ever since Mr. De Saussure's +departure; and I only knew indirectly, as it were, that she +was planning a social campaign for me and meditating over +adornments and advantages which should help to make it +triumphant. Life in this way was not altogether enjoyable. The +only conversation which could be said to be general among us, +was on the subject of home affairs in America. That rung in my +ears every day. + +"Glorious news, sir!" cried Ransom one day as he came in to +dinner. "Glorious news! The first real news we have had in a +long time." + +"What is it?" said my father; and "What, Ransom?" my mother +asked, with a kindling eye. My heart sank. Those know who +remember those times, how one's heart used to sink when news +came. + +"What is it, Ransom?" + +"Why, a large body of them, the Yankees, got across the +Potomac the night of the 20th; got in a nest of our +sharpshooters and were well riddled; then, when they couldn't +stand it any longer, they fell back to the river and tried to +get across again to the other side, where they came from; and +they had no means of getting across, nothing but a couple of +old scows; so they went into the water to get away from the +fire, and quantities of them were drowned, and those that were +not drowned were shot. Lost a great many, and their commanding +officer killed. That's the way. They'll have enough of it in +time. The war'll be over in a few weeks or months more. De +Saussure will not have time to raise his regiment. I don't +think, mamma, it's any use for me to go home, it'll be over so +soon." + +"Where was this?" inquired my father. + +"Some place - Ball's Bluff, I believe. It was a grand affair." + +"How many did they lose?" my mother said. + +"Oh, I don't know - some thousands. We lost nothing to speak +of. But the thing is, they will lose heart. They will never +stand this sort of thing. They have no officers, you know, and +they can have no soldiers. They will be obliged to give up." + +Words were in my heart, but my lips knew better than to speak +them. _Had_ they no officers? Had Christian no soldiers under +him? My head was ready to believe it; my heart refused. Yet I +thought too I had seen at the North the stuff that soldiers +are made of. + +"If I were you," said my mother, "I would not let it all be +over before I had a part in it." + +"The war is not ended yet, Felicia," my father remarked; "and +it will take more than a few hard knocks to make them give +up." + +"They have had nothing but hard knocks, sir, since it began," +Ransom cried. + +"Your father always takes a medium view of everything," my +mother said. "If it depended on him, I believe there would be +no war." + +"I should have one other vote for peace," papa said, looking +at me. + +"It is well Daisy was not born a boy!" Ransom said. + +"I hope you will not make me wish you had been born a girl," +my father replied. "Strength is no more noble when it ceases +to be gentle." + +"Must not every woman wish for peace?" I said. It was an +unhappy attempt at a diversion, and if I had not been in a +hurry I should not have made it. + +"No," my mother answered, not sharply, but with cold +distinctness. "Before the South should submit to the dictation +or reproof of Northern boors and fanatics, I would take a +musket myself and die in the trenches." + +"It is an ugly place to die in, my dear," answered my father. + +"See Daisy shiver!" Ransom exclaimed; and he burst into a +laugh, "Mamma, Daisy's blood has grown thin at the North. She +is not a true Southern woman. There is no fire in you, Daisy." + +Not at that moment, for I was sick and cold, as he said. I +could not get accustomed to these things, with all the +practice I had. + +"No fire in her?" said papa, calmly. "There is ammunition +enough, Ransom. I don't want to see the fire, for my part. I +am glad there is one of us that keeps cool. My darling, you +look pale - what is it for?" + +"Fire that burns with a blue flame," said mamma. + +"Blue?" - said papa, with a look at me which somehow set us all +to laughing. + +"The carmine is coming in again," said mamma. "I profess I do +not understand you, Daisy." + +I was afraid she began to suspect me. + +It was very true that mamma did not understand me; and it was +the unhappiness of my life. I tried hard to narrow the +distance between us, by every opportunity that the days or the +hours gave; and a certain accord was after a time established +anew in our relations with each other. Mamma again took to +adorning and playing with me; again studied my toilettes and +superintended my dressing; made me as exquisite as herself in +all outward paraphernalia. I let her alone; in this at least I +could gratify her; and no occasion of gratifying her was to be +lost. Papa was pleased too, though I think it made less +difference to him what I was dressed in; yet he observed me, +and smiled in a way to show his pleasure whenever a new device +of mamma's produced a new effect. She sought society for +herself and me now. We removed from Geneva and went to +Florence. I was thankful it was not to Paris. Every foot of +Italy had great charms for me; and I dreamed over Florence, +with a delighted fancy that never grew tired or tame. That my +evenings were spent in what I did not care for, could not +spoil my days. Our walks and drives, which papa and I often +now took alone, were delicious beyond expression. I forgot the +whirl of the night before and of the evening to come, and I +was the child Daisy again, I think, in very much. At night +mamma had me. + +There was a lull at this time in the news from home. Both +parties in America were gathering up their strength; and in +the mean time the only affairs we heard of were inconclusive +skirmishes, sometimes turning out for the advantage of one +side, sometimes of the other; but not to signal advantage for +anybody. I hoped, with such a lull, that things might subside +into a state susceptible of composition. I might have +reasoned, if I looked at home, upon the unlikelihood of any +such thing. No news of advantages lost or gained had any +effect upon my mother and brother but to make them more keen +in the cause and more relentless in pursuit of their end. The +hearing of a trifling success was like a taste of blood to the +lion; the loss of Beaufort and its forts was turned into an +occasion of triumph because "the great naval expedition" had +accomplished no greater things. They laughed at McClellan's +review of troops; and counted up the gains his adversaries +were to realise from the co-operation of foreign well-wishers. +And then the taking of Mason and Slidell put them into a fume +of indignation and scorn. My father shared, though more +gently, in all this. I was alone. Could I tell them that my +heart was with the Northern army; and how it went out after +every gleam of one particular sabre? + +My mother drew me into society by degrees. I hardly knew where +the line was passed, between quiet conversaziones and +brilliant and courtly assemblies. It was passed when I was +unwitting of it, or when I felt unable to help it. My mother +had been so much alienated by my behaviour toward Marshall and +De Saussure, that I thought it needful to please her by every +means in my power, short of downright violation of conscience. +"Children, obey your parents _in the Lord_," - I did not forget; +I thought I was doing the very thing. For it was not to please +myself, that I let my mother make me look as she chose and let +her take me - where she would. My heart was too sore to be +ambitious and too sober to feel the flutterings of vanity. I +knew the effect of her doings was often what satisfied her; +but the nearest approach to a thrill of vanity in myself was, +I think, the wish that Christian could see me. And as he could +not, I seemed to wear an armour of proof against other eyes. I +did not care for them. + +Nevertheless, I began to be sensible that they cared for me. I +obeyed my mother at first because she signified her will very +absolutely, and allowed me to see that any refusal on my part +would make a breach between us. I left myself in her hands, to +dress and adorn and lead about as she liked; I could not help +it without an effort that would have parted us. And besides, I +believe I accepted these engrossments of society as a sedative +to keep me from thinking. They took a great deal of tine and +occupied my attention while they lasted. + +By degrees there came a change. As I said, I was admired. At +first I cared little for any eyes but those which could not +see me; but that did not last. I began to like to be admired. +Soon after that, it dimly dawned upon me, that some of those +whom I saw now every day, might come to admire me too much. I +had learnt a lesson. There were several gentlemen, whose +society I liked very well, who gave us, I began to perceive, a +great deal of it. I saw them at night; I saw them by day; they +met us in our walks; they even joined us in our rides. One was +a German; a very cultivated and agreeable talker, well-bred, +and in high position at Florence. Another was a delightful +Italian; poor I think. A third was a young English nobleman; +rich, but nothing more that I could discover. The German +talked to me; the Italian sang with me; the Englishman +followed me, and was most at home in our house of them all. I +had been taking the good of all this, in a nice society way, +enjoying the music and the talk and the information I got from +the two first, and I am afraid enjoying too the flowers and +the attentions of the third, as well as of still others whom I +have not mentioned. I was floating down a stream and I had not +thought about it, only enjoyed in a careless way; till a +little thing startled me. + +"We do not have so much time for our walks as we used, Daisy," +papa said one day when he came into the drawing-room and found +me with my habit on. "Where are you going now?" + +"To ride, papa, with Lord Montjoy." + +"My Daisy is not a daisy any longer," said papa, folding me in +his arms. "She has grown into a white camellia. Going to ride +with Lord Montjoy! -" + +I cannot say what in these last words of papa gave me a whole +revelation. + +"I think you are mistaken, papa," I said. "I am Daisy yet." + +"I _was_ mistaken," said papa smiling, but rather shadowedly, I +thought; - "I should have said a rose camellia. Here is Lord +Montjoy, my dear. Go." + +I am sure Lord Montjoy had little satisfaction in that ride; +at least I am sure I had little. I was longing for time to +think, and frightened besides. But when the ride was over, +mamma wanted me; the evening claimed me for a grand reception; +the morning held me in sleep; we had company at luncheon; I +was engaged with another riding party in the afternoon, and +another assembly expected me at night. I could not rest or +think, as I wanted to think, till night and morning had again +two or three times tossed me about as a society ball. I think +one's mind gets to be something like a ball too, when one +lives such a life; all one's better thoughts rolled up, like a +hybernating hedgehog, and put away as not wanted for use. I +had no opportunity to unroll mine for several days. + +But I could not bear this state of things long; and at last I +excused myself from a party one morning and went to walk with +papa; and then that hedgehog of thoughts began to stir and +unfold and come to life. Still I wanted quiet. We had been +going through a picture gallery, where I did not see the +pictures; then, as often before, I persuaded papa to walk on +further and take post where we could look at our leisure on +the beautiful Dome. This was an unceasing pleasure to me. Papa +was not so fond of it; he came for my sake, as he often was +accustomed to do. To-day, instead of soothing, its majestic +beauty roused all there was to rouse within me. I suppose we +were a long time silent, but I do not know. + +"Daisy, you are very quiet," papa said at length. + +"Yes papa," I said, rousing myself. "I was thinking." + +"That is an old disease of yours, my pet. I wish I could enjoy +that great Dome as much as you do." + +"Papa, it is so perfect!" + +"The Grecian temples suit me better, Daisy." + +"Not me, papa." + +"Why do they not? What can equal their grace and symmetry?" + +"It is cold beauty, papa; there is nothing to lift the +thoughts up; and I don't believe those who built them had any +high thoughts - spiritual thoughts, I mean, papa." + +"And you think the builder of the Dome of Florence had?" + +"Yes, sir - I think so." + +"The one means no more to me than the other, Daisy." + +"Papa," I said, "don't you remember, when you sent me word I +must stay two years longer in school without seeing you and +mamma, you sent me a promise too? - by Aunt Gary." + +"I remember very well, Daisy. Are you going to claim the +promise?" + +"Papa, may I?" + +"Certainly." + +"But, papa, -does the promise stand good, like Herod's promise +to that dancing woman? is it to be whatever I ask?" + +"I believe I said so, Daisy. By the way, why do you not like +dancing?" + +"I suppose I should like it, papa, if I let myself do it." + +"Why not let yourself do it? You do not want to make yourself +singular, Daisy." + +"No more than I must, papa. But about your promise." + +"Yes. Well?" + +"It stands good, papa? if it is 'to the half of your +kingdom.' " + +"That was a rash promise of Herod, Daisy." + +"Yes, papa; but I am not a dancing girl." + +Papa laughed, and looked at me, and laughed again, and seemed +a good deal amused. + +"What put that argument into your mouth?" he said. "And what +is the reason that it is an argument? You are very absurd, +Daisy! You are very absurd not to dance; so your mother says; +and I am absurd too, by that reasoning; for I like you better +than if you did. Well, not being a dancing girl, what is your +petition? I reckon it will stand good, even to the half of my +kingdom. Though indeed I do not know how much of a kingdom +will remain to me, by the time matters are composed at home. +There will be no crops grown at the South this year." + +"It would not cost more to go to Palestine, would it, papa, +than to live as we are doing now?" + +"Palestine!" he exclaimed. "Your mother would never go to +Palestine, Daisy." + +"But you and I might, papa, - for a few months. You know mamma +wants to go to Paris, to be there with Aunt Gary, who is +coming." + +"She wants you there too, Daisy, I much suspect; not to speak +of me." + +"What better time can we ever have, papa?" + +"I do not know. I am afraid your mother would say any other +would be better." + +"Papa, I cannot tell you how glad I should be to go now." + +"Why, Daisy?" said papa, looking at me. "To my certain +knowledge, there are several people who will be desolate if +you quit Florence at this time - several besides your mother." + +"Papa, - that is the very reason why I should like to go - +before it becomes serious." + +Papa became serious immediately. He lifted my face to look at +it, flushed as I suppose it was; and kissed me, with a smile +which did not in the least belie the seriousness. + +"If we go to Paris, Daisy? - we should leave your enemies +behind." + +"No papa - two of them are going to Paris when we go." + +"That _is_ serious," said my father. "After all, why not, +Daisy?" + +"Oh, papa, let us get away while it is time!" I said. "Mamma +was so displeased with me because of Mr. De Saussure and Mr. +Marshall; and she will be again - perhaps." + +"Why, Daisy," said papa, lifting my face again for scrutiny, - +"how do you know? Are you cased in proof armour? are you sure? +Do you know what you are talking of, Daisy?" + +"Yes, - I know, papa." + +"I see you do. Whenever your eyes are deep and calm like that, +you are always in your right mind and know it. That is, you +are thoroughly yourself; and so far as my limited acquaintance +with you goes, there is no other mind that has the power of +turning you. Yes, Daisy; we will go to Palestine, you and I." + +I kissed his hand, in the extremity of my joy. + +"But this is not a proper season for travelling in Syria, my +pet. I am afraid it is not. The winter rains make the roads +bad." + +"Oh, yes, papa. - We will be quiet when it rains, and travel +on the good days. And then we shall be in time to see the +spring flowers." + +"How do you know anything about that, Daisy?" + +"Papa, I remember when I was a child, at Melbourne, Mr. +Dinwiddie told me some of these things; and I have never +forgotten." + +"Have you wanted to go to Palestine ever since you were ten +years old?" + +"Oh, no, papa; only of late. When your promise came, then I +thought very soon what I would ask you. And now is such a good +time." + +"There will be different opinions about that," said my father. +"However, we will go, Daisy. To the half of my kingdom. Your +mother has the other half. But allow me to ask you just in +passing, what do you think of our young English friend?" + +"He has no head, papa." + +Papa looked amused. + +"Signor Piacevoli - what do you think of him?" + +"He is very nice and kind and full of good things; but he has +no principles, papa; no settled principles." + +"He has a head," said papa. + +"Yes, sir; out of order." + +"How do you estimate Mr. Leypoldt, then? - _his_ head is in +order, and a good deal in it." + +"Only the truth left out, papa." + +"The truth?" said my father. "He is fuller of truth, of all +sorts, than any one else I know, Daisy." + +"Truth of all sorts, papa, but not _the_ truth. He understands +the world, and almost everything in it; but not who made it +nor what it was made for; and he knows men; but not their +work, or place, or destiny in the universe. He knows what they +are; he has no idea what they ought to be, or what they may +be." + +"He is not a religious man, certainly. Do you carry your +principles so far, Daisy, that you mean you would not let +anybody approach you who is not of your way of thinking?" + +A pang shot through my heart, with the instant sense of the +answer I ought to give. I might have evaded the question; but +I would not. Yet I could not immediately speak. I was going to +put a bond upon myself; and the words would not come. + +"Do you mean that, Daisy?" papa repeated. "Seriously. Is it +your rule of supposed duty, that a man must be a Christian +after your sort, to obtain your favour?" + +"Papa," I said struggling, - "one cannot control one's +liking." + +"No," said papa, laughing; "that is very true. Then if you +_liked_ somebody who was not that sort of a Christian, Daisy, +you would not refuse to marry him?" + +"Papa," I said with difficulty, - "I think I ought." + +The words struck upon my own heart, I cannot tell how heavily. +But they were forced from me. When the question came, it had +to be answered. I suppose the matter had really been in my +mind before, vaguely, and I had refused to look at it, while +yet I could not help seeing its proportions and bearing; so +that when papa asked me I knew what I must say. But the spoken +words stunned me, for all that. + +"I suppose," said papa, not lightly, "you will think so till +you are tried; and then you will take a woman's privilege of +changing your mind. But if the trial is to come in that shape, +Daisy, it is very far off. There are no men of your way of +thinking, my pet." + +He kissed me as he said it; and I could not for a moment +speak. + +"But we will go to Palestine, papa?" + +"Yes, we will go to Palestine. That is fixed. You and I will +take a holiday, and for a while give up all thoughts of +marrying and giving in marriage." + +CHAPTER XIV. + +FLIGHT + + +I am coming to the holiday of my life; a time that seems, as I +look back to it, like a chequered mosaic of pleasure pieces +laid in bright colours, all in harmony, and making out a +pattern of beauty. It is odd I should speak so; for I have +known other holidays, when fewer clouds were in my sky and +fewer life-shadows stretching along the landscape. +Nevertheless, this is how it looks to me in the retrospect; +and to write of it, is like setting the pins of that mosaic +work over again. Not one of them is lost in my memory. + +Truly I have known other holidays; yet never one that took me +out of so much harassment and perplexity. And I could not get +rid of all my burdens, even in Palestine; but somehow I got +rid of all my anxious trouble about them. I had left behind so +much, that I accepted even thankfully all that remained. I was +free from mamma's schemes for me, and cleared from the pursuit +of those who seconded her schemes; they could not follow me in +the Holy Land. No more angry discussions of affairs at home, +and words of enmity and fierce displeasure toward the part of +the nation that held my heart. No more canvassing of war news; +not much hearing of them, even; a clean escape from the +demands of society and leisure for a time to look into my +heart and see what condition it was in. And to my great +astonishment I had found the love of admiration and the +ambition of womanly vanity beginning to stir again; in me, who +knew better things, and who really did not value these; in me, +who had so much to make me sober and keep down thoughts of +folly. I found that I had a certain satisfaction when entering +a room, to know that the sight of me gave pleasure; yes, more; +I liked to feel that the sight of no one else gave so much +pleasure. I could hardly understand, when I came to look at +it, how so small a satisfaction could have taken possession of +my mind; I was very much ashamed; but the fact remained. When +we set sail for Palestine I got clear, at least for the time, +from all this. I hoped for ever. - And it was exceedingly +sweet to find myself alone with papa. + +How mamma ever consented to the plan, I do not know. Because +papa had settled it and given his word, perhaps; for in those +cases I know she never interfered; necessity made her yield. +She would not go with us; she went to Paris, where Aunt Gary +was come for the winter. Ransom went home to join the army; +and papa and I took our holiday. I ought not to have been so +happy, with so many causes of anxiety on my mind; Ransom in +the war on one side, and Christian already engaged on the +opposite side; both in danger, not to speak of other friends +whom I knew; and my own and Mr. Thorold's future so very dark +to look forward to. But I was happy. I believe, the very +enormous pressure of things to trouble me, helped me to throw +off the weight. In fact, it was too heavy for me to bear. I +had trusted and given up myself to God; it was not a mock +trust or submission; I laid off my cares, or in the expressive +Bible words, "rolled them" upon him. And then I went light. +Even my self-spoken sentence, the declaration that I ought not +to marry a person who was not a Christian, did not crush me as +I thought it would. Somebody has said very truly, "There is a +healing power in truth." It is correct in more ways than one. +And especially in truth towards God, in whole-hearted devotion +to him, or as the Bible says again, in "wholly following the +Lord," there is strength and healing; "quietness and assurance +for ever." I was no nearer despair now than I had been before. +And I was more ready for my holiday. + +My holiday began on board the steamer, among the novel +varieties of character and costume by which I found myself +surrounded. I was certainly getting far away from the American +war, far from Parisian saloons; I could not even regret the +Dome of Florence. And I shall never forget the minute when I +first looked upon the coast of Jaffa. I had been in the cabin +and papa called me; and with the sight, a full, delicious +sensation of pleasure entered my heart, and never left it, I +think, while I stayed in the land. The picture is all before +me. The little white town, shining in the western sun on its +hill, with its foot in the water; the surf breaking on the +rocks; and the long line of high land in the distance, which I +knew was the hill country of Palestine. I was glad, with a +fulness of gladness. Even the terrors of landing through the +surf could not dash my pleasure, though the water was not +quiet enough to make it safe, and I did not see how we were +possibly to get through. I thought we would, and we did; and +then out of the confusion on the quay we found our way to a +nice little hotel. Few things I suppose are nice in Jaffa; but +this really seemed clean, and I am sure it was pleasant. The +Oriental style of the house - the courtyard, and alcove rooms, +stone floors and cushioned divans, - were delightful to me. +And so was our first dinner there; papa and I alone, tired and +hungry, and eating with the Mediterranean full in sight, and +the sun going down "ayont the sea." I established a truce with +sorrowful thoughts that evening, and slept the night through +in peace. The next morning papa found me standing at the +window of one of our rooms that looked inward from the sea. + +"Well, Daisy," said he, putting his hands on my shoulders - "I +have got my Daisy of ten years old back again. What is it +now?" + +"Oh, papa," I exclaimed, "look at the housetops! I have read +of housetops all my life; and now here they are!" + +"They have been here all the time, Daisy." + +"But - it is so impossible to realise without seeing it, papa. +It was on such a housetop that Peter was when he had his +vision. You can see, it is the pleasantest part of the house, +papa. I should like to sleep on the housetop, as they do in +summer; with only the stars over me. How nice!" + +"What was Peter's vision, besides the stars?" + +"Papa! Not the stars; his vision was at noonday. I have just +been reading about it. How delicious the Bible will be here!" + +"It is always delicious to you, I think," papa said; I fancied +rather sadly. "It is a taste you were born with. Sit down and +read me about that vision." + +But it was papa that sat down, and I stood by the window, and +we read together those chapters of the Acts; and papa grew +very much interested, and we had an excellent talk all +breakfast time. The strange dishes at breakfast helped the +interest too; the boiled rice and meat, and the fish and the +pomegranates. I seemed to have my living in Bible times as +well as places. The Mediterranean lay sparkling before us; as +it was before Peter no doubt when he went up to that housetop +to pray. The house is gone; but it is the same sea yet. + +"I shall always look upon Jaffa with respect," said papa, at +last; "since here it was that the gates of religion were +publicly set open for all the world, and the key taken out of +the hands of the Jews. It is a little place too, to have +anything of so much interest belonging to it." + +"That is not all, papa," I said. "Solomon had the cedar for +the Temple, and for all his great buildings, floated down +here." + +"Solomon!" said papa. + +"Don't you remember, sir, his great works, and the timber he +had to get from Lebanon?" + +"Did it come this way?" + +"The only way it could come, papa; and then it had to go by +land up to Jerusalem - the same way that we are going; thirty- +three miles." + +"Where did you learn so much about it?" + +"That isn't much, papa; all that is in Murray; but now may I +read you about Solomon's floats of timber, while you are +finishing that pomegranate?" + +"Read away," said papa. "Pomegranates are not ripe now, are +they?" + +"They keep, papa." + +Papa laughed at me, and I read to him as much as I liked; and +he was almost as much engaged as I was. + +"We'll go out and look at this famous harbour for lumber," he +said. "It is not good for much else, Daisy; I thought +yesterday we should certainly make shipwreck on that reef. Is +it possible there is no better along the coast." + +"It is not what we would call a harbour at all, papa. Nothing +but little boats can get through that narrow opening in the +reef; and I suppose, Solomon's cedar timber got through." + +"The ships of old time were not much more than our boats, many +of them," said my father. "How delightfully you realise +everything, Daisy!" + +"Well, papa, - don't you?" + +"Not the past, child. I realise _you_ by my side." + +"Papa, if you think about it a little, you will realise Joppa +too." + +"I have not your imagination, Daisy. About Solomon's temple, - +there is nothing of it left now, I suppose?" + +"Oh, no, papa!" + +"It might, Daisy. Thebes is vastly older." + +"But, papa, - don't you remember, there was not one stone of +all those buildings to be left upon another stone. Nothing is +left - only some of the foundation wall that supported the +floor, or the platform, of the Temple." + +"Well, we shall see, when we go to Jerusalem," my father said. + +In the meantime we went out and took a great walk about the +environs of Joppa. Through the miles of gardens; the grand +orange groves, and pomegranate, lemon, fig, apricot and palm +orchards. The oranges and lemons getting their great harvests +ready; cultivation going on beneath the trees; the water- +wheels working; the curious hedges of prickly pear, four and +six feet high, reminding us all the while, if nothing else +did, that we were in a very strange land. What endless delight +it was! The weather had just cleared the day before; and to- +day, the fifteenth of January, the sun shone still and fair +and warm. I saw that papa was getting good with every step, +and growing interested with every hour. We went down to the +beach, and strolled along as far as the tanneries; every wave +that broke at my side seeming to sing in my ears the reminder +that it broke on the shores of Palestine. Papa wished the +oranges were ripe; I wished for nothing. + +Then we entered the city again, and examined the bazars; +lingering first a good while to watch the motley, picturesque, +strange and wild crowd without the city gate. It was my first +taste of Oriental life; papa knew it before, but he relished +it all afresh in my enjoyment of it. Of course we were taken +to see Simon's house and the house where Tabitha died. + +"Do you realise anything here, Daisy?" papa asked, as we stood +on the flat roof of the first of these two. + +"Yes, papa." + +"Pray, what? St. Peter never saw this building, my dear." + +"No, papa, I don't think it. But he saw the Mediterranean - +just so, - and he had the same sky over him, and the same +shores before him." + +"The same sky, Daisy? What is the sky?" + +"Yes papa, I know; but there is a difference. This Syrian sky +is not like the sky over Florence nor like the sky over +Melbourne. And this is what Peter saw." + +"You are a delicious travelling companion, Daisy," said papa. +"Your mother is good, but you are better. Well, take me with +you now in your journey into the past." + +We sat down there on the roof of the so-called house of Simon, +papa and I; he gave the guide a bonus to keep him contented; +and we read together chapters in the Old Testament and +chapters in the New. It was drinking water from wells of +delight. Bible words never seemed so real, nor so full. And +then when I thought that I was going on to Jerusalem - to +Jericho - to Mount Tabor, and the Sea of Galilee, and Lebanon, +- that Joppa was only the beginning, - I could hardly contain +my joy. I could only give thanks for it all the time. True, I +did remember, as I looked over that bright sea of the Levant, +I did remember that far away there was a region of conflict +where the interests nearest to me were involved; a strife +going on, in which the best blood in the world, the dearest in +my account, might be shed or shedding. I remembered it all. +But the burden of that care was too heavy for me to carry; I +was fain to lay it down where so many a load has been laid +before now; and it was easier for me to do it in Syria than +anywhere else; God's own land, where His people had had so +many tokens to trust Him. Where Peter's doubts of conscience +were resolved by a vision, where the poor worker of kindness +was raised from the sleep of death, it was not there the place +for me to doubt whether the Lord looked upon my trouble, or +whether he cared about it, or whether he could manage it. I +laid care and doubt to sleep; and while I was in the Lord's +land I walked with the Lord's presence always before me. There +is no want to them that fear him. + +We were detained at Joppa three days by a most pouring rain, +which kept us fast prisoners in doors. The time was however +not lost. We had despaired of making arrangements at Joppa for +our journey, any further than such as would take us to +Jerusalem. Joppa is no place for such arrangements. But while +we waited there in the rain, a party of English people arrived +who came to take the steamer for home. They had just ended +their travels in the Holy Land; and while waiting for the +steamer, one of them who was an invalid sought the shelter of +our hotel. We came to know each other. And the end was, we +secured their travelling equipment. Tents, servants and all, +were made over to papa, with mutual pleasure at the +arrangement. So when the sun shone out on the fourth day, we +were ready to start in great comfort. I had a dear little +Syrian pony, which carried me nicely through my whole journey; +papa had another that served him well. The tents and tent +fittings were in the English style of perfection; cook and +interpreter and other servants knew their business, and we had +no reason to complain of them from the beginning to the end of +our tour. Moreover, in those days of waiting at Joppa, and +intercourse with the ladies of the party, I got from them some +useful hints and details which were of great service to me +afterwards. I had always wished to go through Palestine living +in our own tents; papa had been a little uncertain how he +would do. Now it was settled. I had my maid, of course; but +she was the greatest trouble I had, all the way. + +The morning of our setting out from Joppa is never to be +forgotten. It was clear and balmy. For miles we rode through +the orange gardens, getting ready fast for their superb +harvest, which would be ripe a month later. Then through a +pleasant open country; - cornfields and meadows interspersed +with trees in patches. It was easy riding, and I liked my +pony, and my heart was full of exhilaration. + +"Well?" said papa, as my eye met his one time in the course of +its wanderings. + +"Papa, it is the plain of Sharon!" + +"You speak as if it were a place where you had played, when +you were a child." + +"Papa, in some measure it is like that; so often I have read +about the old things that were done here." + +Papa smiled at me? and asked what? But I could not tell him +while we were going at a canter. + +"It would be pretty in spring," he said. "Where are we to stop +to-night, Daisy? I have left all that to you. I do not know +the country as you do." + +"Papa, we set off so late, we shall not be able to get further +than Latron to-night." + +"What place is that? is it any place?" + +"Supposed to be the Modin of the Maccabees." + +"Have you brought any books, Daisy?" was papa's next question. + +"No, papa, except 'Murray' and the Bible." + +"We ought to have more," he said. "We must see if we cannot +supply that want at Jerusalem." + +Papa's interest in the subject was thoroughly waking up. We +lunched at Ramleh. How present it is to me, those hours we +spent there. The olive groves and orchards and cornfields, the +palms and figs, the prickly-pear hedges, the sweet breath of +the air. And after our luncheon we stayed to examine the ruins +and the minaret. Our master of ceremonies, Suleiman, was a +little impatient. But we got off in good time and reached our +camping ground just before sunset. Tiere too, the sunlight +flashing on those rocks of ruin comes back to me, and the wide +plain and sea view which the little hill commands. Papa and I +climbed it to look at the ruins and see the view while dinner +was getting ready. + +"What is it, Daisy?" he said. "You must be my gazetteer and +interpreter for the land; Suleiman will do for the people." + +"It is an old Crusaders' fortress, papa; built to command the +pass to Jerusalem." + +That was enough for papa. He pored over the rough remains and +their associations; while I sat down on a stone and looked +over the Philistine plain; scarce able to convince myself that +I was so happy as to see it in reality. Papa and I had a most +enjoyable dinner afterwards; he enjoyed it, I knew; and our +night's rest was sweet, with a faint echo of the war storms of +the ages breaking upon my ear. + +To my great joy, there was no storm of the elements the next +morning, and we were able to take up our march for Jerusalem. +The road soon was among the hills; rough, thickety, wild; from +one glen into another, down and up steep ridge sides, always +mounting of course by degrees. Rough as it all was, there were +olives and vineyards sometimes to be seen; often terraced +hillsides which spoke of what had been. At last we came up out +of a deep glen and saw at a distance the white line of wall +which tells of Jerusalem. I believe it was a dreary piece of +country which lay between, but I could hardly know what it +was. My thoughts were fixed on that white wall. I forgot even +papa. + +We had pouring rains again soon after we got to Jerusalem. I +was half glad. So much to see and think of at once, it was +almost a relief to be obliged to take things gradually. I had +been given numerous good bits of counsel by the kind English +ladies we had seen at Jaffa; and according to their advice, I +persuaded papa that we should go down at once to Jericho and +the Dead Sea, without waiting till the weather should grow too +hot for it; then Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives and all the +neighbourhood would be delightful. Now, they were very gray +and forlorn to a stranger's eye. I wanted papa to be pleased. +_I_ could have enjoyed Jerusalem at any time. But I knew that by +and by Jericho would be insupportable. + +So papa and Suleiman made their arrangements. All that we +wanted was a guard of Arabs; everything else we had already. +The rain ceased after the third day; and early in the morning +we went out of the eastern gate of the city and moved slowly +down the slope of the Kedron valley and up the side of Mount +Olivet. + +It was my first ride in the environs of Jerusalem; and I could +hardly bear the thoughts it brought up. Yet there was scant +time for thoughts; eyes had to be so busy. The valley of the +Kedron! I searched its depths, only to find tombs everywhere, +with olive trees sprinkled about among them. Life and death; +for if anything is an emblem of life in Palestine, I suppose +it is the olive. They looked sad to me at first, the olives; +their blue-gray foliage had so little of the fresh cheer of +our green woods. Afterwards I thought differently. But +certainly the valley of the Kedron was desolate and mournful +in the extreme, as we first saw it. Nor was Olivet less so. +The echo of forfeited promises seemed to fill my ear; the +shades of lost glory seemed to tenant all those ways and +hillsides. I could but think what feet had trod those paths; +what hands of blessing had been held out on these hills; +turned back and rejected, to the utter ruin of those who +rejected them. The places of Solomon's splendour and David's +honour, in the hands of the Moslem; or buried beneath the +ruins of twenty desolations. And in the midst of such thoughts +which possessed me constantly, came thrills of joy that I was +there. So we mounted over the shoulder of the Mount of Olives, +and the day cleared and brightened as we went on. Then came +the ruins of Bethany. I would have liked to linger there; but +this was not the time. I left it for the present. + +"We must dismount here, Daisy," said papa the next minute. And +he set me the example. "Our own feet will do this next piece +of road most satisfactorily." + +We scrambled down, over the loose stones and rock, the very +steep pitch just below Bethany. I do not know how deep, but +hundreds of feet certainly. Our mules and horses came on as +they could. + +"Is this to be taken as a specimen of Palestine roads, Daisy?" + +"I believe they are pretty bad, papa." + +"How do you like it?" + +"Oh, papa," said I, stopping, "I like it. Look - look yonder - +do you see that glimmer? do you know what that is, papa?" + +"It is water -" + +"It is the Dead Sea." + +"Thirty-six hundred feet below. We have a sharp ride before +us, Daisy." + +"Not quite so much below us - we have come down some way. +Papa, don't you enjoy it?" + +"I enjoy _you_," he said, smiling. "Yes, child, I enjoy it; only +I don't enjoy such villainous roads." + +"But then, papa, you know it is the only possible way the road +can go, and always has been; and so we are sure that Christ +was here many a time. _Here_, papa, where our feet are +treading." + +Papa looked at me and said nothing. + +The way was so pleasant, that we walked on ahead of our mules, +till we came to the spring about a mile from Bethany. It was +strange to look at the water pouring out its never failing +stream, and to remember it had been doing just so ever since +nineteen hundred years ago. + +"How often travellers have rested here and drunk of the water, +papa; how often Christ was here." + +"That arch was not over the spring in those days, though," +said papa. + +But papa stood and looked at the spring and at the ravine, and +I saw that he was catching something of my feeling. We mounted +there, and the rest of the way we had no more talk. I did not +want to talk. There was too much to think about, as we wound +down the rough valleys or watercourses among the desolate +hills; while the air grew constantly warmer as we got lower. +No trees, no life, no vine terraces; and this was the way to +Jericho. At the ruined khan, a good distance from the top, we +dismounted and stopped to rest and take our lunch. + +"Well, Daisy," said papa, "are you enjoying yet?" + +"Every minute, papa." + +"I am very glad. But I am very tired." + +"Papa, you must take a good rest here; and here is an orange +for you. I will give you something else directly." + +Papa stretched himself out wearily on the stones. + +"What is the source of your pleasure just now, Daisy? It is as +barren a landscape as ever I traversed." + +"Papa, David went this way when he fled from Absalom." + +"Humph!" said papa, as if there were not much pleasure in that +association. + +"And Jesus and His apostles came this way, up from Jericho; up +and down, I suppose, many a time; they have rested _here_, +papa." + +"And I see, Daisy, you love the ground where those feet have +trod. I never could understand it before. I fancy, I could +never attain power of realisation to get near enough to the +subject." + +"Do you now, papa?" + +"Hardly. By sympathy with you, Daisy." + +"A little below, papa, we shall come to the Valley of Achor, +where Achan was stoned." + +"I don't know that story, Daisy. You may read it to me." + +We had a long reading and resting there by the ruined khan. +Papa was ready to listen and talk; and I saw that so long as +we were in Palestine he would read the Bible as much as I +liked. Then we made the rest of our way. I knew he could not +but be interested with that. The scenery became so wild and +grand as to satisfy even him. We got the glorious view of the +plains of Jericho from the top of the steep descent, and stood +still for some time to look. Papa said it was a noble view; +but to me it was so full of the riches of association that I +could hardly feast upon it enough. Down there, Jericho of old +had stood and fallen; when the priests and the people of +Israel compassed it about with trumpets of victory. There, or +over against it, the Jordan had been divided to let the people +pass over. In later days Elijah and Elisha had gone over +single-handed. Down on that plain had stood Herod's Jericho, +which Christ had gone through time and again; where Zaccheus +climbed the tree to see Him, and Bartimeus sitting by the +wayside had cried out for his mercy and got it. What was there +before me in all that scene that did not tell of the power of +faith - of the grace of God - of the safety and strength of +His children - of the powerlessness of their enemies. My heart +sang hymns and chanted psalms of rejoicing, while my little +Syrian pony stood still with me at the top of the pass of +Adummim. I even forgot papa. + +At the bottom we found ourselves in a new world. Water and +wood, luxuriant vegetation of many kinds; a stream even to +ford, the brook which comes down from Wady Kelt, now full with +the rains; a warm delicious atmosphere, and the sun shining on +the opposite Moab mountains. + +And then came another sight which is very pleasant at the +close of a long day of fatigue and excitement; our tents, up +and ready for us. Our Syrian cook gave us a good dinner; and +papa was satisfied to see me so happy. I thought he was a +little happy himself. + +CHAPTER XV. + +OLD BATTLEFIELDS + + +The next day papa was so tired that he would not go anywhere. +So I had to be quiet too. It was no hardship. I was rather +glad, to take in leisurely the good of all I had before and +around me, and have time for it. Our tents were pitched by the +beautiful fountain Aines-Sultân; which the books told me was +Elisha's fountain. I wandered round it, examining the strange +trees and bushes, gathering flowers; I found a great many; +studying the lights and shades on the Moab mountains, and +casting longing looks towards the Dead Sea and the Jordan. I +took my maid with me in my wanderings, and Suleiman also kept +near me like a shadow; but nobody of all our caravan behaved +to me with anything but the most observant politeness. The +Arabs, taught, I suppose, by other travellers whom they had +attended, were very eager to bring me natural curiosities; +birds and animals and shells and plants. I had no lack of +business and pleasure all that day. I wanted only some one to +talk to me who could tell me things I wanted to know. + +The day had come to an end, almost; the shadow of Quarantania +had fallen upon us; and I sat on a rock by the spring, +watching the colours of the sunset still bright on the trees +in the plain, on the water of the sea, and on the range of the +Moab hills. From all these my thoughts had at last wandered +away, and were busy at the other end of the world; sad, with a +great sense that Mr. Thorold was away from me; heavy, with a +moment's contrast of pleasures present and pleasures past. My +musings were suddenly broken by seeing that some one was close +by my side, and a single glance said, a stranger. I was +startled and rose up, but the stranger stood still and seemed +to wish to speak to me. Yet he did not speak. I saw the air of +a gentleman, the dress of a European in Syria, the outlines of +a personable man; one glance at his face showed me a bronzed +complexion, warm-coloured auburn hair, and a frank and very +bright eye. I looked away, and then irresistibly was driven to +look back again. He smiled. I was in confusion. + +"Don't you know?" he said. + +"Not -?" + +"Yes!" + +"Can it be, - Mr. Dinwiddie?" + +"Is it possible it is Daisy?" he said, taking my hand. + +"Oh, Mr. Dinwiddie, I am so glad to see you!" + +"And I am so glad to see you - here, of all places, at +Elisha's fountain. The first question is, How came we both +here?" + +"I persuaded papa to bring me. I wanted to see Palestine." + +"And I heard of you in Jerusalem, and felt sure it must be +you, and I could not resist the temptation to take a little +journey after you." + +"And you are travelling through Palestine too?" + +"In one way. I am living here - and life is a journey, you +know." + +"You are _living_ in Palestine?" + +"In Jerusalem. I came here as a missionary, five years ago." + +"How very nice!" I said. "And you can go with us?" + +He shook my hand heartily, which he had not yet let go, +laughing, and asked where we were going? + +"I want to see the Dead Sea, very much, Mr. Dinwiddie; and +papa was in doubt; but if you were with us there would be no +more difficulty." + +"I shall be most happy to be with you. Do you know where you +are now?" + +"I know a little. This is Elisha's fountain, isn't it?" + +"Yes; and just hereabouts are the ruins of old Jericho." + +"I did not know. I wondered, and wanted to know. But, Mr. +Dinwiddie, have you got a tent?" + +"I never travel without one." + +"Then it is all right," I said; "for we have a cook." + +"I should not miss that functionary," he said, shaking his +head. "I am accustomed to act in that capacity myself. It is +something I have learned since I came from Virginia." + +We were called to dinner and had no time then for anything +more. Our table was spread in front of the tents, in a clear +spot of greensward; in the midst, I thought, of all possible +delights that could be clustered together - except one. The +breeze was a balmy, gentle evening zephyr; the sunlight, +hidden from us by the Quarantania, shone on the opposite +mountains of Moab, bringing out colours of beauty; and glanced +from the water of the Dead Sea, and brightened the hues of the +green thickets on the plain. Jericho behind us, the Jordan in +front of us, the confusions of the world we live in thrust to +a great distance out of the way, - I sat down to the open-air +meal with a profound feeling of gratitude and joy. It was also +a relief to me to have Mr. Dinwiddie's company with papa; he +knew the land and the people and the ways of the land, and +could give such good help if help were needed. He could be +such good society too. + +I fancied that papa's reception of Mr. Dinwiddie was rather +slack in its evidence of pleasant recollection; but however, +every shadow of stiffness passed away from his manner before +dinner was over. Mr. Dinwiddie made himself very acceptable; +and there, where we had so much to talk about, talk flowed in +full stream. It was arranged that the new member of our party +should be our guest and our travelling companion during as +much of our journey as his duties allowed; and I went to sleep +that night with a deep and full sense of satisfaction. + +Papa declared himself still the next day unable for a very +long and exciting day's work; so it was decided that we should +put off till the morrow our ride to the Jordan and the Dead +Sea, and Mr. Dinwiddie proposed to conduct me to Mount +Quarantania to see the hermits' caves which are remaining +there. Of course they remain; for the walls of caves do not +crumble away; however, the staircases and rock ways which led +to the upper ones have many of them suffered that fate. + +We had a delicious walk. First along the foot of the mountain, +skirting a little channel of running water which brings the +outflow of another fountain to enrich a part of the plain. It +was made good for the cultivation of a large tract; although +very wild and disorderly cultivation. As we went, every spot +within sight was full of interest; rich with associations; the +air was warm but pleasant; the warble of the orange-winged +blackbird - I don't know if I ought to call it a warble; it +was a very fine and strong note, or whistle, - sounding from +the rocks as we went by, thrilled me with a wild reminder of +all that had once been busy life there, where now the +blackbird's cry sounded alone. The ruins of what had been, - +the blank, that was once so filled up, - the forlorn repose, +where the stir of the ages had been so restlessly active. I +heard Mr. Dinwiddie's talk as we went, he was telling and +explaining things to me. I heard, but could not make much +answer. Thought was too full. + +A good distance from home, that is, from the tents, we reached +the source of all that fertilising water the channel of which +we had followed up. How wild the source was too! No Saracenic +arch over that; the water in a full flow came out from among +the roots of a great tree - one of the curious thorny dôm +trees that grow in thickets over the plain. I believe our +Arabs called them dôm; Mr. Dinwiddie said it was a Zizyphus. +It was a very large tree at any rate, and with its odd thorny +branches and bright green foliage canopied picturesquely the +fine spring beneath it. All was wild and waste. The Arabs do +not even root out the dîm or nubk trees from the spots they +irrigate and cultivate; but the little channels of water flow +in and out among the stems and roots of the trees as they can. +Times are changed on Jericho's plain. + +I thought so, as we turned up the slope of rock rubbish which +leads to the foot of the cave cliffs. The mountain here is a +sheer face of rock; and the caves, natural or artificial, +pierce the rock in tiers, higher and lower. The precipice is +spotted with them. The lowest ones are used now by the Arabs +to pen their sheep and quarter their donkeys; Mr. Dinwiddie +and I looked into a good many of them; in one or two we found +a store of corn or straw laid up. Many of the highest caves +could not be got at; the paths and stairs in the rock which +used to lead to them are washed and worn away; but the second +tier are not so utterly cut off from human feet. By a way +chiselled in the rock, with good nerves, one can reach them. +My nerves were good enough, and I followed Mr. Dinwiddie along +the face of the precipice till we reached some sets of caves +communicating with each other. These were partly natural, +partly enlarged by labour. Places were cut for beds and for +cupboards; there was provision of a fine water tank, to which, +Mr. Dinwiddie told me, there were stone channels leading from +a source some hundreds of feet distant; cistern and tubes both +carefully plastered. A few Abyssinian Christians come here +every spring to keep Lent, Mr. Dinwiddie said. How much more +pains they take than we do, I thought. + +"Yes," said Mr. Dinwiddie, when I said my thought aloud, - +" 'Skin for skin; all that a man hath will he give for his +life.' But when the conscience knows that heaven is not to be +bought that way, then there is no other motive left that will +use up all a man's energies but the love of Christ +constraining him." + +"The trouble is, Mr. Dinwiddie, that there is so little of +that." + +"So little!" he said, - "even in those of us who love most. I +do not mean to say that this love had no share in determining +the actions of those who used to live here; perhaps they +thought to get nearer to Christ by getting nearer to the +places of His some time presence and working in human flesh." + +"And don't you think it does help, Mr. Dinwiddie?" I said. + +He turned on me a very deep and sweet look, that was half a +smile. + +"No!" he answered. "The Lord may use it, - He often does, - to +quicken our sense of realities and so strengthen our +apprehension of spiritualities; but just so He can use other +things, even remote distance from such and all material helps. +Out of that very distance He can make a tie to draw the soul +to Himself." + +"There must have been a great many of those old Christians +living here once?" I said. + +"Yes," said Mr. Dinwiddie. "On this face of the mountain there +are thirty or forty caves - I think there are many more in the +gorge of the Kelt, round on the south face. Do you see that +round hole over your head?" + +We were standing in one of the caverns. I looked up. + +"I cannot get you up there," he went on, - "but I have climbed +up by means of a rope. There are other rooms there, and one is +a chapel - I mean, it was one, - with arches cut to the +windows and doorways, and frescoed walls, full of figures of +saints. Through another hole in another ceiling, like this, I +got up into still a third set of rooms, like the ones below. +Into those nobody had come for many a year; the dust witnessed +it. Back of one room, the chapel, was a little low doorway; +very low. I crept through - and there in the inner place, lay +piled the skeletons of the old hermits; skulls and bones, just +as they had been laid while the flesh was still upon them; the +dust was inches deep. A hundred feet higher up there are more +caverns. No, I should not like to take you - though the +Abyssinian devotees come to them every spring. Yet higher than +those, far up, near the top of the mountain, I have explored +others, where I found still more burial caves like the one +just here above us. Chapels and frescoes were up there too." + +"And difficult climbing, Mr. Dinwiddie." + +"Very difficult. Broken stairs and dizzy galleries, and deep +precipices, with the vultures floating in air down below me." + +"What a place for men to live!" + +"Fitter for the doves and swallows which inhabit the old +hermits' houses now. Yet not a bad place to live either, if +one had nothing to do in the world. Sit down and rest and let +us look at it." + +"And I have got some luncheon for you, Mr. Dinwiddie. I should +have missed all this if you had not been with me. Papa would +never have come here." + +There were many places in front of the cells where seats had +been cut out in the rock; and in one of these Mr. Dinwiddie +and I sat down, to eat fruit and biscuit and use our eyes; our +attendant Arab no doubt wondering at us all the while. The +landscape in view was exceedingly fine. We had the plains of +Jericho, green and lovely, spread out before us; we could see +the north end of the Dead Sea and the mouth of the Jordan; and +the hills of Moab, always like a superb wall of mountain +rising up over against us. + +"Do you know where you are?" said Mr. Dinwiddie. + +"Partly." + +"The site of old Jericho is marked by the heaps and the ruins +which lie between us and our camp." + +"Yes. That is _old_ Jericho." + +"Over against us, somewhere among those Moab hills, is the +pass by which the hosts of the 'sons of Israel' came down, +with their flocks and herds, to the rich plains over there, - +the plains of Moab." + +"And opposite us, I suppose, somewhere along there in front of +old Jericho, is the place where the waters of the river failed +from below and were cut off from above, and the great space +was laid bare for the armies to pass over." + +"Just over there. And there - Elijah and Elisha went over dry +shod, when Elijah smote with his mantle upon the waters; and +there by the same way Elisha came back alone, after he had +seen his master taken from him." + +"Those were grand times!" I said, with a half breath. + +"They were rough times." + +"Still, they were grand times." + +"I think, these are grander." + +"But, Mr. Dinwiddie, such things are not done now as were done +then." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, how can you ask?" + +"How can you answer?" + +"Why, Mr. Dinwiddie, the river is not parted now, this river +nor any other, for the Lord's people to go over without +trouble." + +"Are you sure?" said he, with the deep sweet look I had +noticed. "Do they never come now, in the way of their duty, to +an impassable barrier of danger or difficulty, through which +the same hand opens their path? Did you never find that they +do, in your own experience?" + +A little, I had; and yet it seemed to me that a very Jordan of +difficulty lay before me now, rolling in full power. Mr. +Dinwiddie waited a moment and went on. + +"That old cry, 'Where is the Lord God of Elijah?' - will bring +down His hand, now as then; mighty to hold back worse waves +than those of the 'Descender.' Aaron's rod, and the blast of +the priests' trumpets, were but the appeal and the triumph of +faith. And before that appeal stronger walls than those of +Jericho fall down, now as well as then." + +"Then it must be the faith that is wanting," I said. + +"Sometimes" - Mr. Dinwiddie answered; "and _not_ sometimes. That +earnest Sunday-school teacher, who prayed that the Lord would +give him at least one soul a week out of his Bible class, and +who reported at the end of the year, _fifty-two_ brought to God, +- what do you think of his faith? - and his Jericho?" + +"Is it true?" I said. + +"It is true. What are the walls of stone and mortar to that? +We wrestle not with flesh and blood, but against +principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the +darkness of this world. - But our Captain is stronger." + +I think we were both silent for some time; yet there was a din +of voices in my ear. So it seemed. Silence was literally +broken only by the note of a bird here and there; but the +plain before me, the green line which marked the course of the +Jordan, the Moab mountains, the ruins at my feet, the caves +behind me, were all talking to me. And there were voices of my +own past and present, still other voices, blending with these. +I sat very still, and Mr. Dinwiddie sat very still; until he +suddenly turned to me and spoke. + +"Will nothing but a miracle do, Miss Daisy?" + +The tone was so gentle and so quietly blended itself with my +musings, that I started and smiled. + +"Oh, yes," I said; - "I do not suppose I want a miracle." + +"Can a friend's counsel be of any use?" + +"It might - of the greatest," I answered; - "if only I could +tell you all the circumstances." + +"Before we go to that, how has it fared with my little friend +of old time, all these years?" + +"How has it _fared_ with me?" - I repeated in doubt. + +"There is only one sort of welfare I know," he said. "It is +not strength to the body, or gold to the purse. I am 'well' +only when God's favour is shining on me and I am strong to run +the way of His commandments." + +"I am not strong," I said. + +"You know I do not mean my own strength, or yours," he +answered. + +"I have never forgotten what you used to tell me," I said. + +"Good. And yet, Miss Daisy, I would rather you could tell me +you had forgotten it; that you had gone on so far from that +beginning as to have lost it out of view." + +"Ah, but I have not had so many friends to teach me, and help +me, that I could afford to forget the first one," I said. "I +have one dear old friend who thinks as you do, - and that is +all; and I cannot see her now." + +" 'If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to +all men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given +him,' " Mr. Dinwiddie said. + +"I lack wisdom, very much; but it does not seem to come, even +though I ask for it. I am sometimes in a great puzzle." + +"About what to do?" + +"Yes." + +"You can always find out the first step to be taken. Jesus +will be followed step by step. He will not show you but one +step at a time, very often. But take that, holding His hand, +and He will show you the next." + +"So I came here," I said. + +"And what is the work to be done here? on yourself, or on +somebody else?" + +"I do not know," I said. "I had not thought it was either. +Perhaps I am learning." + +He was silent then, and I sat thinking. + +"Mr. Dinwiddie," I said, "maybe you can help me." + +"I will gladly, if I can." + +"But it is very difficult for me to put you in possession of +the circumstances - or in the atmosphere of the circumstances. +I do not know that I can. You know that papa and mamma do not +think with me on the subject of religion?" + +"Yes." + +"There are other things in which I think differently from them +- other things in which we feel apart; and they do not know +it. Ought I to let them know it?" + +"Your question is as enigmatical as an ancient oracle. I must +have a little more light. Do these differences of feeling or +opinion touch action? - either yours or theirs?" + +"Yes, - both." + +"Then, unless your minds are known to each other, will there +not be danger of mistaken action, on the one part or on the +other?" + +"Telling them would not prevent that danger," I said. + +"They would disregard your views, or you would disregard +theirs, - which?" + +"I must not disregard theirs," I said low. + +Mr. Dinwiddie was silent awhile. I had a sort of cry in my +heart for the old dividing of the waters. + +"Miss Daisy," he said, "there is one sure rule. Do right; and +let consequences break us to pieces, if needs be." + +"But," said I doubtfully, "I had questioned what was right; at +least I had not been certain that I ought to do anything just +now." + +"Of course I am speaking in the dark," he answered. "But you +can judge whether this matter of division is something that in +your father's place you would feel you had a right to know." + +I mused so long after this speech, that I am sure Mr. +Dinwiddie must have felt that he had touched my difficulty. He +was perfectly silent. At last I rose up to go home. I do not +know what Mr. Dinwiddie saw in me, but he stopped me and took +my hand. + +"Can't you trust the Lord?" he said. + +"I see trouble before me, whatever I do," I said with some +difficulty. + +"Very well," he said; "even so, trust the Lord. The trouble +will do you no harm." + +I sat down for a moment and covered my face. It might do me no +harm; it might at the same time separate me from what I loved +best in the world. + +"Cannot you trust?" he repeated. " 'He that putteth his trust +in the Lord shall be made fat.' " + +"You know," I said, getting up, "one cannot help being weak." + +"Will you excuse me? - That is precisely what we _can_ help. We +cannot help being ignorant sometimes, - foolish sometimes, - +short-sighted. But weak we need not be; for 'in the Lord +Jehovah is everlasting strength;' and 'he giveth power to the +faint.' " + +"But there is no perfection, Mr. Dinwiddie." + +"Not if by perfection you mean, standing alone. But if the +power that holds us up is perfect, - what should hinder our +having a fulness of that? 'If ye shall ask anything in My +name, I will do it.' Isn't that promise good for all we want +to ask?" + +I sat down again to think. Mr. Dinwiddie quietly took his +place by my side; and we were still for a good while. The +plains of Jericho and the Jordan and the Moab mountains and +the Quarantania, all seemed to have new voices for me now; +voices full of balm; messages of soft-healing. I do think the +messages God sends to us by natural things are some of the +sweetest and mightiest and best understood of all. They come +home. + +"Do you think," I asked, after a long silence, "that this +mountain was really the scene of the Temptation?" + +"Why should we think so? No, I do not think it." + +"But the road from Jericho to Jerusalem - there is no doubt of +that?" + +"No doubt at all. We are often sure of the roads here, when we +are sure of little else." + +There was a pause; and then Mr. Dinwiddie broke it. + +"You left things in confusion at home. How do you feel about +that?" + +"At home in America?" I said. "I do not feel about it as my +parents do." + +"You side with the North!" + +"I have lived there so much. I know the view taken there; and +it seems to me the right one. And I have lived at the South +too; and I do not like the view held there, - nor the practice +followed." + +"There are some things I can fancy you would not like," he +said musingly. "I have not known what to think. It seems to me +they have made a false move. But it seems to me they must +succeed." + +"I don't know," I said. "Perhaps." + +He looked at me a little hard, and then we left the hermits' +caves and went down the plain to our encampment. + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE FORLORN HOPE + + +The spot where our tents were pitched commands a view, I think +one of the loveliest in the world. Perhaps with me association +has something to do with the feeling. That broad sweep of the +plains of Jericho, bright with their groves of Zizyphus trees; +the lake waters coming in at the south; the great line of the +Moab horizon, and the heights of the western shore; and then +the constant changes which the light makes in revealing all +these; I found it a study of beauty, from the morning till the +night. From the time when the sun rose over the Moab mountains +and brightened our dôm trees and kissed our spring, to the +evening when the shadow of Quarantania stretched over all our +neighbourhood, as it stretched over Jericho of old, and the +distant hills and waters and thickets glowed in colours and +lights of their own. + +The next morning after my walk I was up early, and going a +little way from my tent door, I sat down to enjoy it. The +servants were but just stirring; my father and Mr. Dinwiddie +safe within their canvas curtains. It was very nice to be +alone, for I wanted to think. The air was deliciously balmy +and soft; another fair day had risen upon us in that region of +tropical summer; the breath of the air was peace. Or was it +the speech of the past? It is difficult to disentangle things +sometimes. I had troublesome matters to think about, yet +somehow I was not troubled. I did not lay hold of trouble, all +the while I was in Palestine. Mr. Dinwiddie's words had +revealed to me that it might be my duty to tell my father all +that was in my heart. Suspicions of the fact, only, had +crossed my thought before; but "as iron sharpeneth iron, so a +man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." I saw more +clearly. And the longer I sat there on my stone looking over +to the line of the Jordan and to the hills through which the +armies of Israel had once come down to cross it, the clearer +it grew to my mind, that the difficulty before me was one to +be faced, not evaded. I saw that papa had a right to know my +affairs, and that he would think it became me as a Christian +not to make a mystery of them. I saw I must tell papa about +myself. And yet, it did not appal me, as the idea had often +appalled me. I was hardly afraid. At any rate, there before me +the hosts of the Israelites had passed over dry shod; though +the river was swift and strong; and the appeal of Elisha, - +"Where is the Lord God of Elijah?" - came home to my ear like +a blast of the priests' silver trumpets. I felt two hands on +my shoulders. + +"Studying it all, Daisy?" + +"Papa, I am never tired of studying." + +"This is a wonderful place." + +"Papa, you know little about it yet. Old Jericho was up +there." + +"You speak as if I had gone to school in 'old Jericho,' " said +my father, laughing. "I have the vaguest idea, Daisy, that +such a city existed. That is all." + +"Sit down, papa, while breakfast is getting ready, and let me +mend your knowledge." + +So we read the story there, on the stone by the spring. Mr. +Dinwiddie joined us; and it was presently decided that we +should spend the morning in examining the ground in our +neighbourhood and the old sites of what had passed away. So +after breakfast we sat out upon a walk over the territory of +old Jericho. + +"But it is strange," said papa, "if the city was here, that +there are no architectural remains to testify as much." + +"We rarely find them, sir, but in connection with Roman or +Saracenic work. Shapeless mounds, and broken pottery, as you +have it here, are all that generally mark our Palestine +ruins." + +"But Herod?" said papa. "He was a builder." + +"Herod's Jericho was a mile and a half away, to the east. And +moreover, if anything had been remaining here that could be +made of use, the Saracens or Crusaders would have pulled it to +pieces to help make their sugar mills up yonder, or their +aqueducts." + + +"There is no sugar cane here now?" + +"Not a trace of it. Nor a palm tree; though Jericho was a city +of palms; nor a root of the balsam, though great gain was +derived to Judea in ancient times from the balsam gardens +here." + +We mounted our horses and rode down to the site of Herod's +Jericho, on the banks of the little stream that issues from +the gorge of the Wady Kelt. How lovely, and how desolate, it +was. The stream overhung with trees and bordered with +oleanders and shrubs of which I have forgotten the names, and +crossed by old arches still; and around, the desolate tokens +of what once was. Foundation lines, and ruined aqueducts. Mr. +Dinwiddie made us remark the pavement of the road leading up +to the Kelt, the old road to Jerusalem, the road by which +Jesus went when the blind men called him, and over which, +somewhere on its way, stretched the sycamore tree into which +Zaccheus climbed. Ah how barren and empty the way looked now! +- with Him no longer here. For a moment, so looked my own path +before me, - the dusty, hot road; the desolate pass; the +barren mountain top. It was only a freak of fancy; I do not +know what brought it. I had not felt so a moment before, and I +did not a moment after. + +"Where His feet lead now, the green pastures are not wanting, +-" Mr. Dinwiddie said; I suppose reading my look. + +"Never, Mr. Dinwiddie?" + +"Never!" + +"But it _seems_, often, to people, that they are wanting." + +"Their eyes are so blinded by tears that they cannot see them, +sometimes. Even then, they can lie down and feel them, - feel +that they are in them." + +"Are there any sycamore trees here now?" my father asked. + +"Two or three poor old specimens; just enough to show for the +story. Those sycamore figs belong to the low and warm +situations; this is the proper place for them." + +Papa felt so well that we determined to push on to the Jordan. +It was a hot, long ride, over a shadeless and barren plain; +and when we came to the river papa declared himself very much +disappointed. But I was not. Narrow and muddy as the stream +was, it was also powerful in its rapid flood; no one could +venture to bathe in it. The river was much swollen and had +been yet more so; the tracks of wild animals which the floods +had disturbed were everywhere to be seen. Papa and Mr. +Dinwiddie reasoned and argued, while I sat and meditated; in a +deep delight that I should see the Jordan at all. We took a +long rest there, on its banks. The jungle was a delicious +study to me, and when the deep talk of the gentlemen subsided +enough to give me a chance, I got Mr. Dinwiddie to enlighten +me as to the names and qualities of the various trees and +plants. They were of fine luxuriant growth. Poplars and +sycamores and other trees, willows, I think, and exquisite +tamarisks in blossom; and what I specially admired, the canes. +I understood then how people might go into the plain to see "a +reed shaken with the wind." Growing twelve to fifteen feet +high, with graceful tufts of feathery bloom which they bow and +sway to the breeze in a manner lovely to see. + +Another day we rode down to the shore of the Dead Sea; papa +being none the worse for his Jordan excursion. Then the rain +visited us, and for two or three days we were kept in our +tents. With some difficulty I then persuaded papa to go +further south, to the shore of the Dead Sea, to some pleasant +camping ground by one of its western springs; there rain falls +almost never. So, first at Ain Feshkah and then at Ain Jidi, +we spent another couple of weeks; without Mr. Dinwiddie it +would have been impossible, but his society kept papa from +wearying and made everything as enjoyable as could be to both +of us. It was the middle of February when we returned to +Jerusalem. + +The rainy season was not of course at an end yet; but a change +of beauty had come over the land. We found fruit trees in +blossom, almond and peach; and apricots just ready to bloom. +Corn up and green; and flowers coming and come. I had my own +plans, made up from the experience and counsels of my English +friends; but papa wanted to see Jerusalem, and I waited. Of +course I wanted to see Jerusalem too; and here again Mr. +Dinwiddie was our excellent friend and guide and instructor. +Papa was quite in earnest now; and went about the city +examining walls and churches and rock-tombs and all the +environs, with a diligent intentness almost equal to mine; and +he and Mr. Dinwiddie had endless talks and discussions, while +I mused. The words, "Constantine," "Byzantine," "Crusaders," +"Helena", "Saracenic," "Herod," "Josephus;" with modern names +almost as well known; echoed and re-echoed in my ears. + +"Daisy!" said papa suddenly in one of these talks, - "Daisy! +you are not interested in this." + +"Papa, it is so uncertain." + +Mr. Dinwiddie laughed. + +"But the question, child; don't you care about the question? +how is it ever to be made certain? I thought this question +would engage all your attention." + +"How can it ever be made certain, papa? After those hundred +and fifty years when there were no Jews allowed here, who was +to remember the spot of the Sepulchre? Few but Christians knew +it, in the first place." + +"Oh, you _have_ thought about it!" said papa. "But are you not +interested in a _probable_ site, Daisy?" + +"No, papa." + +"All these old churches and relics then do not concern you?" + +"Papa, I only go to see them for your sake." + +"Well," said papa, "now I will go to the Mount of Olives for +your sake." + +That was my plan; following the advice of the English party, +who said they had enjoyed it. We hired for a time a little +stone dwelling on the Mount of Olives, from which we had a +fine view of the city; and to this new home papa and I moved, +and took up our quarters in it. Of all my days in the Holy +Land, excepting perhaps the time spent at Jericho and Engedi, +these days were the best. They are like a jewel of treasure in +my memory. + +The little dwelling to which we had come was rougher in +accommodation than our tents; but the season was still early, +and it gave better shelter to papa. It was a rude stone house, +with a few small rooms at our service; which I soon made +comfortable with carpets and cushions. The flat roof above +gave us a delightful view of the country and abundant chance +to examine and watch all its points and aspects. I spent the +hours up here or at the window of our little sitting-room; +using my eyes all the time, to take in and feast upon what was +before them. Only when papa would go out with me, I left my +post; to take up the survey from some new point of view. I had +a great deal to think of, those days; a certain crisis in my +life had come, or was coming; I was facing it and getting +ready for it; and thinking and looking seemed to help and +stimulate each other. It was wonderful to watch the lights +change on Jerusalem; from the first sunbeam that came over the +hills of Moab and touched the city, to the full glare of the +midday, and then the sunset colours on land and rock and +building, transforming the dull greys and whites with a flush +of rosy beauty and purple splendour. The tints that hovered +then upon the red hills of Moab were never to be forgotten. I +watched it, this change of light and shade and colour, from +day to day. I learned to know Jerusalem and her surrounding +hills and her enclosing valleys; and the barrier wall of Moab +became a familiar line to me. All this while, as I said, I had +a great deal to think of, and was thinking. Past, present and +future chased each other in and out of my head; or rather, it +seems to me, dwelt there together. + +"Daisy!" - papa called to me when I was on the roof one day. I +ran down. + +"What are you doing up there?" + +"I was looking, papa. I was studying topography." + +"Let us go out and study it a little by actual survey. I think +a walk would do me good." + +We went down first to the valley of the Kedron, and wandered +about there; sometimes sitting down under the shade of the +olive trees to rest; speculating upon localities, recalling +scenes of history; wondering at the path which descends into +the valley from St. Stephen's gate and goes on over the Mount +of Olives to Bethany. Above all things, that path held my +eyes. No doubt the real path that was travelled eighteen +centuries ago lay deep beneath many feet of piled-up rubbish; +but the rubbish itself told a tale; and the path was there. +After a long stay in the valley, we mounted the hill again, +where our temporary home was; and passing that, went on to the +height of the hill. There we sat down. The westering sun was +casting lines of light all over the landscape, which would be +soon floods of colour. Papa and I sat down to look and wait. + +"It certainly is worth coming for," said papa. "Our journey +realises more than all I had hoped from it, Daisy." + +"I am so glad, papa!" + +"But you, Daisy, how is it with you? You seem to me a little, +and not a little, _distraite_." + +"I have so much to think of, papa." + +"More than I have?" + +"Why, yes, papa," I said, half laughing. "I think so." + +"You must have fields of speculation unknown to me, Daisy." + +"Yes, papa. Some time I want to talk to you about them." + +"Isn't now a good time?" said papa, carelessly. + +I was silent a while, thinking how to begin. It was a good +time, I knew, and I dared not let it pass. I had been waiting +till Mr. Dinwiddie should have left us and papa and I be quite +alone; and he was to join us again as soon as we started on +our northward journey. Now was my best opportunity. All the +more, for knowing that, my heart beat. + +"Papa," I began, "may I ask you a few questions, the better to +come at what I want?" + +"Certainly. Your questions, Daisy, I have always found +stimulating." + +"Then first, what is it you think of most, in looking over +from this place to Jerusalem?" + +"Of course," said papa, rousing himself, "the prominent +thought must be the wonderful scene that was acted there +eighteen hundred years ago; not the course of history before +or after. Is that what you mean?" + +"I mean that, papa. I mean the death of Christ. Papa, what was +that for?" + +"Why, as I understand it, Daisy, it was a satisfaction to the +justice of God for the sins of the world. Are you going to put +me through a course of theology, Daisy?" + +"No, papa. But do you think it was for all the world, or only +for a part of them?" + +"For all, of course. The Bible words I take to be quite clear +on that point, even if it were possible that it should have +been otherwise." + +"Then it was for you and me, papa?" + +"Yes." + +"And for those ignorant Moslems that live in the city now?" + +"Yes, of course it was; though I think they will not have much +good of it, Daisy." + +"Never mind that, papa. Then it was for my old June, and for +Maria and Darry and Pete and Margaret, and all the rest of our +people at Magnolia?" + +"Yes," said papa, rousing up a little. I did not look at him. + +"Papa, don't you think the Lord Jesus loves the people for +whom He died?" + +"Certainly. It is inconceivable that He should have died for +them if He did not love them. Though that is also a great +mystery to me, Daisy." + +"Papa, don't you think that, having died for them, He holds +them precious?" + +"I suppose so," said papa slowly. + +"Every one?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you think He loves one man less than another because his +skin is darker?" + +"Certainly not, Daisy." + +"Then papa - should we?" + +"I do not know that we do," papa said, after a pause. + +"Papa, think. What would you say to our, or anybody's, holding +white men in slavery - making them work without wages - and +forcing them to obey under the lash?" + +"They are an inferior race, Daisy," papa answered again after +a pause. His voice showed he did not enjoy the conversation; +but it was needful for me to go on. + +"Papa, they have been kept down. But suppose they were +inferior, - since Christ died for them, does He not love +them?" + +"I have no doubt of it." + +"Then, papa, what will He say to us, for keeping those whom He +loves and died for, at arms' length or under our feet? and +what will He say to us for keeping them out of the good He +died to give them?" + +"We do not, Daisy! They have their religious privileges." + +"Papa, I have lived among them as you never did. They may not +meet together to pray, on pain of the lash. They cannot have +Bibles, for they are not allowed to read. They have no family +life; for husbands and wives and parents and children are +parted and torn from each other at the will or for the +interest of their owners. They live like the animals." + +"Not on my estates!" said papa, rousing himself again. "There +is no selling and buying of the people there." + +"Pete's wife was forcibly taken from him, papa, and then sent +South." + +"By whom?" + +"By Edwards. And the rest of the hands were in mortal fear of +him; utterly cowed. They dared not move without his pleasure." + +"Abuses," papa muttered; - "nothing to do with the system." + +"What must the system be where such things are possible? where +one such thing is possible? And oh, papa, they suffer! there +is no such thing as real comfort of life; there is no scope or +liberty for the smallest upward tendency. Nothing is their +own, not their own time; they have no chance to be anything +but inferior." + +"They have all the essentials of comfortable living, and they +are comfortable," said my father. + +"Papa, they do not think so." + +"Few people do think so," said papa. "It is a vice of +humanity." + +I was silent a little bit, and then I ventured to say, - + +"Papa, the Lord Jesus loved them well enough to die for them." + +"Well," said papa, rather growlingly, "what then?" + +"I am thinking, what will He say to us for handling them so." + +"What would you do for them, Daisy?" + +"All I could, papa," I said softly. + +"How much could you, do you suppose?" + +"Papa, I would not stop as long as there was anything more to +be done." + +"I suppose you would begin by setting them all free?" + +"Wouldn't you wish it, papa, for yourself and me, if we were +two of them? - and for mamma and Ransom, if they were two +more?" + +"You are mistaken in thinking it is a parallel case. They do +not wish for liberty as we should." + +"Then it only shows how much harm the want of liberty has done +them already. But they wish for it quite enough, papa; quite +enough. It breaks my heart to think how much they do wish for +it." + +"My child, you do not know what you are talking about!" papa +answered; half worried, I thought, and half impatient. "In the +first place, they would not be better off if they were set +free; though you think they would; and in the second place, do +you know how it would affect our own condition?" + +"Papa," I said low, - "it has nothing to do with the question. +I do not care." + +"You would care." + +"I care for this other more, papa." + +"Daisy, understand. Instead of being well off, you would be +poor; you would be poor. The Southern estates would be worth +nothing without hands to cultivate them; and my Northern +estates will go to your brother." + +"I should never be rich in the way you think, papa." + +"How so?" + +"I would never be rich in that way." + +"What would you do?" + +"I would be poor." + +"It is not so easy to do as to talk about," said my father. +"At the present time, Daisy, - I suppose, if you had your +will, you would set at liberty at once all the people on the +Magnolia plantations?" + +"Indeed I would, papa." + +"Then we should be reduced to a present nothing. The Melbourne +property brings in very little, nothing, in fact, without a +master on the spot to manage it. I dare say some trifling rent +might be obtained for it; and the sale of Magnolia and its +corresponding estates would fetch something if the times +admitted of sale. You know it is impossible now. We should +have scarce anything to live upon, my child, to satisfy your +philanthropy." + +"Papa, there was a poor woman once, who was reduced to a +handful of meal and a little oil as her whole household store. +Yet at the command of the prophet of the Lord, she took some +of it to make bread for him, before she fed herself and her +child - both of them starving. And the Lord never let her want +either meal or oil all the time the famine lasted." + +"Miracles do not come for people's help, now-a-days, Daisy." + +"Papa, yes! God's ways may change, His ways of doing the same +thing; but He does not change. He takes care of His people now +without miracles, all the same." + +"All the same!" repeated papa. "That is an English +expression, that you have caught from your friends." + +We were both silent for a while. + +"Daisy, my child, your views of all these things will alter by +and by. You are young, and have slight experience of the +things of life. By and by, you will find it a much more +serious thing than you imagine to be without wealth. You would +find a great difference between the heiress and the penniless +girl; a difference you would not like." + +"Papa," I said slowly, - "I hope you will not be displeased or +hurt, - but I want it to be known, and I wanted you should +know, that I never shall be an heiress. I never will be rich +in that way. I will take what God gives me." + +"First throwing away what He has given you," said papa. + +"I do not think He has given it, papa." + +"What then? have we stolen it?" + +"Not we; but those who have been before us, papa; they stole +it. All we are doing, is keeping that which is not ours." + +"Enough too, I should think!" said papa. "You will alter your +mind, Daisy, about all this, if you wait a while. What do you +think your mother would say to it?" + +"I know, papa," I said softly. "But I cannot help thinking of +what will be said somewhere else. I would like that you and I, +and she too, might have that 'Well done' - which the Lord +Jesus will give to some. And when they enter into the joy of +their Lord, will they care what His service has cost them?" + +My eyes were full of tears, and I could scarcely speak; for I +felt that I had gained very little ground, or better no ground +at all. What indeed could I have expected to gain? Papa sat +still, and I looked over at Jerusalem, where the westing sun +was making a bath of sunbeams for the old domes and walls. A +sort of promise of glory, which yet touched me exceedingly +from its contrast with present condition. Even so of other +things, and other places besides Jerusalem. But Melbourne +seemed to be in shadow. And Magnolia? - + +I wondered what papa would say next, or whether our talk had +come to a deadlock then and there. I had a great deal more +myself to say; but the present opportunity seemed to be +questionable. And then it was gone; for Mr. Dinwiddie mounted +the hill and came to take a seat beside us. + +"Any news, Mr. Dinwiddie?" was papa's question, as usual. + +"From America." + +"What sort of news?" + +"Confused sort - as the custom is. Skirmishes which amount to +nothing, and tell nothing. However, there is a little more +this time. Fort Henry has been taken, on the Tennessee river, +by Commander Foote and his gunboats." + +"Successes cannot always be on one side, of course," remarked +my father. + +"Roanoke Island has been taken, by the sea and land forces +under Burnside and Goldsborough." + +"Has it!" - said papa. "Well, - what good will that do them?" + +"Strengthen their hearts for continuing the struggle," said +Mr. Dinwiddie. "It will do that." + +"The struggle cannot last very long," said my father. "They +must see sooner or later how hopeless it is." + +"Not in the light of these last events," said Mr. Dinwiddie. +"What does my other friend here think about it?" + +"About what, Mr. Dinwiddie?" + +"The length of the struggle." + +"Do you think Daisy has some special means of knowledge?" +asked my father, carelessly. + +"Well - yes," said Mr Dinwiddie. "She has been among Northern +friends a good while; perhaps she can judge better of their +tone and temper than I can, - or you, sir." + +"I cannot hold just the view that you do, Mr. Dinwiddie, - or +that papa does." + +"So I supposed. You think there are some good soldiers in the +Northern army." + +"It would be absurd to suppose there are not," said my father; +"but what they do want, is a right understanding of the spirit +of the South. It is more persistent and obstinate, as well as +strong, than the North takes any account of. It will not +yield. It will do and endure anything first." + +I thought I had heard papa intimate a doubt on that issue; +however I said nothing. + +"If _spirit_ would save a people," Mr. Dinwiddie rejoined, +"those walls over against us would not bear the testimony they +do. No people ever fought with more spirit than this people. +Yet Jerusalem is a heap of ruins." + +"You do not mean that such a fate can overtake the whole +South?" said my father. + +"I mean, that the race is not always to the swift. The South +have right on their side, however." + +"Right?" said I. + +"I thought that would bring you out," Mr. Dinwiddie said, with +a kindly look at me. + +"Daisy is an abolitionist," said papa. "Where she got it, is +out of my knowledge. But I think, Mr. Dinwiddie, there are +minds so constituted that they take of choice that view of +things which is practically the most adverse to their own +interest." + +"Tell papa, Mr. Dinwiddie, that that cannot be." + +"What cannot be, if you please?" + +"I mean, that which is the _right_ cannot be the wrong in any +sense; cannot be even the wrong view for anybody's interest +that adopts it." + +"Fair theories -" said papa. + +"Something else, it must be, papa. There is a promise - 'With +what measure ye measure, it shall be measured to you again.' +'Give, and it shall be given unto you; full measure, pressed +down, heaped up, and running over, shall men give into your +bosom.' " + +"Why into my bosom?" said papa. "I would rather it were into +my hands, or a basket, or anything." + +We went off into a laugh upon that, and Mr. Dinwiddie +explained, and the conversation turned. We went into the house +to have tea; and there we discussed the subject of our further +journey and when we should set off. Mr. Dinwiddie was engaged +to go with us to Lebanon. But it was concluded that we would +wait yet a little for the season to be further advanced. For +me, I was in no hurry to leave the Mount of Olives and +Jerusalem. + +We sat on the roof that evening and watched the lights kindle +in Jerusalem, and talked of the old-time scenes and changes; +till I supposed the question of home troubles and our poor +Magnolia people was pretty well driven from papa's mind. But +when Mr. Dinwiddie was gone, and I was bidding him good-night, +he held me fast in his arms, looking down into my face. + +"Little Daisy!" - he said. + +"Not just now, papa." + +"The very same!" he said. "My little Daisy! - who was always +forgetting herself in favour of any poor creature that came in +her way." + +"Papa - what did our Lord do?" + +"Daisy, do you expect to conform yourself and everybody to +that pattern?" + +"Myself, papa. Not everybody." + +"Me? -" + +I could not answer papa. I hid my face on his breast; - for he +still held me. And now he kissed me fondly. + +"We must not do what mamma would never agree to," he said very +kindly. Again I could make no answer. I knew all about mamma. + +"Daisy," said papa presently, we had not changed our position, +- "is Mr. Dinwiddie your friend, or mine?" + +"Of us both, papa!" I said in astonishment. "Of me; +particularly, perhaps; because he knows me best and has known +me longest." + +"Then he comes here to see you?" + +"And you, papa." + +"I am afraid he does not come to see me," papa said. "Do you +like to see him very much, Daisy?" + +"Certainly, papa; very much; because he is an old, old, very +good friend. That is all." + +"You are sure?" + +"Quite sure, papa." + +"I believe that _is_ all," said papa, looking into my face. + +"I am afraid, however, that our friend wishes he were not +quite so old a friend." + +"No, papa," I said; "you are, mistaken. I am sure Mr. +Dinwiddie does not think so. He knows better." + +"How does he know better?" + +"I think he understands, papa." + +"What?" + +"Me." + +"What about you?" + +"I think he thinks only that, - what I said, papa." + +"And how came you to think he thinks anything about it?" + +"Papa -" + +"Has he ever told you his thoughts?" + +"No, sir; certainly." + +"Then what do you mean, Daisy." + +"Papa - we have talked." + +"But not about that?" + +"No, papa; not about Mr. Dinwiddie's feelings, certainly. But +I am sure he understands." + +"What, my pet?" + +"My feelings, papa." + +"Your feeling about himself?" + +"Yes." + +"How should he understand it, Daisy?" + +"I think he does, papa -" + +"You say, you 'have talked'? What course did your talk take?" + +My heart beat. I saw what was coming now, - what ought to +come. It was my time. + +"It was a very general course, papa. It did not touch, +directly, my feeling for Mr. Dinwiddie, or anybody." + +"Indirectly?" + +"I think - I do not know - I half fancied, Mr. Dinwiddie +thought so." + +"Thought what?" + +"That it did touch some feeling of mine." + +"Not for himself. For some other?" + +"Yes -" I whispered. + +"For whom?" he said abruptly. And then as I hesitated, - + +"For one of those two?" + +"What two?" + +"De Saussure or Marshall?" + +"Oh, no, papa!" + +"Your cousin Gary?" + +"Oh, no, papa!" + +"Have I lost you, Daisy?" he said then in a different tone, +gentle and lingering and full of regret. My breath was gone; I +threw my arms around his neck. + +"Why did you never tell me before, Daisy?" + +"Papa, - I was afraid." + +"Are you afraid now?" + +"Yes." + +"Let us have it over then, Daisy. Who is it that has stolen +you from me?" + +"Oh no one, papal" I cried. "No one could. No one can." + +"Who has tried, then?" + +"A great many people, papa; but not this person." + +"How has it come to pass then, my pet? And who is this +person?" + +"Papa, it came to pass without anybody's knowing it or meaning +it; and when I knew it, then I could not help it. But not what +you say has come to pass; nobody has stolen or could steal me +from you." + +"I have only lost, without any other being the gainer," said +papa a little bitterly. + +"No, papa, you have not lost; you cannot; I am not changed, +papa, do you not see that I am not changed? I am yours, just +as I always was, - only more, papa." + +Papa kissed me, but it cut me to the heart to feel there was +pain in the kiss. I did what my lips could to clear the pain +away. + +"Half is not as much as the whole, Daisy," he said at length. + +"It may be, papa. Suppose the whole is twice as large as it +used to be?" + +"That is a good specimen of woman's reasoning. But you have +not told me all yet, Daisy. Who is it that holds the other +half?" + +There was so much soreness and disappointment shown in papa's +words, rather in the manner of them, that it was extremely +difficult for me to carry on the conversation. Tears are a +help, I suppose, to other women. They do not come to me, not +at such times. I stood still in papa's arms, with a kind of +dry heartache. The pain in his words was a terrible trial to +me. He folded me close again and kissed me over and over, and +then whispered, - + +"Who is it, Daisy?" + +"Papa, it was at West Point. I never meant it, and never knew +it, until I could not help it." + +"At West Point!" said papa. + +"Two years ago, when Dr. Sandford took me there." + +"It is not Dr. Sandford!" + +"Oh, no, papa! He is not to blame. He did everything he could +to take care of me. He knows nothing it all about it." + +"Who is it, then?" + +"He was a cadet then, papa; he is in the army now." + +"Who is he?" + +"He is from Vermont; his name is Thorold." + +"Not a Southerner?" + +"No, papa. Do you care very much for that?" + +"Is he in the _Northern_ army, Daisy?" + +"He could not help that, papa; being a Vermonter." + +Papa let me go; I had been standing in his arms all this +while; and took several turns up and down our little room. I +sat down, for my joints trembled under me. Papa walked and +walked. + +"Does your mother know?" he said at last. + +"I dared not tell her." + +"Who does know?" + +"Nobody, papa, but you, and an old friend of mine in New York, +- an aunt of Mr. Thorold's." + +"Daisy, what is this young man?" + +"Papa, I wish you could know him." + +"How comes it that he, as well as you, has kept silence?" + +"I don't know, papa. His letter must have miscarried. He was +going to write to you immediately, just before I left +Washington. I was afraid to have him do it, but he insisted +that he must." + +"Why were you afraid?" + +"Papa, I knew you and mamma would not be I pleased; that it +would not be what you would wish; and I feared mamma, and +perhaps you, would forbid him at once." + +"Does he write to you?" + +"I would not let him, papa, without your permission; and I was +afraid I could not get that." + +"What did you expect to do then, Daisy, if I was never to be +told?" + +"I thought to wait only till the war should be over, papa, - +when he might see you himself and you might see him. I thought +that would be the best way." + +"_He_ did not?" + +"No; he insisted on writing." + +"He was right. What is the young man's name, Daisy? you have +not told me yet." + +"Christian Thorold." + +"Thorold," said papa. "It is an English name. Have you heard +nothing from him, Daisy, since you came to Switzerland?" + +"Nothing," - I said. + +Papa came over again to where I sat on the divan, bent down +and kissed me. + +"Am I such a terror to you, Daisy?" + +"Oh, no, papa," I said, bursting into tears at last; - "but +mamma - you know if mamma said a word at first, she would +never go back from it." + +"I know," he said. "And I choose, for the present, that this +matter should remain a secret between you and me. You need not +tell your mother until I bid you." + +"Yes, papa. Thank you." + +"And, Daisy," said he stroking my hair fondly, - "the war is +not ended in America yet, and I am afraid we have a long time +to wait for it. Poor child! - But for the present there are no +storms ahead." + +I rose up and kissed papa, with a very tender good-night given +and exchanged; and then I went to my room. The Jerusalem +lights were out. But a peace, deep and wide as the blue arch +of the sky, seemed to have spanned my life and my heart. + +CHAPTER XVII. + +OUT OF THE SMOKE + + +There was an immense burden lifted off me. It is difficult to +express the change and the relief in my feelings. The next day +was given to an excursion in the neighbourhood; and I never +can forget how rare the air seemed to be, as if I were +breathing pure life; and how brilliant the sunlight was that +fell on the wonderful Palestine carpet of spring flowers. All +over they were; under foot and everywhere else; flashing from +hidden places, peeping round corners, smiling at us in every +meadow and hillside; a glory upon the land. Papa was in great +delight, as well as I; and as kind as possible to me; also +very good to Mr. Dinwiddie. Mr. Dinwiddie himself seemed to me +transformed. I had gone back now to the free feeling of a +child; and he looked to me again as my childish eyes had seen +him. There was a great amount of fire and vigour and +intellectual life in his countenance; the auburn hair and the +brown eyes glowed together with the hue of a warm temperament; +but that was tempered by a sweet and manly character. I +thought he had grown soberer than the Mr. Dinwiddie of my +remembrance. + +That particular day lies in my memory like some far-off lake +that one has seen just under the horizon of a wide landscape, +- a still bit of silvery light. It is not the distance, +though, in this case, that gives it its shining. We were going +that morning to visit Gibeon and Neby Samwil; and the +landscape was full, for me, of the peace which had come into +the relations between me and papa. It was a delicious spring +day; the flowers bursting under our feet with their fresh +smiles; the air perfumed with herby scents and young sweetness +of nature; while associations of old time clustered all about, +like sighs of history. - We went first along the great stony +track which leads from Jerusalem to the north; then turned +aside into the great route from Jaffa to Jerusalem; not the +southern and rougher way which re had taken when we came from +the coast. This was he approach of almost all the armies which +have poured their fury on the devoted city. We went single +file, as one has to go in Palestine; and I liked it. There was +too much to think of to make one want to talk. And the +buoyancy of the air seemed to feed mind as well as body, and +give all the stimulus needed. Mr. Dinwiddie sometimes called +out to me to point my attention to something; and the rest of +the time I kept company with the past and my own musings. + +We visited Gibeon first, and stood by the dry pool where Abner +and Joab watched the fight of their twelve picked men; and we +read Solomon's prayer. + +"This is a wonderful country," said papa, "for the way its +associations are packed. There is more history here than in +any other region of the world." + +"Well, papa, it is the world's history," I said. + +"What do you mean, Daisy?" + +I hesitated; it was not very easy to tell. + +"She is right though," said Mr. Dinwiddie; "it is the very +core of the world's history, round which the other is slowly +gathering and maturing, to the perfected fruit. Or to take it +another way, - ever since God at the first did visit the +Gentiles, to take put of them a people for His name, His +dealings with that people have been an earnest and an image of +His course with His Church at large. We may cut down to the +heart of the world and find the perfect flower here - as we do +in bulbs." + +"A blossoming to destruction then, it seems," said my father. + +"No!" said Mr. Dinwiddie - "to restoration and glory. The +history of this land is not yet finished." + +"And you think _that_ is in store for it yet?" + +Mr. Dinwiddie answered, - " 'Thus saith the Lord; If ye can +break my covenant of the day, and my covenant of the night, +and that there should not be day and night in their season; +then may also my covenant be broken with David my servant, +that he should not have a son to reign upon his throne; and +with the Levites the priests, my ministers. As the hosts of +heaven cannot be numbered, neither the sand of the sea +measured: so will I multiply the seed of David my servant, and +the Levites that minister unto me.' " + +"Who spoke that?" + +"The prophet Jeremiah." + +"And when, pray?" + +"When Nebuchadnezzar and his army were just upon the point of +completing the destruction of the city - and of the people." + +"Then it refers to their return from captivity, does it not?" + +"As the type of the other restoration," said Mr. Dinwiddie. +"For 'In those days, and at that time, will I cause the Branch +of righteousness to grow up unto David; and he shall execute +judgment and righteousness in the land. In those days shall +Judah be saved, and Jerusalem shall dwell safely; and this is +the name whereby she shall be called, The Lord our +righteousness.' Moreover, in Ezekiel's vision of a new temple +and city, he gives the dimensions of the temple large enough +to take in all Jerusalem, and the holy city as many times +exceeding its utmost actual limits; and he says, 'The name of +the city from that day shall be, The Lord is there.' Jehovah +shammah. I wish the day were come." + +"You take it as entirely figurative!" said papa. "I thought +just now you made it entirely literal." + +"What is a figure?" said Mr. Dinwiddie. "And if you take away +the literal, where will the spiritual be?" + +"True," said papa. "These are things I have not studied." + +And then we mounted to the height of Neby Samwil and sat down +for a good long look. Mr. Dinwiddie was here as elsewhere +invaluable. He told us everything and pointed out everything +to us, that we ought to see or know. The seacoast plain lay +below; - spread out for many a mile, with here a height and +there a cluster of buildings, and the blue sea washing its +western border. We could easily see Jaffa, Ramleh and Lydda; +we picked those spots out first which we knew. Then Mr. +Dinwiddie pointed us to Ashdod, and to Ekron, a little to the +left of Ramleh. + +"And that is where Nebuchadnezzar was with his army, before he +went up to Jerusalem," I said. + +"The first time," said Mr. Dinwiddie. "Yes; there his hosts of +Chaldeans lay in the plain; and there after the place was +taken he impaled the chiefs of the town; and then flushed with +power, came up to Jerusalem and cast banks against it. So he +says; and we know that so Isaiah prophesied he would do; and +we know that Hezekiah bought him off." + +"Did he come up this way of the Beth-horons?" I asked. + +"I suppose so. And down this way, Joshua chased the fleeing +kings and their followers and overthrew them as they fled down +the pass - what a rush it must have been! - and down there, +down where the green sweeps into the hills from the plain, +there is Ajalon." + +"Papa, do you see?" + +"I see; but I do not understand quite so well as you do, +Daisy, what you are talking about." + +"It is Miss Randolph's own country," remarked Mr. Dinwiddie. + +"She is not a Jewess," said papa. + +"Pardon me - we have it on authority that 'he is a Jew which +is one inwardly;' - an Israelite indeed," Mr . Dinwiddie +muttered to himself. + +I saw papa was puzzled and half displeased. I hastened to turn +the conversation, and showed him where Bethel lay and the +mountains of Ephraim; and finally ordered our luncheon basket +to be brought forward. But we had to leave our position and +choose a shaded place, the sun was growing so hot. + +"How long do you expect to remain here - in Palestine, Mr. +Dinwiddie?" something prompted me to ask. He hesitated a +moment or two and then replied - + +"I cannot tell - probably as long as I stay anywhere on this +scene of action." + +"You do not mean ever to come home?" I said. + +"What is 'home,' Miss Daisy?" he replied, looking at me. + +"It is where we were born," said papa. + +"Would your daughter say so?" + +"No," I answered; for I was born at Magnolia. "But I think +home is where we have lived, - is it not?" + +"Melbourne?" Mr. Dinwiddie suggested. + +"No," said I; "it is not Melbourne now, to be sure; but +neither could it be possibly any place in Europe, or Asia." + +"Are you sure? Not in _any_ circumstances?" + +I cannot tell what, in his tone or look, drove his meaning +home. But I felt the colour rise in my face and I could not +answer. + +"It is where the heart is, after all," Mr. Dinwiddie resumed. +"The Syrian sky does not make much difference. _My_ home is +waiting for me." + +"But we speak of home here, and properly." + +"Properly, for those who have it." + +"I think, Mr. Dinwiddie, that we say 'home' sometimes, when we +speak only of where the heart was." + +"Better not," he said. "Let us have a living home, not a dead +one. And that we can, always." + +"What do you know of places where the heart _was?_" said papa, +looking at me curiously. + +"Not much, papa; but I was thinking; and I think people mean +that sometimes." + +"We will both trust she will never come nearer to the +knowledge," said Mr. Dinwiddie, with one of his bright looks +at papa and at me. It was assuming a little more interest in +our affairs than I feared papa would like; but he took it +quietly. More quietly than I could, though my reason for +disquietude was different. Mr. Dinwiddie's words had set +vibrating a chord in my heart which could not just then give a +note of pleasure. I wanted it to lie still. The wide fair +landscape took a look to me instantly, which indeed belonged +to it, of "places where the heart was;" and the echo of broken +hopes came up to my ear from the gray ruins near and far. Yet +the flowers of spring were laughing and shouting under my +feet. Was it hope, or mockery? + +"What are you questioning, Miss Daisy ?" said Mr. Dinwiddie, +as he offered me some fruit. + +"I seemed to hear two voices in nature, Mr. Dinwiddie; - I +wanted to find out which was the true." + +"What were the voices? - and I will tell you." + +"One came from the old heap of Ekron yonder, and the ruins of +Ramleh, and Jerusalem, and Gibeon, and Bethel; - the other +voice came from the flowers." + +"Trust the flowers." + +"Why, more than the ruins?" + +"Remember," - said he. "One is God's truth; the other is man's +falsehood." + +"But the ruins tell truth too, Mr. Dinwiddie." + +"What truth? They tell of man's faithlessness, perversity, +wrongheadedness, disobedience; persisted in, till there was no +remedy. And now, to be sure, they are a desolation. But that +is not what God willed for the land." + +"Yet surely, Mr. Dinwiddie, there come desolations into +people's lives too." + +"By the same reason." + +"Surely without it sometimes." + +"Nay," he said. " 'The Lord redeemeth the soul of His servants; +and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate.' " + +"But their lives are empty sometimes?" + +"That they may be more full, then. Depend on it, the promise +is sure, - they shall not want any good I thing." + +"One must let the Lord judge then," I said somewhat +sorrowfully, "what are the good things." + +"Will we not?" said Mr. Dinwiddie. "Do we know? We must agree +to his judgment, too; and then we shall find there is no want +to them that fear him. The Lord is my Shepherd! - I shall not +want. But the sheep follow the shepherd, and never dream of +choosing out their own pasture, Miss Daisy." + +My voice choked a little and I could not answer. And all the +rest of the day I could not get back my quiet. The talk of +leaving the choice of my life out of my own hands, had roused +my hands to cling to their choice with a terrible grasp lest +it should be taken away from them. The idea that Thorold and I +might be parted from each other, made my heart leap out with +inexpressible longing to be with him. It was not till we got +home to the Mount of Olives again, and I was watching the +glory of the sunset, turning Jerusalem to gold and bringing +out rosy and purple and amethyst hues from the Moab mountains, +that my heart leapt back to its rest and I heard the voice of +nature and God again above the din of my own heart. + +As soon as the season was far enough advanced, and Mr. +Dinwiddie could make his arrangements to be with us, we left +Jerusalem and its surroundings and set off northwards. It was +hard to go. Where many a sorrowful traveller has left his +little mound of farewell stones on Scopus, I stood and looked +back; as long as papa would wait for me. Jerusalem looked so +fair, and the thought and prospect of another Jerusalem lay +before me, fairer indeed, but so distant. And I fancied storms +and some rough travelling between. And here, in the actual +Jerusalem, my life had been very sweet; peaceful with a whole +flood tide of peacefulness. I resolved I would not lose nor +forget this ungratefully; but as long as I could I would be +happy. So I turned my face at last to enjoy every foot of the +way to Nablous. + +During our stay at Jerusalem and on the Mount of Olives, of +course letters and papers had been received regularly; and +sometimes a bit of news from America had made all our hearts +stir. Mine, with a new throb of hope and possible exultation; +for what we heard was on the side of Northern successes. +Still, papa and Mr. Dinwiddie agreed these were but the +fortune of war, and could not - in the nature of things last. +The South could not be overcome. So they said, and I feared. +But a thrill of possible doubt came over me when I heard of +Fort Donelson, and the battle of Pea Ridge, and the prowess of +the little iron-clad _Monitor_. And a great throb of another +kind heaved my heart, when we got the news of President +Lincoln's Message, recommending that assistance should be +given by Congress to every Southern State which would abolish +slavery. A light broke in upon the whole struggle; and from +that time the war was a different thing to me. Papa and Mr. +Dinwiddie talked a great deal about it, discussing the subject +in almost all its bearings. I sat by and said nothing. + +I would not read the papers myself, all this time. In America +I had studied them, and in Switzerland and in Florence I had +devoured them. Here in the Holy Land, I had made an agreement +with myself to be happy; to leave the care of things which I +could not manage, and not to concern myself with the +fluctuations on the face of affairs which I could not trace +out to their consequences, do what I would. So. I heard the +principal points of news from papa's talk and Mr. Dinwiddie's; +I let the papers alone. Only with one exception. I could not +help it. I could not withhold myself from looking at the lists +of wounded and killed. I looked at nothing more; but the +thought that one name might be there would have incessantly +haunted me, if I had not made sure that it was not there. I +dreaded every arrival from the steamers of a new mail budget. + +From Mr. Thorold I got no letter. Nor from Miss Cardigan. From +Mrs. Sandford one; which told me nothing I wanted to know. To +mamma papa had writ- ten, describing to her the pleasure we +were enjoying and the benefit his health was deriving from our +journey, and asking her to join us at Beyrout and spend the +summer on Lebanon. + +Towards Beyrout we now journeyed gently on; stopping and +lingering by the way as our custom was. At Nablous, at +Nazareth, at Tiberias, at Safed, at Banias; then across the +country to Sidon, down to Khaiffa and Carmel; finally we went +up to Beyrout. Papa enjoyed every bit of the way; to me it was +a journey scarcely of this earth, the happiness of it was so +great. Mr. Dinwiddie everywhere our kind and skilful guide, +counsellor, helper; knowing all the ground, and teaching us to +use our time to the very best advantage. He made papa more at +ease about me, and me about papa. + +At Beyrout, for the first time since we left Jerusalem, we +found ourselves again in a hotel. Mr. Dinwiddie went to find +our despatches that were awaiting us. Papa lay down on the +cushions of a divan. I sat at the window, wondering at what I +saw. I wonder now at the remembrance. + +It was afternoon, and the shades and colours on the mountains +and the sea were a labyrinth of delight. Yes, the eye and the +mind lost themselves again and again, to start back again to +the consciousness of an enchanted existence. The mountains +rising from the coast were in full view of my window, shaded +with all sorts of green from the different woods and +cultivation which clothed their sides. The eye followed their +growing heights and ridges, till it rested on the snow summit +of Sunnin; then swept round the range to the southward; but +ever came back again to the lofty, reposeful majesty of that +white mountain top in the blue ether. Little streams I could +see dashing down the rocks; a white thread amongst the green; +castles or buildings of some stately sort were upon every +crag; I found afterwards they were monasteries. The sea waves +breaking on the rocks of the shore gave other touches of +white, and the sea was taking a deep hue, and the town +stretching back from it looked gay and bright, with pretty +houses and palm trees and palaces, and, bright-coloured +dresses flitting here and there in the streets; and white +sails were on the sea. I had never seen, I have never seen, +anything more lovely than Beyrout. I had come to the city +rather anxious; for we expected there to meet a great budget +of news, which I always dreaded; wandering about from place to +place, we had been blissfully separated for some time from all +disturbing intelligence. Now we must meet it, perhaps; but the +glory of the beauty before me wrapped my heart round as with +an unearthly shield. Peace, peace, and good will, - it spoke, +from Him who made the beauty and owned the glory; softly it +reminded me that my Father in heaven could not fail in love +nor in resources. I leaned my head against the frame of the +open window, and rested and was glad. + +Mr. Dinwiddie came back with a business step. I looked up, but +I would not fear. He laid a pile of letters and papers before +papa, and then sat down to the consideration of some of his +own. + +"What is doing at home, Dinwiddie?" papa asked. + +"A good deal, since our last advices." + +"What? I am tired of reading about it." + +"Yes," said Mr. Dinwiddie. "You want me to save you the +trouble?" + +"If it is no trouble to you." + +"The news is of several advantages gained by the Yankees." + +"That won't last," said papa. "But there are always +fluctuations in these things." + +"Back in March," Mr. Dinwiddie went on, "there are reported +two engagements in which our troops came off second best - at +Newhern and at Winchester. It is difficult perhaps to know the +exact truth - the papers on the two sides hold such different +language. But the sixth of April there was a furious battle at +Pittsburg Landing, our men headed by Beauregard, Polk and +Sidney Johnston, when our men got the better very decidedly; +the next day came up a sweeping reinforcement of the enemy +under Grant and others, and took back the fortune of war into +their own hands, it seems." + +"Perhaps that is doubtful too," observed my father. + +"I see Beauregard asked permission to bury his dead." + +"Many killed?" asked my father. + +"Terribly many. There were large numbers engaged, and fierce +fighting." + +So they _can_ do it, I said to myself, amid all my heart- +beating. + +"There will be of course, some variation of success," said my +father. + +"The pendulum is swung all to one side, in these last news," +said Mr. Dinwiddie. + +"What next?" + +"Fort Pulaski is taken." + +"Pulaski!" my father exclaimed. + +"Handsomely done, after a bombardment of thirty hours." + +"I am surprised, I confess," said papa. + +"The House of Representatives has passed a bill for the +abolition of slavery in the District." + +"Oh, I am glad!" I exclaimed. "_That_ is good." + +"Is that _all_ you think good in the news?" said Mr. Dinwiddie a +little pointedly. + +"Daisy is a rebel," said papa. + +"No, papa; not _I_ surely. I stand by the President and the +Country." + +"Then _we_ are rebels, Dinwiddie," said papa, half wearily. +"Half the country is playing the fool, that is clear; and the +whole must suffer." + +"But the half where the seat of war is, suffers the most." + +"That will not last," said papa. "I know the South." + +"I wonder if we know the North," said Mr. Dinwiddie. "Farragut +has run the gauntlet of the forts at the mouth of the +Mississippi and taken New Orleans." + +"Taken New Orleans!" my father exclaimed again, rising half up +as he lay on the cushions of the divan. + +"It was done in style," said Mr. Dinwiddie, looking along the +columns of his paper. "Let me read you this, Mr. Randolph." + +Papa assented, and he read; while I turned my face to the +window again, and listened to Farragut's guns and looked at +Lebanon. What a strange hour it was! There was hope at work +and rejoicing; but it shook me. And the calmness of the +everlasting hills and the mingled sweetnesses of the air, came +in upon the fever of my heart with cooling and quieting power. +The sea grew a deeper blue as I listened and looked; the +mountains - what words can tell the mantle of their own purple +that enfolded them as the evening came on; and the snowy +heights of Sunnin and Kunisyeh grew rosy. I looked and I drank +it in; and I could not fear for the future. + +I believe I had fallen into a great reverie, during which Mr. +Dinwiddie ended his reading and left the room. It was papa's +touch on my shoulder that roused me. He had come to my side. + +"Are you happy, Daisy?" was his question. + +"Papa? -" I said in bewilderment. + +"Your face was as calm as if you had nothing to think about." + +"I had been thinking, papa. I was thinking, I believe." + +"Does this strange news make you happy?" + +"Oh, no, papa; not that." + +"What then?" + +"Something that is no news, and that never can grow old, papa. +The mountains and the sea were just reminding me of it." + +"You mean - what? You speak riddles, Daisy." + +"Papa, you would give me everything good for me, if you +could." + +He kissed me fondly. + +"I would, my child. Whether I can, or no, that troubles me by +its uncertainty." + +"Papa, my Father in heaven can, and will. There is no doubt +about His power. And so there is no uncertainty." + +"Daisy! -" said papa, looking at me in a strange way. + +"Yes, papa, I mean it. Papa, you know it is true." + +"I know you deserve all I can give you," he said, taking my +face in his two hands and looking into it. "Daisy - is there +anybody in the world that loves you as well as I do?" + +That was a little too much, to bring up my heart in words in +that manner. In spite of my composure, which I thought so +strong, I was very near bursting into tears. I believe my face +flushed and then grew pale with the struggle. Papa took me in +his arms. + +"You shall have no trouble that I can shield you from," he +said tenderly. "I will put nothing between you and this young +man if he is worthy of you, Daisy. I will pat nothing. But +others may. My power reaches only a certain distance." + +"Papa -" I began, but I could not say what I would. + +"Well?3 - said he tenderly, stroking my hair, "what is it? I +would keep all trouble from you, my pet, if I could." + +"Papa," I whispered, "that may not be best. We must leave +that. But papa, if you only knew what I know and were glad as +I am glad, - I think I could bear all the rest!" + +"How shall I be glad as you are glad, Daisy?" he said, half +sadly. + +"Papa, let Jesus make you happy!" + +"You are talking Hebrew, my child." + +"No, papa; for if you seek Him, He _will_ make you happy." + +"Come! we will seek him from to-day," my father said. + +And that was my summer on Lebanon. My mother wrote that she +would not join us in Syria; she preferred to remain in Paris, +where she had my aunt Gary's company and could receive the +American news regularly. Her words were bitter and scornful +about the successes of the Northern army and McClellan's +fruitless siege of Yorktown; so bitter, that papa and I passed +them over without a word of comment, knowing how they bore on +my possible future. + +But we, we studied the Bible, and we lived on Lebanon. And +when I have said that, I have said all. From one village to +another, higher and higher up, we went; pitching our tents +under the grand old walnut trees, within sight or hearing of +mountain torrents that made witcheries of beauty in the deep +ravines; studying sunrisings, when the light came over the +mountain's brow and lit our broken hillside by degrees, our +walnut tree tops and the thread of the rushing stream; and +sunsets, when the sun looked at us from the far-off +Mediterranean and touched no spot of Lebanon but to make a +glorified place of it. With Mr. Dinwiddie we took rides to +different scenes of wonder and beauty; made excursions +sometimes of a week or two long; we dreamed at Baalbec and +rejoiced under the Cedars. Everywhere papa and I read the +Bible. Mr. Dinwiddie left us for some time during the summer, +and returned again a few days before we left Lebanon and +Syria. + +"So you are going to-morrow" - he said the last evening, as he +and I were watching the sunset from the edge of the ravine +which bordered our camping-ground. I made no answer, for my +heart was too full. + +"It has been a good summer," he said. I bowed my head in +assent. + +"And now," he said, "you push out into the world again. I feel +about you as I did when I saw your little craft just starting +forth, and knew there were breakers ahead." + +"You do not know that now, Mr. Dinwiddie?" I said. + +"I know there are rocks. If the sea should let you pass them +in quiet, it would be a wonder." + +That was too true, I knew. I could only be silent. + +"How do you feel?" he next asked. + +"I know it is as you say, Mr. Dinwiddie." + +"And in view of it? -" + +"What can I do, - Mr. Dinwiddie?" + +"Nothing to avoid the rocks. The helm is not in your hand." + +"But I know in whose hand it is." + +"And are willing to have it there?" + +"More than willing," I said, meeting his eye. + +"Then the boat will go right," he said, with a sort of accent +of relief. "It is the cross pulls with the oar, striving to +undo the work of the rudder, that draw the vessel out of her +course. The Pilot knows, - if you can only leave it to the +Pilot." + +There was a pause again. + +"But He sometimes takes the boat into the breakers," Mr. +Dinwiddie said. + +"Yes," I said. "I know it." + +"What then, Daisy, my friend?" + +"What then, Mr. Dinwiddie?" I said, looking up at him. "Then +she must be broken to pieces." + +"And what then? Can you trust the Pilot still?" + +His great eyes were flashing and glittering as he looked at +me. No careless nor aimless thought had caused such an +interrogatory, I knew. I met the eyes which seemed to be +blazing and melting at once, but I answered only by the look. + +"You may," he went on, without taking his eyes from mine. "You +may trust safely. Even if the vessel is shaken and broken, +trust even then, when all seems gone. There shall be smooth +waters yet; and a better voyage than if you had gone a less +wearisome way." + +"Why do you say all this to me, Mr. Dinwiddie?" + +"Not because I am a prophet," he said, looking away now, - +"for I am none. And if I saw such trials ahead for you, I +should have hardly courage to utter them. I asked, to comfort +myself; that I might know of a certainty that you are safe, +whatever comes." + +"Thank you," I said, rather faintly. + +"I shall stay here," he went on presently, "in the land of my +work; and you will be gone to-morrow for other scenes. It +isn't likely you will ever see me again. But if ever you need +a friend, on the other side of the globe, if you call me, I +will come. It is folly to say that, though," he said plucking +hastily at a spear of grass; - "you will not need nor think of +me. But I suppose you know, Daisy, by this time, that all +those who come near you, love you. I am no exception. You must +have charity for me." + +"Dear Mr. Dinwiddie," I said reaching out my hand, - "if I +were in trouble and wanted a friend, there is no one in the +world that I would sooner, or - rather, or as soon or as lief, +ask to help me. Except -" I added, and could not finish my +sentence. For I had remembered there was an exception which +ought to be implied somewhere. + +"I know," he said, wringing my hand. "I wish I could heap +blessings on the head of the exception. Now let us go in." + +The next day we rode down to Beyrout, and took the steamer +that same evening. + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A MASKED BATTERY + + +My Palestine holiday lasted, in some measure, all the way of +our journey home; and left me at the very moment when we +entered our Parisian hotel and met mamma. It left me then. All +the air of the place, much more all the style of mamma's dress +and manner, said at once that we had come into another world. +She was exquisitely dressed; that was usual; it could not have +been only that, nor the dainty appointments around her; - it +was something in her bearing, an indescribable something even +as she greeted us, which said, You have played your play - now +you will play mine. And it said, I cannot tell how, The cards +are in my hands. + +Company engaged her that evening. I saw little of her till the +next day. At our late breakfast then we discussed many things. +Not much of Palestine; mamma did not want to hear much of +that. She had had it in our letters, she said. American +affairs were gone into largely; with great eagerness and +bitterness by both mamma and Aunt Gary; with triumphs over the +disasters of the Union army before Richmond, and other lesser +affairs in which the North had gained no advantage; invectives +against the President's July proclamation, his impudence and +his cowardice; and prophecies of ruin to him and his cause. +Papa listened and said little. I heard and was silent; with +throbbing forebodings of trouble. + +"Daisy is handsomer than ever," my aunt remarked, when even +politics had exhausted themselves. But I wondered what she was +thinking of when she said it. Mamma lifted her eyes and +glanced me over. + +"Daisy has a rival, newly appeared," she said. "She must do +her best." + +"There cannot be rivalry, mamma, where there is no +competition," I said. + +"Cannot there?" said mamma. "You never told us, Daisy, of _your_ +successes in the North." + +I do not think I flushed at all in answer to this remark; the +blood seemed to me to go all to my heart. + +"Who has been Daisy's trumpeter?" papa asked. + +"There is a friend of hers here," mamma said, slowly sipping +her coffee. I do not know how I sat at the table; things +seemed to swim in a maze before my eyes; then mamma went on, - +"What have you done with your victim, Daisy?" + +"Mamma," I said, "I do not at all know of whom you are +speaking." + +"Left him for dead, I suppose," she said. "He has met with a +good Samaritan, I understand, who carried oil and wine." + +Papa's eye met mine for a moment. + +"Felicia," he said, "you are speaking very unintelligibly. I +beg you will use clearer language, for all our sakes." + +"Daisy understands," she said. + +"Indeed I do not, mamma." + +"Not the good Samaritan's part, of course. That has come since +you were away. But you knew once that a Northern Blue-coat had +been pierced by the fire of your eyes?" + +"Mamma," I said, - "if you put it so, I have known it of more +than one." + +"Imagine it!" said mamma, with an indescribable gesture of +lip, which yet was gracefully slight. + +"Imagine what?" said papa. + +"One of those canaille venturing to look at Daisy!" + +"My dear," said papa, "pray do not fail to remember, that we +have passed a large portion of our life among those whom you +denominate canaille, and who always were permitted the +privilege of looking at us all. I do not recollect that we +felt it any derogation from anything that belonged to us." + +"Did you let him look at you, Daisy?" mamma said, lifting her +own eyes up to me. "It was cruel of you." + +"Your friend Miss St. Clair, is here, Daisy," my aunt Gary +said. + +"My friend!" I repeated. + +"She is your friend," said mamma. "She has bound up the wounds +you have made, Daisy, and saved you from being in the full +sense a destroyer of human life." + +"When did Faustina come here?" I asked. + +"She has been here a month. Are you glad?" + +"She was never a particular friend of mine, mamma." + +"You will love her now," said mamma; and the conversation +turned. It had only filled me with vague fears. I could not +understand it. + +I met Faustina soon in company. She was as brilliant a vision +as I have often seen; her beauty was perfected in her +womanhood, and was of that type which draws all eyes. She was +not changed, however; and she was not changed towards me. She +met me with the old coldness; with a something besides which I +could not fathom. It gave me a secret feeling of uneasiness; I +suppose, because that in it I read a meaning of exultation, a +secret air of triumph, which, I could not tell how or why, +directed itself towards me and gathered about my head. It grew +disagreeable to me to meet her; but I was forced to do this +constantly. We never talked together more than a few words; +but as we passed each other, as our eyes met and hers went +from me, as she smiled at the next opening of her mouth, I +felt always something sinister, or at least something hidden, +which took the shape of an advantage gained. I tried to meet +her with perfect pleasantness, but it grew difficult. In my +circumstances I was very open to influences of discouragement +or apprehension; indeed the trouble was to fight them off. +This intangible evil however presently took shape. + +I thought I had observed that for a day or two my father's +eyes had lingered on me frequently with a tender or wistful +expression, more than usual. I did not know what it meant. +Mamma was pushing me into company all this while, and making +no allusion to my own private affairs, if she had any clue to +them. One morning I had excused myself from an engagement +which carried away my aunt and her, that I might have a quiet +time to read with papa. Our readings had been much broken in +upon - lately. With a glad step I went to papa's room; a +study, I might call it, where he spent all of the time he did +not wish to give to society. He was there, expecting me; a +wood-fire was burning on the hearth; the place had the air of +comfort and seclusion and intelligent leisure; books and +engravings and works of art scattered about, and luxurious +easy-chairs standing ready for the accommodation of papa and +me. + +"This is nice, papa!" I said, as the cushions of one of them +received me. + +"It is not quite the Mount of Olives," said papa. + +"No indeed!" I answered; and my eyes filled. The bustle of the +fashionable world was all around me, the storms of the +political world were shaking the very ground where I stood, +the air of our little social world was not as on Lebanon sweet +and pure. When would it be again? Papa sat thinking in his +easy-chair. + +"How do you like Paris, my child?" + +"Papa, it does not make much difference, Italy or Paris, so +long as I am where you are, and we can have a little time +together." + +"Your English friend has followed you from Florence." + +"Yes, papa. At least he is here." + +"And your German friend." + +"He is here, papa." + +There was a silence. I wondered what papa was thinking of, but +I did not speak, for I saw he was thinking. + +"You have never heard from your American friend?" + +"No, papa." + +"Daisy," said papa, tenderly, and looking at me now, - "you +are strong?" + +"Am I, papa?" + +"I think you are. You can bear the truth, cannot you?" + +"I hope I can, -any truth that you have to tell me," I said. +One thought of terrible evil chilled my heart for a moment, +and passed away. Papa's tone and manner did not touch anything +like that. Though it was serious enough to awake my +apprehension. I could not guess what to apprehend. + +"Did you get any clear understanding of what your mother might +mean, one day at breakfast, when she was alluding to friends +of yours in America? - you remember?" + +"I remember. I did not understand in the least, papa." + +"It had to do with Miss St. Clair." + +"Yes." + +"It seems she spent all the last winter in Washington, where +the society was unusually good, it is said, as well as +unusually military. I do not know how that can be true, when +all Southerners were of course out of the city - but that's no +matter. A girl like this St. Clair girl of course knew all the +epaulettes there were." + +"Yes, papa - she is always very much admired. She must be that +everywhere." + +"I suppose so, though I don't like her," said papa. "Well, +Daisy, - I do not know how to tell you. She knew your friend." + +"Yes, papa." + +"And he admired her." + +I was silent, wondering what all this was coming to. + +"Do you understand me, Daisy? - She has won him from you." + +A feeling of sickness passed over me; it did not last. One +vision of my beautiful enemy, one image of her as Mr. +Thorold's friend, - it made me sick for that instant; then, I +believe I looked up and smiled. + +"Papa, it is not true, I think." + +"It is well attested, Daisy." + +"By whom?" + +"By a friend of Miss St. Clair, who was with her in Washington +and knew the whole progress of the affair, and testifies to +their being engaged." + +"To whose being engaged, papa?" + +"Miss St. Clair and your friend, - Colonel Somebody. I forget +his name, Daisy, though you told me, I believe." + +"He was not a colonel, papa; not at all; not near it." + +"No. He has been promoted, I understand. Promotions are rapid +in the Northern army now-a-days; a lieutenant in the regulars +is transformed easily into a colonel of volunteers. They want +more officers than they have got, I suppose." + +I remained silent, thinking. + +"Who told you all this, papa?" + +"Your mother. She has it direct from the friend of your +rival." + +"But, papa, nobody knew about me. It was kept entirely +private." + +"Not after you came away, I suppose. How else should this +story be told as of the gentleman _you were engaged to?_" + +I waited a little while, to get my voice steady, and then I +went on with my reading to papa. Once he interrupted me to +say, "Daisy, how do you take this that I have been telling +you?" - and at the close of our reading he asked again in a +perplexed manner, "You do not let it trouble you, Daisy?" - +and each time I answered him, "I do not believe it, papa." +Neither did I; but at the same time a dreadful shadow of +possibility came over my spirit. I could not get from under +it, and my soul fainted, as those were said to do who lay down +for shelter under the upas tree. A poison as of death seemed +to distil upon me from that shadow. Not let it trouble me? It +was a man's question, I suppose, put with a man's +powerlessness to read a woman's mind; even though the man was +my father. + +I noticed from that time more than ever his tender lingering +looks upon me, wistful, and doubtful. It was hard to bear +them, and I would not confess to them. I would not and did not +show by look or word that I put faith in the story my father +had brought me, or that I had lost faith in any one who had +ever commanded it. Indeed I did not believe the story. I did +trust Mr. Thorold. Nevertheless the cold chill of a "What if?" +- fell upon me sometimes. Could I say that it was an +impossibility, that he should have turned from me, from one +whom such a thorn hedge of difficulties encompassed, to +another woman so much, - I was going to say, so much more +beautiful; but I do not mean that, for I do not think it. No, +but to one whose beauty was so brilliant and whose hand was so +attainable? It would not be an impossibility in the case of +many men. Yes, I trusted Mr. Thorold; but so had other women +trusted. A woman's trust is not a guarantee for the worthiness +of its object. I had only my trust and my knowledge. Could I +say that both might not be mistaken? And trust as I would, +these thoughts would rise. + +Now it was very hard for me to meet Faustina St. Clair, and +bear the supercilious air of confident triumph with which she +regarded me. I think nobody could have observed this or read +it but myself only; its tokens were too exceedingly slight +and inappreciable for anything but the tension of my own heart +to feel. I always felt it, whenever we were in company +together; and though I always said at such times, "Christian +cannot love her," - when I was at home and alone, the shadow +of doubt and jealousy came over me again. Everything withers +in that shadow. A woman must either put it out of her heart, +somehow, or grow a diseased and sickly thing, mentally and +morally. I found that I was coming to this in my own mind and +character; and that brought me to a stand. + +I shut myself up one or two nights - I could not command my +days - and spent the whole night in thinking and praying. Two +things were before me. The story might be somehow untrue. Time +would show. In the meanwhile, nothing but trust would have +done honour to Mr. Thorold or to myself. I thought it was +untrue. But suppose it were not, - suppose that the joy of my +life were gone, passed over to another; who had done it? By +whose will was my life stripped? The false faith or the +weakness of friend or enemy could not have wrought thus, if it +had not been the will of God that His child should be so +tried; that she should go through just this sorrow, for some +great end or reason known only to Himself. Could I not trust +Him -? + +If there is a vulture whose claws are hard to unloose from the +vitals of the spirit, I think it is jealousy. I found it had +got hold of me, and was tearing the life out of me. I knew it +in time. O sing praise to our King, you who know Him! he is +mightier than our enemies; we need not be the prey of any. But +I struggled and prayed, more than one night through, before +faith could gain the victory. Then it did. I gave the matter +into my Lord's hands. If he had decreed that I was to lose Mr. +Thorold, and in this way, - why, I was my Lord's, to do with +as He pleased; it would all be wise and glorious, and kind +too, whatever He did. I would just leave that. But in the mean +time, till I knew that He had taken my joy from me, I would +not believe it; but would go on trusting the friend I had +believed so deserving of trust. I would believe in Mr. Thorold +still and be quiet, till I knew my confidence was misplaced. + +It was thoroughly done at last. I gave up myself to God again +and my affairs; and the rest that is unknown anywhere else, +came to me at His feet. I gave up being jealous of Faustina. +If the Lord pleased that she should have what had been so +precious to me, why, well! I gave it up. But not till I was +sure I had cause. + +What a lull came upon my harassed and tossed spirit, which had +been like a stormy sea under cross winds. Now it lay still, +and could catch the reflection of the sun again and the blue +of heaven. I could go into society now and please mamma, and +read at home to papa and give him the wonted gratification; +and I could meet Faustina with an open brow and a free hand. + +"Daisy, you are better this day or two," papa said to me, +wistfully. "You are like yourself. What is it, my child?" + +"It is Christ, my Lord, papa." + +"I do not know what you can mean by that, Daisy," said papa, +looking grave. "You are not an enthusiast or a fanatic." + +"It is not enthusiasm, papa, to believe God's promises. It +can't be fanaticism, to be glad of them." + +"Promises?" said papa. "What are you talking of?" + +"Papa, I am a servant of Christ," I said; I remember I was +arranging the sticks of wood on the fire as I spoke, and it +made pauses between my words; - "and He has promised to take +care of His servants and to let no harm come to them, - no +real harm; - how can I be afraid, papa? My Lord knows, - He +knows all about it and all about me; I am safe; I have nothing +to do to be afraid." + +"Safe from what?" + +"Not from trouble, papa; I do not mean that. He may see that +it is best that trouble should come to me. But it will not +come unless He sees that it is best; and I can trust Him." + +"My dear child, is there not a little fanaticism there?" + +"How, papa?" + +"It seems to me to sound like it." + +"It is nothing but believing God, papa." + +"I wish I understood you," said papa, thoughtfully. + +So I knelt down beside him and put my arms about him, and told +him what I wanted him to understand; much more than I had ever +been able to do before. The pain and sorrow of the past few +weeks had set me free, and the rest of heart of the last few +days too. I told papa all about it. I think, as Philip did to +Queen Candace's servant, I "preached to him Jesus." + +"So that is what you mean by being a Christian," said papa at +last. "It is not living a good moral life and keeping all +one's engagements." + +" 'By the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified.' +Even you, papa, are not good enough for that. God's law calls +for perfection." + +"Nobody is perfect." + +"No, papa; and so all have come short of the glory of God." + +"Well, then, I don't see what you are going to do, Daisy." + +"Christ has paid our debt, papa." + +"Then nobody need do anything." + +"Oh, no, papa; for the free pardon that is made out for you +and me - the white robe that Christ counsels us to buy of Him +- waits for our acceptance and is given only on conditions. It +is ready for every one who will trust Christ and obey Him; a +free pardon, papa; a white robe that will hide all our +ugliness. But we must be willing to have it on the +conditions." + +"And how then, Daisy?" + +"Why, this way, papa. See, - I am dead - with Christ; it is as +if I myself had died under the law, instead of my substitute; +the penalty is paid, and the law has nothing to say to a dead +malefactor, you know, papa. And now, I am dead to the law, and +my life is Christ's. I live because He lives, and by His +Spirit living in me; all I am and have belongs to Christ; the +life that I live, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who +loved me and gave Himself for me. I am not trying to keep the +law, to buy my life; but I am _keeping_ the law, because Christ +has given me life - do you see, papa? and all my life is love +to Him." + +"It seems to me, Daisy," said papa, "that if faith is all, +people may lead what lives they choose." + +"Papa, the faith that believes in Christ, loves and obeys Him; +or it is just no faith. It is nothing. It is dead." + +"And faith makes such a change in people's feelings and +lives?" + +"Why, yes, papa, for then they live by Christ's strength and +not their own; and in the love of Him, and not in the love of +themselves any longer." + +"Daisy," said papa, "it is something I do not know, and I see +that you do know; and I would like to be like you anyhow. Pray +for me, my child, that I may have that faith." + +I had never done it in his presence before, but now I knelt +down by the table and uttered all my heart to the One who +could hear us both. I could not have done it, I think, a few +weeks earlier; but this last storm had seemed to shake me free +from everything. What mattered, if I could only help to show +papa the way? He was weeping, I think, while I was praying; I +thought he sought to hide the traces of it when I rose up; and +I went from the room with a gladness in my heart that said, +"What if, even if Thorold is lost to me! There is something +better beyond." + +Papa and I seemed to walk on a new plane from that day. There +was a hidden sympathy between us, which had its root in the +deepest ground of our nature. We never had been one before, as +we were one from that time. + +It was but a few days, and another thing happened. The mail +bag had come in as usual, and I had gathered up my little +parcel of letters and gone with it to my room, before I +examined what they were. A letter evidently from Mr. Dinwiddie +had just made my heart leap with pleasure, when glancing at +the addresses of the rest before I broke the seal of this, I +saw what made my heart stand still. It was the handwriting of +Mr. Thorold. I think my eyes grew dim and dazed for a minute; +then I saw clearly enough to open the envelope, which showed +signs of having been a traveller. There was a letter for me, +such a letter as I had wanted; such as I had thirsted for; it +was not long, for it was written by a busy man, but it was +long enough, for it satisfied my thirst. Enclosed with it was +another envelope directed to papa. + +I waited to get calm again; for the joy which shot through all +my veins was a kind of elixir of life; it produced too much +exhilaration for me to dare to see anybody. Yet I think I was +weeping; but at any rate, I waited till my nerves were quiet +and under control, and then I went with the letter to papa. I +knew mamma was just gone out and there was no fear of +interruption. Papa read the letter, and read it, and looked up +at me. + +"Do you know what this is, Daisy?" + +"Papa, I guess. I know what it was meant to be." + +"It is a cool demand of you," said papa. + +I was glad, and proud; that was what it ought to be; that was +what I knew it suited papa that it should be. I stood by the +mantelpiece, waiting. + +"So you knew about it?" + +"Mr. Thorold said he would write to you, papa. I had been +afraid, and asked him not. I wanted him to wait till he could +see you." + +"One sees a good deal of a man in his letters," said papa; +"and this is a man's letter. He thinks enough of himself, +Daisy." + +"Papa, - not too much." + +"I did not say too much; but enough; and a man who does not +think enough of himself is a poor creature. I would not have a +man ask me for you, Daisy, who did not in his heart think he +was worthy of you." + +"Papa, you draw nice distinctions," I said half laughing. + +"That would be simple presumption, not modesty; this is +manliness." + +We were both silent upon this; papa considering the letter, or +its proposal; I thinking of Mr. Thorold's manliness, and +feeling very much pleased that he had shown it and papa had +discerned it so readily. The silence lasted till I began to be +curious. + +"What shall we do now, Daisy?" papa said at last. I left him +to answer his own question. + +"Hey? What do you wish me to do?" + +"Papa, - I hope you will give him a kind answer." + +"How can I get it to him?" + +"I can enclose it to an aunt of his, whom I know. She can get +it to him. She lives in New York." + +"His aunt? So you know his family? + +"No one of them, papa, but this one; his mother's sister." + +"What sort of a person is she?" + +So I sat down and told papa about Miss Cardigan. He listened +with a very grave, thoughtful face; asking few questions, but +kissing me. And then, without more ado, he turned to the table +and wrote a letter, writing very fast, and handed it to me. It +was all I could have asked that it might be. My heart filled +with grateful rest. + +"Will that do?" said papa as I gave it back. + +"Papa, only one thing more, - if you are willing, that we +should sometimes write to each other?" + +"Hm - that sounds moderate," said papa. "By the way, why was +not this letter written and sent sooner? What is the date? - +why, Daisy! -" + +"What, papa?" + +"My child, this letter, - it is a good year old, and more; +written in the beginning of last winter." + +It took me a little while to get the full bearings of this; +then I saw that it dated back to a time quite anterior to the +circumstances of Faustina St. Clair's story, whatever that +amounted to. Papa was all thrown back. + +"This is good for nothing, now, you see, Daisy." + +"Oh, no, papa." + +"For the purposes of action." + +"Papa, it does not matter, the date." + +"Yes, Daisy, it does; for it speaks of a man of last year, and +my answer would go to a man of this year." + +"They are not different men, papa." + +"I must be assured of that." He was folding up his letter, his +own, and I saw the next thing would be to throw it into the +fire. I laid my hand over his. + +"Papa, don't do that. Let me have it." + +"I cannot send it." + +"Papa, let me have it. I will send it to Miss Cardigan - she +loves me almost as well as you do - I will tell her; and if +there is any truth in mamma's story, Miss Cardigan will know +and she will burn the letter, just as well as you. And so you +would escape doing a great wrong." + +"You may be mistaken, my child." + +"Then Miss Cardigan will burn the letter, papa. I can trust +her." + +"Can _I_ trust her?" + +"Yes, papa, through me. Please let me have it. There shall +come no harm from this, papa." + +"Daisy, your mother says he is engaged to this girl." + +"It is a mistake, papa." + +"You cannot prove it, my child." + +"Time will." + +"Then will be soon enough for my action." + +"But papa, in the mean time? - think of the months he has been +waiting already for an answer -" + +I suppose the tears were in my eyes, as I pleaded, with my +hand still upon papa's hand, covering the papers. He slowly +drew his hand away, leaving the letter under mine. + +"Well!" - said he, - "do as you will." + +"You are not unwilling, papa?" + +"I am a little unwilling, Daisy; but I cannot deny you, child. +I hope you are right." + +"Then, papa, add that one word about letters, will you?" + +"And if it is all undeserved?" + +"It is not, papa." + +Papa set his teeth for a moment, with a look which, however, +wonted perhaps in his youthful days, I had very rarely seen +called up in him. It passed then, and he wrote the brief word +I had asked for, of addition to his letter, and gave it to me; +and then took me in his arms and kissed me again. + +"You are not very wise in the world, my Daisy," he said; "and +men would say I am not. But I cannot deny you. Guard your +letter to Miss Cardigan. And for the present all this matter +shall sleep in our own bosoms." + +"Papa," I asked, "how much did mamma know - I mean - how much +did she hear about me that was true?" + +"It was reported that you had been engaged." + +"She heard that." + +"Yes." + +"She has never spoken about it." + +"She thinks it not necessary." + +I was silent a moment, pondering, as well I might; but then I +kissed papa and thanked him, and went off and wrote and posted +my letter with its enclosure. Sufficient to the day is the +evil thereof. + +CHAPTER XIX. + +ONE FALLEN + + +I sent my letter, and waited. I got no answer. The weeks +rolled on, and the months. It was palpable, that delays which +had kept back one letter for a year might affect the delivery +of another letter in the same way; but it is hard, the +straining one's eyes into thick darkness with the vain +endeavour to see something. + +The months were outwardly gay; very full of society life, +though not of the kind that I cared for. I went into it to +please mamma; and succeeded but partially; for she insisted I +was too sober and did not half take the French tone of easy, +light, graceful skimming over the surface of things. But mamma +could be deep and earnest too on her own subjects of interest. +The news of President Lincoln's proclamation, setting free the +slaves of the rebel States, roused her as much as she could be +roused. There were no terms to her speech or my aunt Gary's; +violent and angry against not only the President, but +everything and everybody that shared Northern growth and +extraction. - How bitterly they sneered at "Massachusetts +codfish;" - I think nothing would have induced either of them +to touch it; and whatsoever belonged to the East or the North, +not only meats and drinks, but Yankee spirit and manners and +courage, were all, figuratively, put under foot and well +trampled on. I listened and trembled, sometimes; sometimes I +listened and rejoiced. For, after all, my own affairs were not +the whole world; and a thrill of inexpressible joy went +through me when I remembered that my old Maria, and Pete, and +the Jems, and Darry, were all, by law, freed for ever from the +oppression of Mr. Edwards and any like him; and that the day +of their actual emancipation would come, so soon as the rights +of the Government should be established over the South. And of +this issue I began to be a little hopeful, beginning to +believe that it might be possible. Antietam and Corinth, and +Fredricksburg and New Orleans, with varying fortune, had at +least proclaimed to my ear that Yankees could fight; there was +no doubt of that now; and Southern prowess could not always +prevail against theirs. Papa ceased to question it, I noticed; +though mamma's sneers grew more intense as the occasion for +them grew less and less obvious. + +The winter passed, and the spring came; and moved on with its +sweet step of peace, as it does even when men's hearts are all +at war. The echo of the battlefields of Virginias wept through +the Boulevards with met often; and it thundered at home. Mamma +had burst into new triumph at the news of Chancellorsville; +and uttered with great earnestness her wish that Jefferson +Davis might be able to execute the threat of his proclamation +and hang General Butler. But for me, I got no letter; and +these echoes began to sound in my ear like the distant outside +rumblings of the storm to one whose hearthstone it has already +swept and laid desolate. I was not desolate; yet I began to +listen as one whose ears were dim with listening. I met +Faustina St. Clair again with uneasiness. Not the torment of +my former jealousy; but a stir of doubt and pain which I could +not repress at the sight of her. + +When the summer drew on, to my great pleasure we went to +Switzerland again. We established ourselves quietly at +Lucerne, which papa was very fond of. There we were much more +quiet than we had been the fall before; Ransom having gone +home now to take his share in the struggle, and our two +Southern friends who had also gone, having no successors like +them in our little home circle. We made not so many and not so +long excursions. But papa and I had good time for our +readings; and I had always a friend with whom I could take +counsel, in the grand old Mont Pilatte. What a friend that +mountain was to me, to be sure! When I was downhearted, and +when anything made me glad; when I was weary and when I was +most full of life; its grand head in the skies told me of +truth and righteousness and strength; the light and colours +that played and rested there, as it held, the sun's beams and +gave them back to earth, were a sort of promise to me of +beauty and life above and beyond this earth; yes, and of its +substantial existence now, even when we do not see it. They +were a little hint of what we do not see. I do not exactly +know what was the language of the wreaths of vapour that robed +and shrouded and then revealed the mountain, with the +exquisite shiftings and changings of their gracefulness; I +believe it was like, to me, the floating veil that hides God's +purposes from us, yet now and then parting enough to let us +see the eternal truth and unchangeableness behind it. I told +all my moods to Mont Pilatte, and I think it told all its +moods to me. After a human friend, there is nothing like a big +mountain. And when the news of Gettysburg and Vicksburg came; +and mamma grew furious; and I saw for the first time that +success was truly looming up on the horizon of the North, and +that my dear coloured people might indeed soon be free; that +night Mont Pilatte and I shouted together. + +There came no particular light on my own affairs all this +time. Indeed mamma began to reproach me for what she called my +disloyal and treacherous sentiments. And then, hints began to +break out, very hard to bear, that I had indulged in +traitorous alliances and was an unworthy child of my house. It +rankled in mamma's mind, that I had not only refused the +connection with one of the two powerful Southern families +which had sought me the preceding year; but that I had also +discouraged and repelled during the past winter several +addresses which might have been made very profitable to my +country as well as my own interests. For what had I rejected +them all? mamma began to ask discontentedly. Papa shielded me +a little; but I felt that the sky was growing dark around me +with the coming storm. + +One never knows, after all, where the first bolt will come +from. Mine struck me all unawares, while I was looking in an +opposite quarter. It is hard to write it. A day came, that I +had a father in the morning, and at night, none. + +It was very sudden. He had been feeble, to be sure, more than +usual, for several days, but nobody apprehended anything. +Towards evening he failed - suddenly; sent for me, and died in +my arms, blessing me. Yes, we had been walking the same road +together for some time. I was only left to go on awhile longer +alone. + +But Mont Pilatte said to me that night, "There remaineth a +rest for the people of God." And while the moon went down and +the stars slowly trooped over the head of the mountain, I +heard that utterance, and those words of the hymn - + +"God liveth ever: +"Wherefore, soul, despair thou never." + +I could go no farther. I could think no more. Kneeling at my +window-sill, under the starry night, my soul held to those two +things and did not loose its moorings. It is a great deal, to +hold fast. It was all then I could do. And even in the +remembrance now of the loneliness and desolate feeling that +came upon me at that time, there is also a strong sense of the +deep sweetness which I was conscious of, rather than able to +taste, coming from those words and resting at the bottom of my +heart. + +I was in some measure drawn out of myself, almost immediately, +by the illness of my mother. She fell into a nervous +disordered condition, which it taxed all my powers to tend and +soothe. I think it was mental rather than bodily, in the +origin of it; but body and mind shared in the result, as +usual. And when she got better and was able to sit up and even +to go about again, she remained under the utmost despondency. +Affairs were not looking well for the Southern struggle in +America; and besides the mortification of her political +affections, mamma was very sure that if the South could not +succeed in establishing its independence, we should as a +family be ruined. + +"We are ruined now, Daisy," she said. "There can be nothing +coming from our Magnolia estates - and our Virginia property +is a mere battle ground, you know; and what have we to live +upon?" + +"Mamma, there will be some way," I said. "I have not thought +about it." + +"No, you do not think but of your own favourite speculations. +I wish with all my heart you had never taken to fanatical +ways. I have no comfort in you." + +"What do you mean by fanaticism, mamma?" + +"I will tell you!" replied mamma with energy. "The essence of +fanaticism is to have your own way." + +"I do not think, mamma, that I want to have my own way." + +"Of course, when you have it. That is what such people always +say. They don't want to have their own, way. I do not want to +have mine, either." + +"Is not Dr. Sandford attending to our affairs for us, mamma?" + +"I do not know. Your father trusted him, unaccountably. I do +not know what he is doing." + +"He will certainly do anything that can be done for us, mamma; +I am persuaded of that. And he knows how." + +"Is it for your sake, Daisy?" mamma said suddenly, and with a +glitter in her eye which boded confusion to the doctor. + +"I do not know, mamma," I said quietly. "He was always very +good and very kind to me." + +"I suppose you are not quite a fool," she said, calming down a +little. "And a Yankee doctor would hardly lose his senses +enough to fall in love with you. Though I believe the Yankees +are the most impudent nation upon the earth. I wish Butler +could be hanged! I should like to know that was done before I +die." + +I fled from this turn of the talk always. + +It was true, however brought about I do not know, that Dr. +Sandford had been for some time kindly bestirring himself to +look after our interests at home, which the distressed state +of the country had of course greatly imperilled. I was not +aware that papa had been at any time seriously concerned about +them; however, it soon appeared that mamma had reason enough +now for being ill at ease. In the South, war and war +preparations had so far superseded the usual employments of +men, that next to nothing could be looked for in place of the +ordinary large crops and ample revenues. And Melbourne had +been let, indeed, for a good rent; but there was some trouble +about collecting the rent; and if collected, it belonged to +Ransom. Ransom was in the Southern army, fighting no doubt his +best, and mamma would not have scrupled to use his money; but +Dr. Sandford scrupled to send it without authority. He urged +mamma to come home, where he said she could be better taken +care of than alone in distant Switzerland. He proposed that +she should reoccupy Melbourne, and let him farm the ground for +her until Ransom should be able to look after it. Mamma and +Aunt Gary had many talks on the subject. I said as little as I +could. + +"It is almost as bad with me," said my aunt Gary, one of these +times. "Only I do not want much." + +"I _do_," said mamma. "And if one must live as one has not been +accustomed to live, I would rather it should be where I am +unknown." + +"You are not unknown here, my dear sister!" + +"Personally and socially. Not exactly. But I am historically +unknown." + +"Historically!" echoed my aunt. + +"And living is cheaper here too." + +"But one must have _some_ money, even here, Felicia." + +"I have jewels," said mamma. + +"Your jewels! - Daisy might have prevented all this," said +Aunt Gary, looking at me. + +"Daisy is one of those whose religion it is to please +themselves." + +"But, my dear, you must be married some time," my aunt went +on, appealingly. + +"I do not think that is certain, Aunt Gary." + +"You are not waiting for Preston, are you? I hope not; for he +is likely to be as poor as you are; if he gets through the +battles, poor boy!" And my aunt put her handkerchief to her +eyes. + +"I am not waiting for Preston," I said, "any more than he is +waiting for me." + +"I don't know how that is," said my aunt. "Preston was very +dependent on you, Daisy; but I don't know - since he has heard +these stories of you" - + +"Daisy is nothing to Preston!" my mother broke in with some +sharpness. "Tell him so, if he ever broaches the question to +you. Cut that matter short. I have other views for Daisy, when +she returns to her duty. I believe in a religion of obedience +- not in a religion of independent self-will. I wish Daisy had +been brought up in a convent. She would, if I had had my way. +These popular religions throw over all law and order. I hate +them!" + +"You see, Daisy my dear, how pleasant it would be, if you +could see things as your mother does," my aunt remarked. + +"I am indifferent whether Daisy has my eyes or not," said +mamma; "what I desire is, that she should have my will." + +The talks came to nothing, ended in nothing, did nothing. My +aunt Gary at the beginning of winter went back to America. My +mother did as she had proposed; sold some of her jewels, and +so paid her way in Switzerland for some months longer. But +this could not last. Dr. Sandford urged her return; she wished +also to be nearer to Ransom; and in the spring we once more +embarked for home. + +The winter had been exceedingly sad to me. No word from +America ever reached my hands to give me any comfort; and I +was alone with my sorrow. Mamma's state of mind, too, which +was most uncomfortable for her, was extremely trying to me; +because it consisted of regrets that I could not soothe, +anxieties that I was unable to allay, and reproachful wishes +that I could neither meet nor promise to meet. Constant +repinings, ceaseless irritations, purposeless discussions; +they wearied my heart, but I could bring no salve nor remedy +unless I would have agreed to make a marriage for money. I +missed all that had brought so much sweetness into even my +Paris life, with my talks with papa, and readings, and +sympathy, and mutual confidence. It was a weary winter, my +only real earthly friend being Mont Pilatte. Except Mr. +Dinwiddie. I had written to him and got one or two good, +strong, kind, helpful answers. Ah, what a good thing a good +letter is! + +So it was great relief to quit Switzerland and find myself on +the deck of the steamer, with every revolution of the paddle +wheels bringing me nearer home. Nearer what had been home; all +was vague and blank in the distance now. I was sure of +nothing. Only, "The Lord is my Shepherd," answers all that. It +cannot always stop the beating of human hearts, though; and +mine beat hard sometimes, on that homeward voyage. Mamma was +very dismal. I sat on deck as much as I could and watched the +sea. It soothed me, with its living image of God's grand +government on earth; its ceaseless majestic flow, of which the +successive billows that raise their heads upon its surface are +not the interruption, but the continuation. So with our little +affairs, so with mine. Not for nothing does any feeblest one's +fortunes rise or fall; but to work somewhat of good either to +himself or to others, and so to the whole. I was pretty quiet +during the voyage, while I knew that no news could reach me; I +expected to keep quiet; but I did not know myself. + +We had hardly entered the bay of New York, and I had begun to +discern familiar objects and to realise that I was in the same +land with Mr. Thorold again, when a tormenting anxiety took +possession of my heart. Now that I was near him, questions +could be put off no longer. What tidings would greet me? and +how should I get any tidings at all? A fever began to run +along my veins, which I felt was not to be cured by reasoning. +Yes, I was not seeking to dispose my own affairs; I was not +trying to take them into my own hands; but I craved to know +how they stood, and what it was to which I must submit myself. +I was not willing to submit to uncertainty. Yet I remembered I +must do just that. + +The vessel came to her moorings, and I sat in my muse, only +conscious of that devouring impatience which possessed me; and +did not see Dr. Sandford till he was close by my side. Then I +was glad; but the deck of that bustling steamer was no place +to show how glad. I stood still, with my hand in the doctor's, +and felt my face growing cold. + +"Sit down!" he said, putting me back in the chair from which I +had risen; and still keeping my hand. "How is Mrs. Randolph?" + +"I suppose you know how she is, from her letters." + +"And you?" he said, with a change of tone. + +"I do not know. I shall be better, I hope." + +"You will be better, to get ashore. Will you learn your +mother's pleasure about it? and I will attend to the rest." + +I thanked him; for the tone of genuine, manly care and +protection, was in my ears for the first time in many a day. +Mamma was very willing to avail herself of it too, and to my +great pleasure received Dr. Sandford and treated him with +perfect courtesy. Rooms were provided for us in one of the +best hotels, and comforts ready. The doctor saw us established +there, and asked what more he could do for us before he left +us to rest. He would not stay to dinner. + +"The papers, please," said mamma. "Will you send me all the +papers. What is the news? We have heard nothing for weeks." + +"I will send you the papers. You will see the news there," +said the doctor. + +"But what is it?" + +"You would not rest if I began upon the subject. It would take +a good while to tell it all." + +"But what is the position of affairs?" + +"Sherman is in Georgia. Grant is in Virginia. There has been, +and there is, some stout fighting on hand." + +"Sherman and Grant," said mamma. "Where are my people, +doctor?" + +"Opposed to them. They do not find the way exactly open," the +doctor answered. + +"Hard fighting, you said. How did it result?" + +"Nothing is decided yet - except that the Yankees can fight," +said the doctor, with a slight smile. And mamma said no more. +But I took courage, and she took gloom. The papers came, a +bundle of them, reaching back over several dates; giving +details of the battles of the Wilderness and of Sherman's +operations in the South. Mamma studied and studied, and +interrupted her dinner, to study. I took the sheets as they +fell from her hand and looked - for the lists of the wounded. +They were long enough, but they did not hold what I was +looking for. Mamma broke out at last with an earnest +expression of thanksgiving that Sedgwick was killed. + +"Why, mamma?" I said in some horror. + +"There is one less!" she answered grimly. + +"But _one_ less makes very little difference for the cause, +mamma." + +"I wish there were a dozen then," said she. "I wish all were +shot, that have the faculty of leading this rabble of numbers +and making them worth something." + +But I was getting, I, to have a little pride in Northern +blood. I said nothing, of course. + +"You are just a traitor, Daisy, I believe," said mamma. "You +read of all that is going on, and you know that Ransom and +Preston Gary are in it, and you do not care; except you care +on the wrong side. But I tell you this, - nothing that calls +itself Yankee shall ever have anything to do with me or mine +so long as I live. I will see you dead first, Daisy." + +There was no answer to be made to this either. It only sank +down into my heart; and I knew I had no help in this world. + +The question immediately pressed itself upon our attention, +where would we go? Dr. Sandford proposed Melbourne; and urged +that in the first place we should avail ourselves of the +hospitalities of his sister's house in that neighbourhood, +most generously tendered us, till he could be at leisure to +make arrangements at our old home. Just now he was under the +necessity of returning immediately to Washington, where he had +one or more hospitals in charge; indeed he left us that same +night of our landing; but before he went he earnestly pressed +his sister's invitation upon my mother, and promised that so +soon as the settlement of the country's difficulties should +set him free, he would devote himself to the care of us and +Melbourne till we were satisfactorily established. + +"And I am in hopes it will not be very long now," he said +aside to me. "I think the country has got the right man at +last; and that is what we have been waiting for. Grant says he +will fight it out on this line, if it takes all summer; and I +think the end is coming." + +Mamma would give no positive answer to the doctor's instances; +she thanked him and talked round the subject, and he was +obliged to go away without any contentment of her giving. +Alone with me, she spoke out: - + +"I will take no Yankee civilities, Daisy. I will be under no +obligation to one of them. And I could not endure to be in the +house of one of them, if it were conferring instead of +receiving obligation." + +"What will you do, then, mamma." + +"I will wait. You do not suppose that the South can be +conquered, Daisy? The idea is absurd!" + +"But, mamma? -" + +"Well?" + +"Why is it absurd?" + +"Because they are not a people to give up. Don't you know +that? They would die first, every man and woman of them." + +"But mamma, whatever the spirit of the people may be, numbers +and means have to tell upon the question at last." + +"Numbers and means!" mamma repeated scornfully. "I tell you, +Daisy, the South _cannot_ yield. And as they cannot yield, they +must sooner or later succeed. Success always comes at last to +those who cannot be conquered." + +"What is to become of us in the mean time, mamma?" + +"I don't see that it signifies much," she said, relapsing out +of the fire with which the former sentences had been +pronounced. "I would like to live to see the triumph come." + +That was all I could get from mamma that evening. She lay down +on a sofa and buried her face in pillows. I sat in the +darkening room and mused. The windows were open; a soft warm +air blew the curtains gently in and out; from the street below +came the murmur of business and voices and clatter of feet and +sound of wheels; not with the earnestness of alarm or the +droop of depression, but ringing, sharp, clear, cheery. The +city did not feel badly. New York had not suffered in its +fortunes or prosperity. There was many a battlefield at the +South where the ravages of war had swept all traces and hopes +of good fortunes away; never one at the North where the corn +had been blasted, or the fruits of the earth untimely ravaged, +or the heart of the husbandman disappointed in his ground. +Mamma's conclusions seemed to me without premise. What of my +own fortunes? I thought the wind of the desert, had blown upon +them and they were dead. I remember, in the trembling of my +heart as I sat and listened and mused, and thoughts trooped in +and out of my head with little order or volition on my part, +one word was a sort of rallying point on which they gathered +and fell back from time to time, though they started out again +on fresh roamings - "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place +in all generations"! - I remember, - it seems to me now as if +it had been some time before I was born, - how the muslin +curtains floated in on the evening wind, and the hum and stir +of the street came up to my ear; the bustle and activity, +though it was evening; and how the distant battlefields of +Virginia looked in forlorn contrast in the far distance. Yet +this was really the desert and that the populous place; for +there, somewhere, my world was. I grew very desolate as I +thought, or mused, by the window. If it had not been for those +words of the refuge, my heart would have failed me utterly. +After a long while mamma roused up and we had tea brought. + +"Has Dr. Sandford gone?" she asked. + +"He bid us good bye, mamma, you know. I suppose he took the +evening train, as he said." + +"Then we shall have no more meddling." + +"He means us only kindness, I am sure, mamma." + +"I do not like kindness. I do not know what right Dr. Sandford +has to offer me kindness. I gave him none." + +"Mamma, it seems to me that we are in a condition to receive +kindness, - and be very glad of it." + +"You are poor-spirited, Daisy; you always were. You never had +any right pride of blood or of place. I think it makes no +difference to you who people are. If you had done your duty to +me, we should have been in no condition now to 'receive +kindness,' as you express it. I may thank you." + +"What do you mean to do, mamma?" + +"Nothing." + +"Stay here, in this hotel?" + +"Yes." + +"It will be very expensive, mamma." + +"I will meet the expense." + +"But, mamma, - without funds?" + +"I have a diamond necklace yet, Daisy." + +"But, mamma, when that is gone? -" + +"Do you think," she broke out with violence, "that this war is +going to last for ever? It _cannot_ last. The Yankees will find +out what they have undertaken. Lee will drive them back. You +do not suppose _he_ can be overcome?" + +"Mamma - if the others have more men and more means -" + +"They are only Yankees," - mamma said quietly, but with a +concentration of scorn impossible to give in words. + +"They know how to fight," - I could not help saying. + +"Yes, but _we_ do not know how to be overcome! Do you think it, +Daisy?" + +"Mamma - there was New Orleans - and Vicksburg - and +Gettysburg; - and now in Virginia -" + +"Yes, now; these battles; you will see how they will turn. Do +you suppose this Yankee Grant is a match for Robert E. Lee?" + +It was best to drop the discussion, and I dropped it; but it +had gone too far to be forgotten. Every bit of news from that +time was a point of irritation; if good for the South, mamma +asserted that I did not sympathise with it; if good for the +North, she found that I was glad, though I tried not to show +that I was. She was irritated, and anxious, and unhappy. What +I was, I kept to myself. + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE WOUNDED + + +One desire possessed me, pressing before every other; it was +to see Miss Cardigan. I thought I should accomplish this very +soon after my landing. I found that I must wait for days. + +It was very hard to wait. Yet mamma needed me; she was nervous +and low-spirited and unwell and lonely; she could not endure +to have me long out of her sight. She never looked with favour +upon any proposal of mine to go out, even for a walk; and I +could hardly get permission. I fancied that some - latent - +suspicion lay beneath all this unwillingness, which did not +make it more easy to bear. But I got leave at last, one +afternoon early in June; and took my way up the gay +thoroughfares of Broadway and the Avenue. + +It was June, June all over. Just like the June of four years +ago, when Dr. Sandford took me away from school to go to West +Point; like the June of three years ago, when I had been +finishing my school work, before I went to Washington. I was a +mere girl then; now, I seemed to myself at least twenty years +older. June sweetness was in all the air; June sunlight +through all the streets; roses blossomed in courtyards and +looked out of windows; grass was lush and green; people were +in summer dresses. I hurried along, my breath growing shorter +as I went. The well-known corner of Mme. Ricard's +establishment came into view, and bright school-days with it. +Miss Cardigan's house opposite looked just as I had left it; +and as I drew near I saw that this was literally so. The +flowers were blossoming in the garden plots and putting their +faces out of window, exactly as if I had left them but a day +ago. My knees trembled under me then, as I went up the steps +and rang the bell. A strange servant opened to me. I went in, +to her astonishment I suppose, without asking any questions; +which indeed I could not. What if a second time I should find +Mr. Thorold here? Such a thought crossed me as I trod the +familiar marble floor, after the wild fashion in which our +wishes mock our reason; then it left me the next instant, in +my gladness to see through the opening door the figure of my +dear old friend. Just as I had left her also. Something, in +the wreck of my world, had stood still and suffered no change. + +I went in and stood before her. She pulled off her spectacles, +looked at me, changed colour and started up. I can hardly tell +what she said. I think I was in too great a confusion for my +senses to do their office perfectly. But her warm arms were +about me, and my head found a hiding-place on her shoulder. + +"Sit down, my lamb, my lamb!" were the first words I remember. +"Janet, shut the door, and tell anybody I am busy. Sit you +down here and rest. My lamb, ye're all shaken. Daisy, my pet, +where have you been?" + +I sat down, and she did, but I leaned over to the arms that +still enfolded me and laid my head on her bosom. She was +silent now for a while. And I wished she would speak, but I +could not. Her arms pressed me close in the embrace that had +so comforted my childhood. She had taken off my bonnet and +kissed me and smoothed my hair; and that was all, for what +seemed a long while. + +"What is it?" she said at last. "I know you're left, my +darling. I heard of your loss, while you were so far away from +home. One is gone from your world." + +"He was happy - he is happy," I whispered. + +"Let us praise the Lord for that!" she said in her broadest +Scotch accent, which only came out in moments of feeling. + +"But he was nearly all my world, Miss Cardigan." + +"Ay," she said. "We have but one father. And yet, no, my bairn. +Ye're not left desolate." + +"I have been very near it." + +"I am glad ye are come home." + +"But I feel as if I had no home anywhere," I said with a burst +of tears which were a great mercy to me at the time. The +stricture upon my heart had like to have taken away my breath. +Miss Cardigan let me weep, saying sympathy with the tender +touch of her soft hand; no otherwise. And then I could lift +myself up and face life again. + +"You have not forgotten your Lord, Daisy?" she said at length, +when she saw me quiet. I looked at her and smiled my answer, +though it must have been a sober smile. + +"I see," she said; "you have not. But how was it, so far away, +my bairn? Weren't you tempted?" + +"No, dear Miss Cardigan. What could tempt me?" + +"The world, child. Its baits of pleasure and pride and power. +Did they never take hold on ye, Daisy?" + +"My pleasure I had left at home," I said. "No, that is not +quite true. I had the pleasure of being with papa and mamma; +and of seeing a great deal of beauty, too. And I had pleasure +in Palestine, Miss Cardigan; but it was not the sort to tempt +me to forget anything good." + +"And pride?" said the old lady. + +"Why do you ask me?" + +"You're so bonny, my darling. You ken you are; and other folks +know it." + +"Pride? Yes, it tempted me a little," I said; "but it could +not for long, Miss Cardigan, when I remembered." + +"Remembered? What was it you remembered?" she said very +tenderly; for I believe my eyes had filled again. + +"When I remembered what I was heir to." + +"And ye didn't have your inheritance all in the future, I +trust?" said my old friend. "There's crumbs to be gotten even +now from that feast; ye didn't go starving, my bairn?" + +"I hadn't much to help me, Miss Cardigan, except the Lord's +wonderful world which He has made. That helped me." + +"And ye had a crumb of joy now and then?" + +"I had more than crumbs sometimes," I said, with a sober +looking back over the years. + +"And it is my own living Daisy and not an image of her? You +are not spoiled a bit, my bairn?" + +"Maybe I am," I said, smiling at her. "How do I know?" + +"There's a look in your eyes which says you are not," she said +with a sort of long breath; "and I know not how you have +escaped it. Child! the forces which have assailed you have +beaten down many a one. It's only to be strong in the Lord, to +be sure; but we are lured away from our strength, sometimes, +and then we fall; and we are lured easily." + +"Perhaps not when the battle is so very hard to fight, dear +Miss Cardigan." + +"Maybe no," she said. "But had ye never a minister to counsel +ye or to help ye, in those parts?" + +"Only when I was in Palestine; nowhere else." + +"You must have wanted it sorely." + +"Yes, but, Miss Cardigan, I had better teaching all the time. +The mountains and the sun and the sky and the beauty, all +seemed to repeat the Bible to me, all the time. I never saw +the top of Mont Blanc rosy in the sunset, nor the other +mountains, without thinking of those words, 'Be ye perfect, +even as your Father in heaven is perfect;' - and, 'They shall +walk with me in white.' -" + +Miss Cardigan wiped away a tear or two. + +"But you are looking very sober, my love," she said presently, +examining me. + +"I have reason," I said. And I went on to give her in detail +the account of the past year's doings in my family, and of our +present position and prospects. She listened with the greatest +sympathy and the most absorbed attention. The story had taken +a good while; it was growing late, and I rose to go. Not till +then was her nephew alluded to. + +"I'm thinking," then said Miss Cardigan slowly, "there's one +person you have not asked after, who would ill like to be left +out of our mouths." + +I stood still and hesitated and I felt my face grow warm. + +"I have not heard from him, Miss Cardigan, since -" + +And I did not say since when. + +"And what of it?" she asked. + +"Nothing -" I said, stammering a little, "but I wait." + +"He's waiting, poor lad," she said. "Have ye not had letters +from him?" + +"Never; not since that one I sent him through you." + +"He got it, however," said Miss Cardigan; "for there was no +reason whatever why he should not. Did you think, Daisy, he +had forgotten you?" + +"No, Miss Cardigan; but it was told of him that - he had +forgotten me." + +"How was that done? I thought no one knew about your loving +each other, you two children." + +"So I thought; but - why, Miss Cardigan, it was confidently +told in Paris to my mother that he was engaged to a schoolmate +of mine." + +"Did you believe it?" + +"No. But I never heard from him again, and of course papa did +believe it. How could I tell, Miss Cardigan?" + +"By your faith, child. I wouldn't have Christian think you +didn't believe him, not for all the world holds." + +"I did believe him," I said, feeling a rill of joy flowing +into some dry places in my heart and changing the wilderness +there. "But he was silent, and I waited." + +"He was not silent, I'll answer for it," said his aunt; "but +the letters might have gone wrong, you know. That is what they +have done, somehow." + +"What could have been the foundation of that story?" I +questioned. + +"I just counsel ye to ask Christian, when ye see him - if +these weary wars ever let us see him. I think he'll answer +ye." + +And his aunt's manner rather intimated that my answer would be +decisive. I bade her good bye, and returned along the +shadowing streets with such a play of life and hope in my +heart, as for the time changed it into a very garden of +delight. I was not the same person that had walked those ways +a few hours ago. + +This jubilation, however, could not quite last. I had no +sooner got home, than mamma began to cast in doubts and fears +and frettings, till the play of the fountain was well nigh +covered over with rubbish. Yet I could feel the waters of joy +stirring underneath it all; and she said, rather in a +displeased manner, that my walk seemed to have done me a great +deal of good! and inquired where I had been. I told her, of +course; and then had to explain how I became acquainted with +Miss Cardigan; a detail which mamma heard with small +edification. Her only remark, however, made at the end, was, +"I beseech you, Daisy, do not cultivate such associations!" + +"She was very good to me, mamma, when I was a schoolgirl." + +"Very well, you are not a schoolgirl now." + +It followed very easily, that I could see little of my dear +old friend. Mamma was suspicious of me and rarely allowed me +to go I out of her sight. We abode still at the hotel, where +we had luxurious quarters; how paid for, mamma's jewel-box +knew. It made me very uneasy to live so; for jewels, even be +they diamonds, cannot last very long after they are once +turned into gold pieces; and I knew ours went fast; but +nothing could move my mother out of her pleasure. In vain Dr. +Sandford wrote and remonstrated; and in vain I sometimes +pleaded. "The war is not going to last for ever," she would +coldly reply; "you and Dr. Sandford are two fools. The South +_cannot_ be conquered, Daisy." + +But I, with trembling hope, was beginning to think otherwise. + +So the days passed on, and the weeks. Mamma spent half her +time over the newspapers. I consulted them, I could not help +it, in my old fashion; and it made them gruesome things to me. +But it was a necessity for me, to quiet my nerves with the +certainty that no name I loved was to be found there in those +lists of sorrow. + +And one day that certainty failed. Among the new arrivals of +wounded men just come into Washington from Virginia, I saw the +name of Captain Preston Gary. + +It was late in the summer, or early in September; I forget +which. We were as we had been; nothing in our position +changed. Mamma at the moment was busy over other prints, +having thrown this down; and feeling my cheeks grow white as I +sat there, I held the paper to shield my face and pondered +what I should do. The instant thought had been, "I must go to +him." The second brought difficulties. How to meet the +difficulties, I sat thinking; that I must go to Preston I +never doubted for a moment. I sat in a maze; till an +exclamation from my mother brought my paper shield down. + +"Here's a letter from the doctor, Daisy; he says your cousin +is in the hospital." + +"_His_ hospital?" I asked. + +"I suppose so; he does not say that. But he says he is badly +wounded. I wonder how he comes to be in Washington?" + +"Taken prisoner, mamma." + +"Yes, - wounded," mamma said bitterly. "That's the only way he +could. Dr. Sandford bids me let his mother know. She can't go +to him; even if my letter could reach her in time and she +could get to Washington, which I don't believe she could; she +is too ill herself. I shall not write to her." + +"Let us go, mamma; you and I." + +"I?" said mamma. "_I_ go to that den of thieves? No; I shall not +go to Washington, unless I am dragged there." + +"But Preston, mamma; think!" + +"I am tired of thinking, Daisy. There is no good in thinking. +This is the work of your favourite Northern swords and guns; I +hope you enjoy it." + +"I Would like to remedy it, mamma; to do something at least. +Mamma, do let us go to Preston!" + +I spoke very earnestly, and I believe with tears. Mamma looked +at me. + +"Why, do you care for him?" she asked. + +"Very much!" I said weeping. + +"I did not know you had any affection for anything South, +except the coloured people." + +"Mamma, let us go to Preston. He must want us so much!" + +"I cannot go to Washington, Daisy." + +"Can you spare me, mamma? I will go." + +"Do you love Preston Gary?" said mamma, sitting up-right to +look at me. + +"Mamma, I always loved him. You know I did." + +"Why did you not say so before?" + +"I did say so, mamma, whenever I was asked. Will you let me +go? O mamma, let me go!" + +"What could you do, child? he is in the hospital." + +"Mamma, he may want so many things; I know he must want some +things." + +"It is vain talking. You cannot go alone, Daisy." + +"No, ma'am; but if I could get a good safe friend to go with +me?" + +"I do not know such a person in this place." + +"I do, mamma, - just the person." + +"Not a fit person for you to travel with." + +"Yes, mamma, just the one; safe and wise to take care of me. +And if I were once there, Dr. Sandford would do anything for +me." + +Mamma pondered my words, but would not yield to them. I wept +half the evening, I think, with a strange strain on my heart +that said I must go to Preston. Childish memories came thick +about me, and later memories; and I could not bear the idea of +his dying, perhaps, alone in a hospital, without one near to +say a word of truth or help him in any wish or want that went +beyond the wants of the body. Would even those be met? My +nerves were unstrung. + +"Do stop your tears, Daisy!" mamma said at length. "I can't +bear them. I never saw you do so before." + +"Mamma, I must go to Preston." + +"If you could go there properly, child, and had any one to +take care of you; as it is, it is impossible." + +I half thought it was; I could not bend mamma. But while we +sat there under the light of the lamp, and I was trying to do +some work, which was every now and then wetted by a drop that +would fall, a servant brought in a note to me. It was from +Mrs. Sandford, in New York, on her way to Washington to look +after a friend of her own; and asking if in any matter she +could be of service to me or to mamma. I had got my +opportunity now, and I managed to get mamma's consent. I +answered Mrs. Sandford's note; packed up my things; and by the +early train next morning started with her for Washington. + +Mrs. Sandford was very kind, very glad to have me with her, +very full of questions, of sympathy, of condolence, and of +care; I remember all that, and how I took it at the time, +feeling that Daisy and Daisy's life had changed since last I +was under that same gentle and feeble guidance. And I remember +what an undertone of music ran through my heart in the thought +that I might perhaps hear of, or see, Mr. Thorold. Our journey +was prosperous; and the next person we saw after arriving at +our rooms was Dr. Sandford. He shook hands with his sister; +and then, his eye lightened and his countenance altered as he +turned to the other figure in the room and saw who it was. + +"Daisy!" he exclaimed, warmly grasping my hand, - "Miss +Randolph! where is Mrs. Randolph, and what brings you here?" + +"Why, the train, to be sure, Grant," answered his sister-in- +law. "What a man you are - for business! Do let Daisy rest and +breathe and have something to eat, before she is obliged to +give an account of herself. See, we are tired to death." + +Perhaps she was, but I was not. However, the doctor and I both +yielded. Mrs. Sandford and I withdrew to change our dresses, +and then we had supper; but after supper, when she was again +out of the room, Dr. Sandford turned to me and took my hand. + +"I must go presently," he said. "Now, Miss Randolph, what is +it?" + +I sat down and he sat down beside me, still holding my hand, +on a sofa in the room. + +"Dr. Sandford, my cousin Gary is a prisoner and in the +hospital. You wrote to mamma." + +"Yes. I thought his mother might like to know." + +"She is ill herself, in Georgia, and cannot come to +Washington. Dr. Sandford, I want to go in and take care of +him." + +"You!" said the doctor. But whatever he thought, his +countenance was impenetrable. + +"You can manage that for me." + +"Can I?" said he. "But, Daisy, you do not come under the +regulations." + +"That is no matter, Dr. Sandford." + +"How is it no matter?" + +"Because, I know you can do what you like. You always could +manage things for me." + +He smiled a little, but went on in an unchanged tone. + +"You are too young; and - excuse me - you have another +disqualification." + +"I will do just as you tell me," I said. + +"If I let you in." + +"You will let me in." + +"I do not see that I ought. I think I ought not." + +"But you _will_, Dr. Sandford. My cousin was very dear to me +when I was a child at Melbourne - I love him yet very much - +no one would take so good care of him as I would; and it would +be a comfort to me for ever. Do let me go in! I have come for +that." + +"You might get sick yourself," he said. "You do not know what +you would be obliged to hear and see. You do not know, Daisy." + +"I am not a child now," - I replied. + +There was more in my answer than mere words; there was more, I +know, in my feeling; and the doctor took the force of it. He +looked very sober, though, upon my plan, which it was evident +he did not like. + +"Does Mrs. Randolph give her consent to this proceeding?" he +asked. + +"She knows I came that I might look after Preston. I did not +tell her my plan any further." + +"She would not like it." + +"Mamma and I do not see things with the - same eyes, some +things, Dr. Sandford. I think I _ought_ to do it." + +"I think she is right," he said. "You are not fit for it. You +have no idea what you would be obliged to encounter." + +"Try me," I said. + +"I believe you are fit for anything," he broke out in answer +to this last appeal; "and I owned myself conquered by you, +Daisy, long ago. I find I have not recovered my independence. +Well - you will go in. But you cannot be dressed - _so_." + +"No, I will change my dress. I will do it immediately." + +"No, not to-night!" exclaimed the doctor. "Not to-night. It is +bad enough to-morrow; but I shall not take you in to-night. +Rest, and sleep and be refreshed; I need not say, be strong; +for that you are always. No, I will not take you with me to- +night. You must wait." + +And I could do no more with him for the time. I improved the +interval, however. I sent out and got some yards of check to +make aprons; and at my aprons I sat sewing all the evening, to +Mrs. Sandford's disgust. + +"My dear child, what do you want of those things?" she said, +looking at them and me with an inexpressible disdain of the +check. + +"I think they will be useful, ma'am." + +"But you are not going into the hospital?" + +"Yes; to-morrow morning." + +"As a visitor. But not to stay." + +"I am going to stay if I am wanted," I said, displaying the +dimensions of my apron for my own satisfaction. + +"My dear, if you stay, you will be obliged to see all manner +of horrible things." + +"They must be worse to bear than to see, Mrs. Sandford." + +"But you cannot endure to see them, Daisy; you never can. +Grant will never allow it." + +I sewed in silence, thinking that Dr. Sandford would conform +his will to mine in the matter. + +"I will never forgive him if he does!" said the lady. But that +also I thought would have to be borne. My heart was firm for +whatever lay before me. In the hospital, by Preston's side, I +was sure my work lay; and to be there, I must have a place at +other bedsides as well as his. In the morning Mrs. Sandford +renewed her objections and remonstrances as soon as she saw +her brother-in-law; and to do him justice, he looked as ill +pleased as she did. + +"Daisy wants to go into the hospital as a regular nurse," she +said. + +"It is a weakness of large-hearted women now-a-days." + +"Large-hearted! Grant, you are not going to permit such a +thing?" + +"I am no better than other men," said the doctor; "and have no +more defences." + +"But it is Daisy that wants the defences," Mrs. Sandford +cried; "it is she that is running into danger." + +"She shall want no defences while she is in my hospital." + +"It is very well to say; but if you let her in there, you +cannot help it. She must be in danger, of all sorts of harm." + +"If you will prevent it, Mrs. Sandford, you will lay me under +obligations," said the doctor, sitting down and looking up at +his sister-in-law somewhat comically. "I am helpless, for I +have passed my word. Daisy has the command." + +"But just look at the figure she is, in that dress! Fancy it! +That is Miss Randolph." + +The doctor glanced up and down, over my dress, and his eye +turned to Mrs. Sandford with provoking unconcern. + +"But you will not let her stay there, Grant?" + +The doctor looked up at me now, and I saw an answer ready on +his lips. There was but one way left for me, I thought; I do +not know how I came to do it, but I was not Daisy that +morning; or else my energies were all strung up to a state of +tension that made Daisy a different person from her wont. I +laid my hand lightly over the doctor's mouth before he could +speak. It silenced him, as I hoped. He rose up with a look +that showed me I had conquered, and asked if I were ready. He +must go, he said. + +I did not keep him waiting. And once out in the street, with +my hand on his arm, I was quite Daisy again; as humble and +quiet as ever in my life. I went like a child now, in my +guardian's hand; through the little crowds of men collected +here and there, past the sentinels at the hospital door, in +through the wide, clean, quiet halls and rooms, where Dr. +Sandford's authority and system made everything work, I +afterwards found, as by the perfection of machinery. Through +one ward and another at last, where the rows of beds, each +containing its special sufferer, the rows of faces, of various +expression, that watched us from the beds, the attendants and +nurses and the work that was going on by their hands, caused +me to draw a little closer to the arm on which I leaned and to +feel yet more like a weak child. Yet even then, even at that +moment, the woman within me began to rise and put down the +feeling of childish weakness. I began to be strong. + +Out of the wards, into his own particular room and office, +comfortable enough, Dr. Sandford brought me then. He gave me a +chair, and poured me out a glass of wine. + +"No, thank you," said I, smiling. "I do not need it." + +"You are pale." + +"That is womanish; but I am not weak or faint, though." + +"Do you maintain your purpose?" + +"Yes, certainly." + +"You had better take off your bonnet and shawl then. You would +find them in the way." + +I obeyed, and went on to envelope myself in my apron. Dr. +Sandford looked on grimly. Very ill pleased he was, I could +see. But then I laid my hand on his arm and looked at him. + +"I am so much obliged to you for this," I said earnestly. And +his face softened. + +"I am afraid it is wrong in me," he remarked. + +"If you thought it was, you would not do it," I answered; "and +I hope I should not ask it. I am ready now. But Dr. Sandford, +I want teaching, as to what I ought to do. Who will teach me?" + +"I will teach you. But you know how to give a sick man tea or +soup, I fancy, without much teaching." + +"There are other things, Dr. Sandford." + +"It will not be necessary. There are others to do the other +things. Captain Gary has only some simple wounds to be +dressed." + +"But there are others, Dr. Sandford? And I must know how to do +all that the nurses do. I am not here to be in the way. I am +not going to take care of my cousin only." + +"There is enough to do," said the doctor; "but, you will not +like it, Daisy." + +Something in his wistful look at me, something in the contrast +between merely seeing what he was afraid I should see, and the +suffering itself which by the sufferers had to be borne, +touched me keenly. My eyes filled as I looked at the doctor, +but I think the purpose in my heart perhaps came out in my +face; for his own suddenly changed, and with a "Come, then!" - +he gave me his arm and led the way upstairs and into another +succession of rooms, to the ward and the room where my cousin +Preston lay. + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE HOSPITAL + + +A clean, quiet, airy room, like all the rest; like all the +rest filled with rows of beds, the occupants of which had come +from the stir of the fight and the bustle of the march, to lie +here and be still; from doing to suffering. How much the +harder work, I thought; and if it be well done, how much the +nobler. And all who know the way in which our boys did it, +will bear witness to their great nobleness. Patient, and +strong, and brave, where there was no excitement to cheer, nor +spectators to applaud; their fortitude and their patience and +their generous self-devotion never failed nor faltered, when +all adventitious or real helps and stimulants were withdrawn, +and patriotism and bravery stood alone. + +From the turn of Dr. Sandford's head, I knew on which side I +might look to see Preston; and as we slowly passed up the long +line of beds, I scanned breathlessly each face. Old and young, +grim and fair, gentle and rough; it was a variety. And then I +saw, I should hardly have known it, a pale face with a dark +moustache and a thick head of dark, glossy hair, which was +luxuriant yet, although it had been cropped. His eyes were +closed as we came up; opened as we paused by his bed-side, and +opened very wide indeed as he looked from the doctor to me. + +"How do you do, this morning, Gary?" said my conductor. + +"Confoundedly -" was the somewhat careless answer, made while +examining my face. + +"You see who has come to look after you?" + +"It isn't Daisy!" he cried. + +"How do you do, Preston?" I said, taking hold of the hand +which lay upon the coverlid. He drew the hand hastily away, +half raising himself on his elbow. + +"What have you come here for?" he asked. + +"I have come to take care of you." + +"_You_," said Preston. "In this place! Where is mamma?" + +"Aunt Gary is far away from here. She could not get to you." + +"But you, you were in Switzerland." + +"Not since last May." + +"Lie down, Gary, and take it quietly," said Dr. Sandford, +putting his hand on his shoulder. Preston scowled and +submitted, without taking his eyes from my face. + +"You are not glad to see me?" I asked, feeling his manner a +little awkward. + +"Of course not. You ought not to be in this place. What have +you got on that rig for?" + +"What rig?" + +"That! I suppose you don't dress so at home, do you? You +didn't use it. Hey? what is it for?" + +"It is that I may be properly dressed. Home things would be +out of place here." + +"Yes; so I think," said Preston; "and you most of all. Where +is Aunt Randolph?" + +"You do not seem very grateful, Gary," said the doctor, who +all this while stood by with an impenetrable countenance. + +"Grateful - for what?" + +"For your cousin's affection and kindness, which has come here +to look after you." + +"I am not grateful," said Preston. "I shall not have her +stay." + +"What has brought _you_ here, Preston?" I asked by way of +diversion. + +"Me? Powder. It's an infernal invention. If one could fight +with steel, there would be some fun in it. But powder has no +respect of persons." + +"How has it hurt you?" I asked. I had somehow never chosen to +put the question to Dr. Sandford; I can hardly tell why. Now +it was time to know. Preston's eye fell on me with sudden +gentleness. + +"Daisy, go away," he said. "You have no business here. It is +of all places no place for you. Go away, and don't come +again." + +"Dr. Sandford," said I, "will you take me with you and give me +my lesson? That is the first thing. I must earn my right to +the place, it seems." + +The doctor looked at me in his turn; I avoided the eye of +Preston. He looked at me in a way not hard to read; quite +agreeing with Preston in wishing me away, but, I saw also, +respecting my qualifications for the work I had come to do. I +saw that he gave me a great reverence on account of it; but +then, Dr. Sandford always gave me more reverence than belonged +to me. I made use of this, and held my advantage. And the +doctor seeing that I was calmly in earnest, even took me at my +word. + +We began a progress through the ward; during which every man's +condition was inquired into; wounds examined and dressed; and +course of treatment prescribed. I looked on at first as a mere +spectator; bearing the revelation of pain and suffering with +all the fortitude I could muster; but I found in a little +while that it would overmaster me if I continued an idle +looker-on; and putting aside the attendant nurse at last with +a whisper to which she yielded, I offered myself quietly in +her place to do her work. Dr. Sandford glanced at me then, but +made no remark whatever; suffering me to do my pleasure, and +employing me as if I had been there for a month. He began to +give me directions too. It seemed a long age of feeling and +experience, the time while we were passing through the ward; +yet Dr. Sandford was extremely quick and quiet in his work, +and lost no seconds by unnecessary delay. Even I could see +that. He was kind, too; never harsh, though very firm in his +authority and thorough in his business. I could not help an +unconscious admiration for him growing as we went on. That +steady, strong blue eye; what a thing it was for doubt and +fear to rest on. I saw how doubt and fear rested. I thought I +did; though the bearing of all the sufferers there was calm +and self-contained to an admirable degree. It was so, I heard, +with all our soldiers everywhere. + +We came round, last of all, to Preston's couch again; and the +doctor paused. He glanced at me again for the first time in a +long while. I do not know how I trembled inwardly; outwardly, +I am sure, I did not flinch. His eye went to Preston. + +"Do you see, you are to have a better nurse than you deserve?" +he said. + +"It is disgusting!" Preston muttered. + +"Some things are," answered the doctor; "not a brave woman, or +a gentle man." + +"Send Daisy away from this place. You know she ought not to be +here; and you can forbid it." + +"You overstate my power, my friend," said the doctor. "Shall +we see how you are getting along to-day." + +Preston's eye came to me again, silently, with reluctance and +regret in it. I was touched more than I chose to show, and +more than it was safe to think about." + +"Does she know?" he asked. + +"She does not know. Your cousin, Miss Randolph, has given one +of his arms for his cherished cause." + +"And one of my legs too," said Preston. "If it would do the +cause any good, I would not care; but what good does it do? +That's what I don't like about powder." + +I had much ado to stand this communication. The work of +examining and dressing Preston's wounds, however, immediately +began; and in the effort to do my part, as usual, I found the +best relief for overstrained nerves. I think some tears fell +upon the bandages; but no word of remark was made by either +physician or patient, till the whole business was concluded. +Dr. Sandford then carried me off to a nice, warm, comfortable +apartment, which he told me I might always hold as my own +whenever I had time to be there; he seated me in a chair, and +a second time poured me out a glass of wine, which he took +from a cupboard. + +"I do not drink it," I said, shaking my head. + +"Yes, you do, - to-day." + +"I never drink it," I said. "I cannot touch it, Dr. Sandford." + +"You must take something. What is the matter with the wine? Is +it disagreeable to you?" + +"I will not help anybody else drink it," I said, looking at +him and forcing a smile; for I was tired and very sick at +heart. + +"Nobody will know you take it." + +"Not if I do not take it. They will if I do." + +"Are you going upon that old childish plan of yours?" said the +doctor, sitting down beside me and looking with a wistful kind +of tenderness into my face. "Are you bent still upon living +for other people, Daisy?" + +"You know, the Master I follow did so; and His servants must +be like him," I said, and I felt my smile was stronger and +brighter this time. Dr. Sandford arose, summoned an attendant +and sent him off for a cup of tea for me; then saw me take it. + +"Now," said he, "are you fixed in the plan of devoting +yourself to the care of this ungracious cousin?" + +"Of him, and of others," I said. + +"He does not deserve it." + +"Suppose we waited to give people their deserts, Dr. +Sandford?" + +"Some people deserve to be allowed to take care of you," said +the doctor, getting up and beginning to pace up and down the +floor. "They deserve it; and find it hard work; or denied them +altogether." + +"You do take care of me," I said gratefully. "You always did, +Dr. Sandford. You are doing it now; and I am thanking you all +the time in my heart." + +"Well," said he abruptly, standing still before me, - "you are +one of those who are born to command; and in your case I +always find I have to obey. This room you will use as you +please; no one will share it with you; and you need a +retiring-place for a breath of rest when you can get it. I +shall see you constantly, as I am going out and in; and +anything you want you will tell me. But you will not like it, +Daisy. You can stand the sight of blood, like other women, +whose tenderness makes them strong; but you will not like some +other things. You will not like the way you will have to take +your meals in this place." + +I had finished my cup of tea, and now stood up to let the +doctor take me back to my place beside Preston; which he did +without any more words. And there he left me; and I sat down +to consider my work and my surroundings. My cousin had +forgotten his impatience in sleep; and there was a sort of +lull in the business of the ward at that hour. + +I found in a few minutes that it was a great comfort to me to +be there. Not since papa's death, had so peaceful a sense of +full hands and earnest living crept into my heart. My thoughts +flew once or twice to Mr. Thorold, but I called them back as +soon; I could not bear that; while at the same time I felt I +was nearer to him here than anywhere else. And my thoughts +were very soon called effectually home from my own special +concerns, by seeing that the tenant of one of the neighbouring +beds was restless and suffering from fever. A strong, fine- +looking man, flushed and nervous on a fever bed, in helpless +inactivity, with the contrast of life energies all at work and +effectively used only a little while ago, in the camp and the +battlefield. Now lying here. His fever proceeded from his +wounds, I knew, for I had seen them dressed. I went to him and +laid my hand on his forehead. I wonder what and how much there +can be in the touch of a hand. It quieted him, like a charm; +and after a while, a fan and a word or two now and then were +enough for his comfort. I did not seem to be Daisy Randolph; I +was just - the hospital nurse; and my use was to minister; and +the joy of ministering was very great. + +From my fever patient I was called to others, who wanted many +various things; it was a good while before I got round to +Preston again. Meanwhile, I was secretly glad to find out that +I was gaining fast ground in the heart of the other nurse of +the ward, who had at first looked upon me with great doubt and +mistrust on account of my age and appearance. She was a +clever, energetic New England woman; efficient and helpful as +it was possible to be; thin and wiry, but quiet, and full of +sense and kindliness. With a consciousness of her growing +favour upon me, I came at last to Preston's bedside again. He +looked anything but amicable. + +"Where is Aunt Randolph?" were his first words, uttered with +very much the manner of a growl. I replied that I had left her +in New York. + +"I shall write to her," said Preston. "How came she to do +such an absurd thing as to let you come here? and whom did you +come with? Did you come alone?" + +"Not at all. I came with proper company." + +"Proper company wouldn't have brought you," Preston growled. + +"I think you want something to eat, Preston," I said. "You +will feel better when you have had some refreshment." + +It was just the time for a meal and I saw the supplies coming +in. And Preston's refreshment, as well as that of some others, +I attended to myself. I think he found it pleasant; for +although some growls waited upon me even in the course of my +ministering to him, I heard from that time no more +remonstrances; and I am sure Preston never wrote his letter. A +testimonial of a different sort was conveyed in his whispered +request to me, not to let that horrid Yankee spinster come +near him again. + +But Miss Yates was a good friend to me. + +"You are looking a little pale," she said to me at evening. +"Go and lie down a spell. All's done up; you ain't wanted now, +and you may be, for anything anybody can tell, before an hour +is gone. Just you go away and get some rest. It's been your +first day. And the first day's rather tough." + +I told her I did not feel tired. But she insisted; and I +yielded so far as to go and lie down for a while in the room +which Dr. Sandford had given to me. When I came back, I met +Miss Yates near the door of the room. I asked her if there +were any serious cases in the ward just then. + +"La! half of 'em's serious," said she; "if you mean by that +they might take a wrong turn and go off. You never can tell." + +"But are there any in immediate danger, do you think?" + +She searched my face before she answered. + +"How come you to be so strong, and so young, and so - well, so +unlike all this sort of thing? - Have you ever, no you never +have, seen much of sickness and death, and that?" + +"No; not much." + +"But you look as calm as a field of white clover. I beg your +pardon, my dear; it's like you. And you ain't one of the India +rubber sort, neither. I am glad you ain't, too; I don't think +that sort is fit to be nurses or anything else." + +She looked at me inquiringly. + +"Miss Yates," I said, "I love Jesus. I am a servant of Christ. +I like to do whatever my Lord gives me to do." + +"Oh!" said she. "Well I ain't. I sometimes wish I was. But it +comes handy now, for there's a man down there - he ain't a +going to live, and he knows it, and he's kind o' worried about +it; and I can't say nothing to him. Maybe you can. I've +written his letters for him, and all that; but he's just +uneasy." + +I asked, and she told me, which bed held this sick man, who +would soon be a dying one. I walked slowly down the ward, +thinking of this new burden of life-work that was laid upon me +and how to meet it. My very heart sank. I was so helpless. And +rose too; for I remembered that our Redeemer is strong. What +could I do? + +I stood by the man's side. He was thirsty and I gave him +lemonade. His eye met mine as his lips left the cup; an eye of +unrest. + +"Are you comfortable?" I asked. + +"As much as I can be." - It was a restless answer. + +"Can't you think of Jesus, and rest?" I asked, bending over +him. His eye darted to mine with a strange expression of +inquiry and pain; but it was all the answer he made. + +"There is rest at His feet for all who trust in Him; - rest in +His arms for all who love Him." + +"I am not the one or the other," he said shortly. + +"But you may be." + +"I reckon not, - at this time of day," he said. + +"Any time of day will do," I said tenderly. + +"I guess not," said he. "One cannot do anything lying here - +and I sha'n't lie here much longer, either. There's no time +now to do anything." + +"There is nothing to do, dear friend, but to give your heart +and trust to the Lord who died for you - who loves you - who +invites you - who will wash away your sins for His own sake, +in His own blood, which He shed for you. Jesus has died for +you; you shall not die, if you will put your trust in Him." + +He looked at me, turned his head away restlessly, turned it +back again, and said, - + +"That won't do." + +"Why?" + +"I don't believe in wicked people going to heaven." + +"Jesus came to save wicked people; just them." + +"They've got to be good, though, before they" - he paused, - +"go - to His place." + +"Jesus will make you good, if you will let him." + +"What chance is there, lying here; and only a few minutes at +that?" + +He spoke almost bitterly, but I saw the drops of sweat +standing on his brow, brought there by the intensity of +feeling. I felt as if my heart would have broken. + +"As much chance here as anywhere," I answered calmly. "The +heart is the place for reform; outward work, without the +heart, signifies nothing at all; and if the heart of love and +obedience is in any man, God knows that the life would follow, +if there were opportunity." + +"Yes. I haven't it," he said, looking at me. + +"You may have it." + +"I tell you, you are talking - you don't know of what," he +said vehemently. + +"I know all about it," I answered softly. + +"There is no love nor obedience in me," he repeated, searching +my eyes, as if to see whether there were anything to be said +to that. + +"No; you are sick at heart, and dying, unless you can be +cured. Can you trust Jesus to cure you? They that be whole +need not a physician, He says, but those that are sick." + +He was silent, gazing at me. + +"Can you lay your heart, just as it is, at Jesus' feet, and +ask him to take it and make it right? He says, Come." + +"What must _I_ do?" + +"Trust Him." + +"But you are mistaken," he said. "I am not good." + +"No," said I; and then I know I could not keep back the tears +from springing; - "Jesus did not come to save the good. He +came to save you. He bids you trust Him, and your sins shall +be forgiven, for He gave His life for yours; and He bids you +come to Him, and He will take all that is wrong away, and make +you clean." + +"Come?" - the sick man repeated. + +"With your heart - to his feet. Give yourself to Him. He is +here, though you do not see Him." + +The man shut his eyes, with a weary sort of expression +overspreading his features; and remained silent. After a +little while he said slowly - + +"I think - I have heard - such things - once. It is a great +while ago. I don't think I know - what it means." + +Yet the face looked weary and worn; and for me, I stood beside +him and my tears dripped like a summer shower. Like the first +of the shower, as somebody says; the pressure at my heart was +too great to let them flow. O life, and death! O message of +mercy, and deaf ears! O open door of salvation, and feet that +stumble at the threshold! After a time his eyes opened. + +"What are you doing there?" he said vaguely. + +"I am praying for you, dear friend." + +"Praying?" said he. "Pray so that I can hear you." + +I was well startled at this. I had prayed with papa; with no +other, and before no other, in all my life. And here were rows +of beds on all sides of me, wide-awake careless eyes in some +of their occupants; nurses and attendants moving about; no +privacy; no absolute stillness. I thought I could not; then I +knew I must; and then all other things faded into +insignificance before the work Jesus came to do and had given +me to help. I knelt down, not without hands and face growing +cold in the effort; but as soon as I was once fairly speaking +to my Lord, I ceased to think or care who else was listening +to me. There was a deep stillness around; I knew that; the +attendants paused in their movements, and words and work I +think were suspended during the few minutes when I was on my +knees. When I got up, the sick man's eyes were closed. I sat +down with my face in my hands, feeling as if I had received a +great wrench; but presently Miss Yates came with a whispered +request that I would do something that was required just then +for somebody. Work set me all right very soon. But when after +a while I came round to Preston again, I found him in a rage. + +"What _has_ come over you?" he said, looking at me with a +complication of frowns. I was at a loss for the reason, and +requested him to explain himself. + +"You are not Daisy!" he said. "I do not know you any more. +What has happened to you?" + +"What do you mean, Preston?" + +"Mean!" said he with a fling. "What do _you_ mean? I don't know +you." + +I thought this paroxysm might as well pass off by itself, like +another; and I kept quiet. + +"What were you doing just now," said he savagely, "by that +soldier's bedside?" + +"That soldier? He is a dying man, Preston." + +"Let him die!" he cried. "What is that to you? You are Daisy +Randolph. Do you remember whose daughter you are? _You_ making a +spectacle of yourself, for a hundred to look at!" + +But this shot quite overreached its mark. Preston saw it had +not touched me. + +"You did not use to be so bold," he began again. "You were +delicate to an exquisite fault. I would never have believed +that _you_ would have done anything unwomanly. What has taken +possession of you?" + +"I should like to take possession of you just now, Preston, +and keep you quiet," I said. "Look here, - your tea is coming. +Suppose you wait till you understand things a little better; +and now - let me give you this. I am sure Dr. Sandford would +bid you be quiet; and in his name, I do." + +Preston fumed; but I managed to stop his mouth; and then I +left him, to attend to other people. But when all was done, +and the ward was quiet, I stood at the foot of the dying man's +bed, thinking, what could I do more for him? His face looked +weary and anxious; his eye rested, I saw, on me, but without +comfort in it. What could I say, that I had not said? or how +could I reach him? Then, I do not know how the thought struck +me, but I knew what to do. + +"My dear," said Miss Yates, touching my shoulder, "hadn't you +better give up for to-night? You are a young hand; you ain't +seasoned to it yet; you'll give out if you don't look sharp. +Suppose you quit for to- night." + +"O no!" I said hastily - "Oh no, I cannot. I cannot." + +"Well, sit down, any way, before you can't stand. It is just +as cheap sittin' as standin'." + +I sat down; she passed on her way; the place was quiet; only +there were uneasy breaths that came and went near me. Then I +opened my mouth and sang - + + +"There is a fountain filled with blood, +"Drawn from Immanuel's veins; +"And sinners plunged beneath that flood, +"Lose all their guilty stains." + + +"The dying thief rejoiced to see +"That fountain in his day; +"And there may I, as vile as he, +"Wash all my sins away." + + +I sang it to a sweet simple air, in which the last lines are +repeated and repeated and drawn out in all their sweetness. +The ward was as still as death. I never felt such joy that I +could sing; for I knew the words went to the furthest corner +and distinctly, though I was not raising my voice beyond a +very soft pitch. The stillness lasted after I stopped; then +some one near spoke out - + +"Oh, go on!" + +And I thought the silence asked me. But what to sing? that was +the difficulty. It had need be something so very simple in the +wording, so very comprehensive in the sense; something to tell +the truth, and to tell it quick, and the whole truth; what +should it be? Hymns came up to me, loved and sweet, but too +partial in their application, or presupposing too much +knowledge of religious things. My mind wandered; and then of a +sudden floated to me the refrain that I had heard and learned +when a child, long ago, from the lips of Mr. Dinwiddie, in the +little chapel at Melbourne; and with all the tenderness of the +old time and the new it sprung from my heart and lips now - + + +"In evil long I took delight, +"Unawed by shame or fear; +"Till a new object struck my sight, +"And stopped my wild career." + + +"O the Lamb - the loving Lamb! +"The Lamb on Calvary +"The Lamb that was slain, but lives again, +"To intercede for me." + + +How grand it was! But for the grandeur and the sweetness of +the message I was bringing, I should have broken down a score +of times. + +As it was, I poured my tears into my song, and wept them into +the melody. But other tears, I knew, were not so contained; in +intervals I heard low sobbing in more than one part of the +room. I had no time to sing another hymn before Dr. Sandford +came in. I was very glad he had not been five minutes earlier. + +I followed him round the ward, seeking to acquaint myself as +fast as possible with whatever might help to make me useful +there. Dr. Sandford attended only to business and not to me, +till the whole round was gone through. Then he said, - + +"You will let me take you home now, I hope." + +"I am at home," I answered. + +"Even so," said he smiling. "You will let me take you _from_ +home then, to the place my sister dwells in." + +"No, Dr. Sandford; and you do not expect it." + +"I have some reason to know what to expect, by this time. Will +you not do it at my earnest request? not for your sake, but +for mine? There is presumption for you!" + +"No, Dr. Sandford; it is not presumption, and I thank you; but +I cannot. I cannot, Dr. Sandford. I am wanted here." + +"Yes, so you will be to-morrow." + +"I will be here to-morrow." + +"But, Daisy, this is unaccustomed work; and you cannot bear +it, no one can, without intermission. Let me take you to the +hotel to-night. You shall come again in the morning." + +"I cannot. There is some one here who wants me." + +"Your cousin, do you mean?" + +"Oh no. Not he at all. There is one who is, I am afraid, +dying." + +"Morton," said the doctor. "Yes. You can do nothing for him." + +But I thought of my hymn, and the tears rose to my eyes. + +"I will do what I can, Dr. Sandford. I cannot leave him." + +"There is a night nurse who will take charge. You must not +watch. You must not do that, Daisy. I command here." + +"All but me," I said, putting my hand on his arm. "Trust me. I +will try to do just the right thing." + +There must have been more persuasion in my look than I knew; +for Dr. Sandford quitted me without another word, and left me +to my own will. I went softly down the room to the poor friend +I was watching over. I found his eyes watching me; but for +talk there was no time just then; some services were called +for in another part of the ward that drew me away from him; +and when I came back he seemed to be asleep. I sat down at the +bed foot and thought my hymn all over, then the war, my own +life, and lastly the world. Miss Yates came to me and bent +down. + +"Are you tired out, dear?" + +"Not at all," I said. "Not at all - tired." + +"They'd give their eyes if you'd sing again. It's better than +doctors and anodynes; and it's the first bit of anything +unearthly we've had in this place. Will you try?" + +I was only too glad. I sang, "Jesus, lover of my soul" - "Rock +of Ages" - and then, - + + +"Just as I am, without one plea, +"But that Thy blood was shed for me, +"And that Thou bidst me come to Thee, +"O Lamb of God, I come." + + +And stillness, deep and peaceful seeming, brooded over all the +place in the pauses between the singing. There were restless +and weary and suffering people around me; patient indeed too, +and uncomplaining, in the worst of times; but now even sighs +seemed to be hushed. I looked at the man who was said to be +dying. His wide open eyes were intently fixed upon me; very +intently; and I thought, less ruefully than a while ago. Then +I sang, - + + +"Come to Jesus just now -" + + +As I sang, a voice from the further end of the room took it +up, and bore me company in a somewhat rough but true and manly +chorus, to the end of the singing. It rang sweet round the +room; it fell sweet on many ears, I know. And so I gave my +Lord's message. + +I sang no more that night. The poor man for whose sake I had +begun the singing, rapidly grew worse. I could not leave him; +for ever and again, in the pauses of suffering, his eyes +sought mine. I answered the mute appeal as I best could, with +a word now and a word then. Towards morning the struggle +ceased. He spoke no more to me; but the last look was to my +eyes, and in his, it seemed to me, the shadow had cleared +away. That was all I could know. + +CHAPTER XXII. + +ORDERS + + +I slept longer than I had meant to do, the next morning; but I +rose with a happy feeling of being in my place; where I wanted +to be. That is, to be sure, not always the criterion by which +to know the place where one ought to be; yet where it is a +qualification it is also in some sense a token. The ministry +of the hours preceding swept over me while I was dressing, +with something of the grand swell and cadence of the notes of +a great organ; grand and solemn and sweet. I entered the ward, +ready for the day's work, with a glad readiness. + +So I felt, as I stepped in and went down the space between the +rows of beds. Miss Yates nodded to me. + +"Here you are!" she said. "Fresh as the morning. Well I don't +know why we shouldn't have pleasant things in such a place as +this, if we can get them; there's enough that ain't pleasant, +and folks forget there is anything else in the world. Now +you'll be better than breakfast, to some of them; and here's +breakfast, my dear. You know how to manage that." + +I knew very well how to manage that; and I knew too, as I went +on with my ministrations, that Miss Yates was not altogether +wrong. My ministry did give pleasure; and I could not help +enjoying the knowledge. This was not the enjoyment of +flattering crowds, waiting round me with homage in their eyes +and on their tongues. I had known that too, and felt the +foolish flutter of gratified vanity for a moment, to be +ashamed of it the next. This was the brightening eye, the +relaxing lip, the tone of gratification, from those whose days +and hours were a weary struggle with pain and disease; to +bring a moment's refreshment to them was a great joy, which +gives me no shame now in the remembrance. Even if it was only +the refreshment of memory and fancy, that was something; and I +gave thanks in my heart, as I went from one sufferer to +another, that I had been made pleasant to look at. Preston +himself smiled at me this morning, which I thought a great +gain. + +"Well, you do know how to sing!" he said softly, as I was +giving him his tea and toast. + +"I am glad you think so." + +"Think so! Why, Daisy, positively I was inclined to bless +gunpowder for the minute, for having brought me here. Now if +you would only sing something else - Don't you know anything +from Norma, or II Trovatore?" + +"They would be rather out of place here." + +"Not a bit of it. Create a soul under the ribs - Well, this is +vile tea." + +"Hush, Preston; you know the tea is good, like everything else +here." + +"I know no such thing. There is nothing good in this place, - +except you, - and I suppose that is the reason you have chosen +it for your abode. I can't imagine how Aunt Randolph came to +let you, though." + +"She let me come to take care of you." + +"_I_'m not worth it. What's a man good for, when there is only +half of him left? I should like just to get into one other +field, and let powder take the other half." + +"Hush, Preston! hush; you must not talk so. There's your +mother." + +"My mother won't think much of me now, I don't know why she +should. You never did, even when I was myself." + +"I think just as much of you now as ever, Preston. You might +be much more than your old self, if you would." + +Preston frowned and rolled his head over on the pillow. + +"Confounded!" he muttered. "To be in such a den of Yankees!" + +"You are ungrateful." + +"I am not. I owe it to Yankee powder." + +What, perhaps, had Southern powder done? I shivered inwardly, +and for a moment forgot Preston. + +"What is the matter?" said he. "You look queer; and it is very +queer of you to spill my tea." + +"Drink it then," I said, "and don't talk in such a way. I will +not have you do it, Preston, to me." + +He glanced at me, a little wickedly; but he had finished his +breakfast and I turned from him. As I turned, I saw that the +bed opposite, where Morton had died a few hours before, had +already received another occupant. It startled me a little; +this quick transition; this sudden total passing away; then, +as I cast another glance at the newly come, my breath stood +still. I saw eyes watching me, - I had never but once known +such eyes; I saw an embrowned but very familiar face; as I +looked, I saw a flash of light come into the eyes, quick and +brilliant as I had seen such flashes come and go a hundred +times. I knew what I saw. + +It seems to me now in the retrospect, it seemed to me then, as +if my life - that which makes life - were that moment suddenly +gathered up, held before me, and then dashed under my feet; +thrown down to the ground and trampled on. For a moment the +sight of my eyes failed me. I think nobody noticed it. I think +nothing was to be seen, except that I stood still for that +minute. It passed, and my sight returned; and as one whose +life is under foot and who knows it will never rise again, I +crossed the floor to Thorold. We were not alone. Eyes and ears +were all around us. Remembering this, I put my hand in his and +said a simple - + +"How do you do?" + +But his look at me was so infinitely glad and sweet, that my +senses failed me again. I did not sink down; but I stood +without sight or hearing. The clasp of his hand recalled me. + +"It is Daisy!" he said smiling. "Daisy, and not a vision. My +Daisy! How is it?" + +"What can I do for you?" I said hastily. + +"Nothing. Stand there. I have been looking at you; and thought +it was long till you would look at me." + +"I was busy." + +"Yes, I know, love. How is it, Daisy? When did you come back +from Switzerland?" + +"Months ago." + +"I did not know of it." + +"Letters failed, I suppose." + +"Then you wrote?" + +"I wrote, - with papa's letter." + +"When?" + +"Oh, long ago - long ago; - I don't know, - a year or two." + +"It never reached me," he said, a shadow crossing his bright +brow. + +"I sent it to your aunt, for her to send it to you; and she +sent it; I asked her." + +"Failed," he said. "What was it, Daisy?" + +The question was put eagerly. + +"Papa was very good," I said; - "and you were very right, +Christian, and I was wrong. He liked your letter." + +"And I should have liked his?" he said, with one of those +brilliant illuminations of eye and face. + +"I think you would." + +"Then I have got all I can ask for," he said. "You are mine; +and while we live in this world we belong to each other. Is it +not so?" + +There was mamma. But I could not speak of her. Even she could +not prevent the truth of what Christian said; in one way it +must be true. I gave no denial. Thorold clasped my hand very +fast, and I stood breathless. Then suddenly I asked if he had +had his breakfast? He laughed and said yes, and still clasped +my hand in a grasp that said it was better than food and drink +to him. I stood like one from under whose feet the ground is +slipping away. I longed to know, but dared not ask, what had +brought him there; whether he was suffering; the words would +not come to my lips. I knew Dr. Sandford would be here by and +by; how should I bear it? But I, and nobody but me, must do +all that was done for this sufferer at least. + +I left Mr. Thorold, to attend to duties that called me on all +hands. I did them like one in a dream. Yet my ordinary manner +was quiet, and I suppose nobody saw any difference; only I +felt it. I was looking all the time for the moment of Dr. +Sandford's appearance, and praying for strength. It came, his +visit, as everything does come, when its time was; and I +followed him in his round; waiting and helping as there was +want of me. I did it coolly, I know, with faculties sharpened +by an intense motive and feelings engrossed with one thought. +I proved myself a good assistant; I knew Dr. Sandford approved +of me; I triumphed, so far, in the consciousness that I had +made good my claim to my position, and was in no danger of +being shoved away on the score of incompetency. + +"Doctor," said Preston when we came round to him, "won't you +send away Miss Randolph out of a place that she is not fit +for?" + +"I will," said Dr. Sandford grimly, "when I find such a +place." + +"Out of _this_ place, then, where she ought not to be; and you +know it." + +"It would be your loss, my friend. You are exercising great +self-denial, or else you speak in ignorance." + +"She might as well go on the stage at once!" said Preston +bitterly. "Singing half the night to sixty soldiers, - and +won't give one a thing from Norma, then!" + +The doctor gave one quick glance of his blue eye at me; it was +a glance inquiring, recognising, touched, sympathising, all in +an instant; it surprised me. Then it went coolly back to his +work. + +"What does she sing?" + +"Psalms" - said Preston. + +"Feverish tendency?" said the doctor. + +Preston flung himself to one side, with a violent word, almost +an oath, that shocked me. We left him and went on. + +Or rather, went over; for at the instant Dr. Sandford's eye +caught the new occupant of the opposite bed. I was glad to +find that he did not recognise him. + +The examination of Mr. Thorold's wounds followed. They were +internal, and had been neglected. I do not know how I went +through it; seeing how he went through it partly helped me, +for I thought he did not seem to suffer greatly. His face was +entirely calm, and his eye clear whenever it could catch mine. +But the operation was long; and I felt when it was over as if +I had been through a battle myself. I was forced to leave him +and go on with my attentions to the other sufferers in the +ward; and I could not get back to Mr. Thorold till the dinner +hour. I managed to be at his side to serve him then. But he +had the use of his arms and hands and did not need feeding, +like some of the others. + +"It is worth being here, Daisy," said Mr. Thorold, when I came +with his dinner; which was, however, a light one. + +"No," said I. Speaking in low tones, which I was accustomed to +use to all there, we were in little danger of being overheard. + +"Not to you," said he with a laughing flash of his eye; "I +only spoke of my own sense of things. That is as I tell you." + +"How do you do now?" I asked tremblingly. + +His eye changed, softened, lifted itself to mine with a +beautiful glow in it. I half knew what was coming before he +spoke. + +"We know in whose hands I am," he said. "I have earned the +'right to my name,' Daisy." + +Ah, that was hard to bear! harder than the surgeon's probe +which had gone before. It was hard at the same time not to +fall on my knees to give thanks; or to break out into a shout +of glad praise. I suppose I showed nothing of it, only stood +still - and pale by the side of the bed; till Mr. Thorold +asked me for something, and I knew that I had been neglecting +his dinner. And then I knew that I was neglecting others; and +flew across to Preston, who needed my services. + +"Who's that over yonder," he grumbled. + +"One newly come in - wounded," I replied. + +"Isn't it somebody you know?" + +"It is one I used to know." + +"Then you know him yet, I suppose. It is that fellow Thorold, +isn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"What has brought him here?" + +"He is wounded," I whispered. + +"I am glad of it!" said Preston, savagely. "Why shouldn't he +be wounded, when his betters are? Is he badly off?" + +I simply could not answer at the minute. + +"How's he wounded?" + +"I do not know." + +"You don't know! when you were attending to him. Then he +hasn't lost a leg or an arm, I suppose? You would know that." + +"No." + +"D-n him!" said Preston. "That _he_ should be whole and sound +and only half of me left!" + +I was dumb, for want of the power to speak. I think such a +passion of indignation and displeasure never found place in my +heart, before or since. But I did not wish to say anything +angrily, and yet my heart was full of violent feeling that +could find but violent words. I fed Preston in silence till +his dinner was done, and left him. Then as I passed near him +again soon after, I stopped. + +"You are so far from sound, Preston," I said, "that I shall +keep out of the way of your words. You must excuse me - but I +cannot hear or allow them; and as you have no control over +yourself, my only resource is to keep at a distance." + +I waited for no answer but moved away; and busied myself with +all the ward rather than him. It was a hard, hard, afternoon's +work; my heart divided between the temptation to violent anger +and violent tears. I kept away from Mr. Thorold too, partly +from policy, and partly because I could not command myself, I +was afraid, in his presence. But towards evening I found +myself by his side, and in the dusk our hands met; while I +used a fan with the other hand, by way of seeming to do +something for him. + +"What is the matter?" he whispered. + +"Matter?" I repeated. + +"Yes." + +"There is enough the matter here always, Christian." + +"Yes. And what more than usual this afternoon?" + +"What makes you ask?" + +"I have been looking at you." + +"And what did you see?" + +"I saw that you were hiding something, from everybody but me. +Tell it now." + +"Christian, it was not anything good." + +"Confess your faults one to another, then," said he. "What is +the use of having friends?" + +"You would not be pleased to hear of my faults." + +I could see, even in the dim light, the flash of his eye as it +looked into mine. + +"How many, Daisy?" + +"Anger," I said; - "and resentment; and - self-will." + +"What raised the anger?" said he; a different tone coming into +his own voice. + +"Preston. His way of talking." + +"About me?" + +"Yes. I cannot get over it." + +And I thought I should have broken down at that minute. My +fan-play ceased. Christian held my hand very fast, and after a +few minutes began again - + +"Does he know you are angry, Daisy?" + +"Yes, he does; for I told him as much." + +"Did you tell him sharply?" + +"No. I told him coldly." + +"Go over and say that you have forgiven him." + +"But I have not forgiven him." + +"You know you must." + +"I cannot, just yet, Christian. To-morrow, perhaps I can." + +"You must do it to-night, Daisy. You do not know what else you +may have to do before to-morrow, that you will want the spirit +of love for." + +I was silent a little, for I knew that was true. + +"Well? -" said he. + +"What can I do?" I said. "I suppose it will wear out; but just +now I have great displeasure against Preston. I cannot tell +him I forgive him. I have not forgiven him." + +"And do not want to forgive him?" + +I was again silent, for the answer would have had to be an +affirmative. + +"If I could reach you, I would kiss that away," said Thorold. +"Daisy, must _I_ tell _you_, that there is One who can look it +away? You need not wait." + +I knew he spoke truth again; and I had forgotten it. Truth +that once by experience I so well knew. I stood silent and +self-condemned. + +"Christian, I do not very often get angry; but when I do, I am +afraid the feeling is very obstinate." + +"The case isn't desperate - unless you are obstinate too," he +said, with a look which conquered me. I fanned him a little +while longer; not long. For I was able very soon to go across +to Preston. + +"Are you going to desert me for that fellow?" he growled. + +"I must desert you, for whoever wants me more than you do; and +you must be willing that I should." + +"If it wasn't for confounded Yankees!" he said. + +"Yankees are pretty good to you, Preston, I think, just now. +What if they were to desert you? Where is your generosity?" + +"Shot away. Come, Daisy, I had no business to speak as I did. +I'll confess it. Forgive me, won't you?" + +"Entirely," I said. "But you gave me great pain, Preston." + +"You are like the thinnest description of glass manufacture," +said Preston. "What wouldn't scratch something else, makes a +confounded fracture in your feelings. I'll try and remember +what brittle ware I am dealing with." + +So that was over, and I gave him his tea; and then went round +to do the same by others. I had to take them in turn; and when +I got to Mr. Thorold at last, there was no more time then for +talking, which I longed for. After the surgeon's round, when +all was quiet again in the room, I sat at the foot of Mr. +Thorold's bed with a kind of cry in my heart, to which I could +give no expression. I could not kneel there, to pray; I could +not leave my post; I could not speak nor listen where I wanted +a full interchange of heart with heart; the oppression almost +choked me. Then I remembered I could sing. And I sang that +hour, if I never did before. My sorrow, and my joy, and my cry +of heart, I put them all into the notes and poured them forth +in my song. I was never so glad I could sing as these days. I +knew, all the time, it was medicine and anodynes and strength +- and maybe teaching - to many that heard; for me, it was the +cry of prayer, and the pleading of faith, and the confession +of utmost need. How strong "Rock of Ages" seemed to me again +that night; the hymn, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds," +was to me a very schedule of treasure; my soul mounted on the +words, like the angels on Jacob's ladder; the top of the +ladder was in heaven, if the foot of it was on a very rough +spot of earth. That night I sang hymns, in the high-wrought +state of my feelings, which the next day I could not have +sung. I remember that one of them was "What are these in +bright array," with the chorus, "They have clean robes, white +robes." "When I can read my title clear," was another. +Sometimes a hymn starts up to me now, with a thrill of +knowledge that I sang it that night, which yet at other times +I cannot recall. I sang till the hour, and past it, when I +must go to my room and give place to the night watchers. I +longed to stay, but it was impossible; so I went and bade +Preston good-night, who said to me never a word this time; +spoke to one or two others; and then went to Mr. Thorold. I +laid my hand on his. He grasped it immediately and looked up +at me with a clear, sweet, bright look, which did me untold +good; pulling me gently down. I bent over him, thinking he +wished to speak; then I knew what he wished, and obeying the +impulse and the request, our lips met. I don't know if anybody +saw it; and I did not care. That kiss sent me to sleep. + +The next day I was myself again. Not relieved from the +impression which had seized me when I first saw Mr. Thorold; +but quietly able to bear it; in a sort raised above it. To do +the moment's duty; to gather, and to give, every stray crumb +of relief or pleasure that might be possible for either of us; +better than that, to do the Lord's will and to bear it, were +all I sought for. All at least, of which I was fairly +conscious that I sought it; the heart has a way of carrying on +underground trains of feeling and action of its own, and so +did mine now. As I found afterwards. But I was perfectly able +for all my work. When next I had an opportunity for private +talk with Mr. Thorold, he asked me with a smile, if the +resentment was all gone? I told him, "Oh, yes." + +"What was the 'self-will' about, Daisy?" + +"You remember too well," I said. + +"What?" + +"Me and my words." + +"Why?" + +"It is not easy to say why, just in this instance." + +"No. Well, Daisy, say the other thing. About the self-will." + +I hesitated. + +"Are you apt to be self-willed?" he asked, tenderly. + +"I do not know. I believe I did not use to think so. I am +afraid it is very difficult to know oneself, Christian." + +"_I_ think you are self-willed," he said, smiling. + +"Did you use to see it in me?" + +"I think so. What is the present matter in hand, Daisy?" + +I did not want to tell him. But I could not run away. And +those bright eyes were going over my face and reading in it, I +knew. I did not know what they read. I feared. He waited, +smiling a little as he looked. + +"I ought not to be self-willed, - about anything," - I said at +last. + +"No, I suppose not. What has got a grip of your heart then, +Daisy?" + +"I am unwilling to see you lying here," I said. It was said +with great force upon myself, under the stress of necessity. + +"And unwilling that I should get any but one sort of +discharge," - he added. + +"You do not fear it," I said, hastily. + +"I fear nothing. But a soldier, Daisy, - a soldier ought to be +ready for orders; and he must not choose. He does not know +where the service will call for him. He knows his Captain does +know." + +I stood still, slowly fanning Mr. Thorold; my self-control +could go no further than to keep, me outwardly quiet. + +"_You_ used to be a soldier," he said gently, after a pause. +"You are yet. Not ready for orders, Daisy?" + +"Christian - you know, -" I stammered forth. + +"I know, my beloved. And there is another that knows. He knows +all. Can't you leave the matter to him?" + +"I must." + +"Must is a hard word. Let Jesus appoint, and let you and me +obey; because we love Him, and are His." + +He was silent, and so was I then; the words trooping in a sort +of grand procession through some distant part of my brain - +"All things are yours; whether life, or death, or the world, +or things present, or things to come; all are yours; and ye +are Christ's; and Christ is God's." I knew they swept by +there, in their sweetness and their majesty; I could not lay +hold of them to make them dwell with me then. + +A few days went past, filled with duty as usual; more filled +with a consuming desire which had taken possession of me, to +know really how Mr. Thorold was and what were the prospects of +his recovery. His face always looked clear and well; I thought +his wounds were not specially painful; I never saw any sign +that they were; the dressing of them was always borne very +quietly. _That_ was not uncommon, but involuntary tokens of pain +were sometimes wrung from the sufferers; a sigh, or a knit +brow, or a pale cheek, or a clinched hand, gave one sorrowful +knowledge often that the heroism of patient courage was more +severely tested in the hospital than on the field. I never saw +any of these signs in Mr. Thorold. In spite of myself, a hope +began to spring and grow in my heart, which at the first +seeing of him in that place I had thought dead altogether. And +then I could not rest short of certainty. But how to get any +light at all on the subject was a question. The other nurse +could not tell me, for she knew no more than myself; not so +much, for she rarely nursed Mr. Thorold. Dr. Sandford never +told how his patients were doing or likely to do; if he were +asked, he evaded the answer. What we were to do, he told +explicitly, carefully; the issue of our cares he left it to +time and fact to show. So what was I to do? Moreover, I did +not wish to let him see that I had any, the least, solicitude +for one case more than the rest. And another thing, I dreaded +unspeakably to make the appeal and have my doubts solved. With +the one difficulty and the other before me, I let day after +day go by; day after day; during which I saw as much of Mr. +Thorold as I could, and watched him with intense eyes. But I +was able to resolve nothing; only I thought his appetite grew +poorer than it had been, while that of many others was +improving. We had some chance for talk during those days; by +snatches, I told him a good deal of the history of my European +life; and he gave me details of his life in camp and field. We +lived very close to each other all that time, though outward +communication was so restricted. Hearts have their own way of +communicating, - and spirits are not wholly shut in by flesh +and blood. But as the days went by, my anxiety and suspense +began to glow unendurable. + +So I followed Dr. Sandford one morning to his den, as he +called it. + +"Are you getting tired of hospital life?" he asked me? with a +smile. "I see you want to speak to me." + +"You know I am not tired." + +"I know you are not. There is something in a woman that likes +suffering, I think, if only she can lay her hand on it and +relieve it." + +"That is making it a very selfish business, Dr. Sandford." + +"We are all selfish," said the doctor. "The difference is, +that some are selfish for themselves, and some for other +people." + +"Now you are cynical." + +"I am nothing of the kind. What do you want with me?" + +"Preston is doing very well, is he not, Dr. Sandford." + +"Perfectly well. He will be out just as soon as in the nature +of things it is possible. I suppose, or am I not to suppose, +that then you will consider your work done?" + +"I do not think he wants me a quarter as much as other people, +now." + +"He does not want you at all, in the sense of needing. In the +other sense, I presume different people might put in a claim +to be attended to." + +"But, Dr. Sandford, I wish I knew who of all these people in +the ward need me most." + +"You are doing all you can for all of them." + +"If I had that knowledge, though, I might serve them better - +or with more judicious service." + +"No you could not," said the doctor. "You are twice as +judicious as Miss Yates now; though she is twice as old as +you. You do the right thing in the right place always." + +"I wish you would do this thing for me, nevertheless, Dr. +Sandford. I wish it very much." + +"What thing?" + +"Let me know the various states of the patients, and their +prospect of recovery." + +"Most of them have a very fair prospect of recovery," said the +doctor. + +"Will you do it for me, Dr. Sandford? - I ask it as a great +favour." + +"Gary's all right," he said, with a full look at me. + +"Yes, I know; but I would like to know how it is with the +others. I could better tell how to minister to them, and what +to do." + +"The thing to be done would not vary at all with your +increased knowledge, Daisy." + +"Not the things in your line, I know; but the things in mine." + +"You would know better how to sing, to wit?" said the doctor. + +"And to pray -" I said half under my breath. + +"Daisy, I haven't a schedule of the cases here; and if I told +you, you might forget, among so many, which was which. Anyhow, +I have not the schedule." + +"No, but you could do this for me. To-night, Dr. Sandford, +when you go round, you could indicate to me what I want to +know, and nobody else be the wiser. When we come to any case +that is serious, but with hope, take hold of your chin, so; if +any is serious without hope, just pass your hand through your +hair. You do that often." + +"Not when I am going my rounds, Daisy," said the doctor, +looking amused. + +"Only this time, for me," I pleaded. + +"You would not sing as well." + +"I should - or I might - know better how to sing." + +"Or you might not be able to sing at all. Though your nerves +are good," the doctor admitted. "Women's nerves are made of a +material altogether differently selected, or tempered, from +that of masculine nerves; pure metal, of some ethereal sort." + +"Are there such things as masculine nerves?" I asked. + +"Do you doubt it?" said the doctor, turning a half reproachful +look upon me. + +"Dr. Sandford, I do not doubt it. And so, you will, for once, +and as an extraordinary kindness, do this thing for me that I +have asked you." + +"The use of it is hidden from me," said the doctor; "but to +admit my ignorance is a thing I have often done before, where +you are concerned." + +"Then I will take care to be with you as soon as you come in +this evening," I said, "so as to get all you will tell me." + +"If I do not forget it," said the doctor. + +But I knew there was no danger of his forgetting. There was no +taking Dr. Sandford off his guard. In all matters that +concerned his professional duties, he was like steel; for +strength and truth and temper. Nothing that Dr. Sandford did +not see; nothing that he did not remember; nothing that was +too much for his skill and energies and executive faculty. +Nobody disobeyed Dr. Sandford - unless it were I, now and +then. + +I walked through the rest of that day in a smothered fever. +How I had found courage to make my proposition to the doctor, +I do not know; it was the courage of desperate suspense which +could bear itself no longer. After the promise had been +obtained that I sought, my courage failed. My joints trembled +under me, as I went about the ward; my very hands trembled as +I ministered to the men. The certainty that I had coveted, I +dreaded now. Yet Mr. Thorold looked so well and seemed to +suffer so little, I could not but quarrel with myself for +folly, in being so fearful. Also I was ready to question +myself, whether I had done right in seeking more knowledge of +the future than might come to me day by day in the slow course +of events. But I had done it; and Dr. Sandford was coming in +the evening. + +"What is the matter with you, Daisy?" Mr. Thorold said. + +"Is anything the matter?" I replied. + +"Yes. What is it?" + +"How can you see it, Christian?" + +"I?" - said he. "I see right through your eyes, back into the +thought that looks out of them." + +"Yet you ask me for the thought?" + +"The root of it. Yes. I see that you are preoccupied, and +troubled; - and trembling. _You_, my Daisy? + +"Can I quite help it, Christian?" + +"Can you quite trust the Lord?" + +"But, - not that He will always save me from what I fear." + +"No; not that. Let Him save you from the _fear_." + +"How have you learned so much about it, so much more than I?" +- and my lips were trembling then, I know. + +"I have had time," he said gently. "All those months and +months, when you were at an unimaginable distance from me, +actually and morally, - and prospectively, - do you think I +had no chance to exercise myself in the lesson of submission? +I fought out that problem, Daisy." + +"Were you in Washington the winter of '61?" I asked, changing +the subject; for I could not bear it. + +"Part of that winter," he said, with a somewhat surprised look +at me. + +"Did you meet in society here that winter a Miss St. Clair, +who used to be once a schoolmate of mine? - very handsome." + +"I think I remember her. I knew nothing about her having been +at school with you, or I think I should have sought her +acquaintance." + +"She was said to have yours." + +"A passing, society acquaintance, she had." + +"Nothing more?" + +"More?" said he. "No. Nothing more." + +"How came the report that you were her dearest friend?" + +"From the father of lies," said Mr. Thorold; "if there ever +was such a report; which I should doubt." + +"It came to me in Paris." + +"Did you believe it?" + +"I could not; but papa did. It came from Miss St. Clair's own +particular friend, and she told mamma, I think, that you were +engaged to her." + +"I think particular friends are a nuisance!" said Mr. Thorold. +"Why, she was said _here_, to be engaged to somebody, - Major - +Major Somebody, - I forget. Major Fairbairn." + +"Major Fairbairn!" + +"Yes. Why?" + +"That explains it," I exclaimed. + +"Explains what?" said Mr. Thorold. And such a shower of fire +as came from his eyes then, fun and intelligence and +affection, never came from anybody's eyes beside. I had to +tell him all I was thinking about; and then hurry away to my +duties. + +But at tea time I could touch nothing. The trembling had +reached my very heart. + +"Why, you ain't going to give out, are you?" said Miss Yates +in a concerned voice. "You've gone a little beyond your +tether." + +"Not at all," said I; "not at all. I am only not hungry. I +will go back, if you please, to something I _can_ do." + +I busied myself restlessly about the ward, till one of the +men, I forget who, asked me to sing to them. It had become a +standing ordinance of the place; and people said, a very +beneficial one. But to-night I had not thought I could sing. +Yet when he asked me, the power came. I did not sit down 'as +usual;' standing at the foot of Mr. Thorold's bed I sang, +leaning hard against strength and love out of sight; and my +voice was as clear as ever. + +The ward was so very still that I should have thought nothing +could come in or go out without my being conscious of a stir. +However, the absolute hush continued, until it occurred to me +that I must have been singing a great while, and I half turned +and glanced down the room. My singing was done; for there +stood Dr. Sandford, as still as I had been, with folded arms +near the door. I went towards him immediately. + +"Do you have this sort of concert most evenings?" he inquired, +as he took my hand. + +"Always, Dr. Sandford." + +"I never heard you sing so well anywhere else," he remarked. + +"I never had such an audience. But now, you remember my +request this morning, Dr. Sandford?" + +"I never forget your requests," he said, gravely. And we went +to business. + +From one to another, from one to another. Generally with no +more but a pleasant or a kind word from the doctor to the +patient; but two or three times the doctor's hand came to his +chin for a moment, before such a word was spoken. - It did not +in those cases tell me much. I had known, or guessed, the +truth of them before. I suppose every good nurse must get a +power or faculty of reading symptoms and seeing the state of +the patient, both actual and probable. I was not shocked nor +startled. But the shock and the start were all the greater, +when pausing before the one cot which held what I cared for in +this world, the doctor's fingers were thrust suddenly through +his thick auburn hair. He went on immediately with the due +attention to Mr. Thorold's wounds; and I waited and stood by, +with no outward sign, I think, of the death at my heart. Even +through all the round, I kept my place by Dr. Sandford's side, +doing whatever was wanted of me, attending, at least in +outward guise, to what was going on. So one can do, while the +whole soul and life are concentrated on some point unconnected +with it all, outside of it all, in the distance. Towards that +point I slowly made my way, as the doctor went through his +rounds; and came up with it at last in the little retiring +room which he called his own and where our conversation of the +morning had been held. + +"I see how little I know, Dr. Sandford," I remarked. + +"Ay?" said he. "I had been thinking rather the other way." + +"You surprised me very much - with the one touch of your +hair." + +The doctor was silent. + +"I should have thought - in my ignorance - several others more +likely to have called for it." + +"Thorold is the only one," said the doctor. + +"How is it?" + +"The injuries are internal and complicated; and beyond reach." + +The doctor had been washing his hands, and I was now washing +mine; and with my face so turned away from him, I went on. + +"He does not seem to suffer much." + +"Doesn't he?" said the doctor. + +"Should he?" + +"He should, if he has not good power of self-control. No man +in the ward suffers as he does. I have noticed, he hides it +well." + +I was washing my hands. I remember my wringing the water from +them; then I remember no more. When I knew anything again, I +was lying on an old sofa that stood in the doctor's room, and +he was putting water or brandy - I hardly know what - on my +face. With a face of his own that was pale, I saw even then, +without seeing it, as it bent over me. He was speaking my +name. I struggled for breath and tried to raise myself. He +gently put me back. + +"Lie still," he said. "Are you better?" + +"I am quite well," I answered. + +He gave me a few drops of something to swallow. It revived me. +I sat up presently on the sofa, pushed back the hair from my +face, and thought I would get up and be as though nothing had +been. Dr. Sandford's hand followed my hasty fingers and put +gently away from my brow the hair I had failed to stroke into +order. It was an unlucky touch, for it reached more than my +hair and my brow. I turned deadly sick again, and fell back +into unconsciousness. + +When a second time I recovered sense, I kept still and waited +and let Dr. Sandford minister to me as he thought best, with +strong waters and sweet waters and ice water; until he saw +that I was really restored, and I saw that great concern was +sitting upon his features. + +"You have overtasked yourself at last," he said. + +"Not at all," I answered, quietly. + +"You must do no more, Daisy." + +"I must do all my work," I said. And I sat up now and put my +feet to the floor, and put up my fallen-down hair, taking out +my comb and twisting up the hair in some semblance of its +wont. + +"Your work here is done," said the doctor. + +I finished doing up my hair and took a towel and wiped the +drops of water and brandy from my face. + +"Daisy, I know your face," said the doctor, anxiously; "and it +has just the determined gentleness I used to see at ten years +old. But you would yield to authority then, and you must now. +And you will." + +"When it is properly exerted," I said. "But it is not now, Dr. +Sandford, and it will not be. I am perfectly well; and I am +going to do my work." + +"You fainted just now from very exhaustion." + +"I am not exhausted at all. Nor even tired. I am perfectly +well." + +"I never knew you faint before." + +"No," I said. "It is very disagreeable." + +"Disagreeable!" said the doctor, half laughing, though +thoroughly disturbed. "What made you do it, then?" + +I could not answer. I stood still, with cheeks I suppose again +growing so white, that the doctor hastily approached me with +hartshorn. But I put it away and shook my head. + +"I am not going to faint again, thank you." + +"Daisy, Daisy!" said the doctor, "don't you know that your +welfare is very dear to me?" + +"I know it," I said. "I know you are like a good brother to +me, Dr. Sandford." + +"I am not like a brother at all!" said he. "Cannot you see +that?" + +"I do not want to see it," I answered sadly. "If I have not a +brother in you, I have nothing." + +"Why?" he asked shortly. + +But I made no answer, and he asked no more. He looked at me, +made a step towards the door, turned back, and came close to +me, speaking in a husky changed tone, - + +"You shall command me, Daisy, as you have long done. Let me +know what to do to please you." + +He went away then and left me. And I gathered my strength +together and went back to Mr. Thorold. + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +"HERE!" + + +From that time we all were, to all seeming, just as we had +been before that day. Dr. Sandford went his rounds, with no +change perceptible in his manner towards any- body, or towards +me. I think I was not different in the ward from what I had +been, except to one pair of eyes: The duties of every day +rolled on as they had been accustomed to do; the singing of +every night was just as usual. One thing was a little changed. +I sought no longer to hide that Mr. Thorold was something to +me. The time for that was past. Of the few broken minutes that +remained to us, he should lose none, nor I, by unnecessary +difficulty. I was by his side now, all I could without +neglecting those who also needed me. And we talked, all we +could, with his strength and my time. I cared not now, that +all the ward should see and know what we were to each other. + +Mr. Thorold saw a change in me, and asked the reason. And I +gave it. And then we talked no more of our own losses. + +"I am quite ready to go, Daisy," he had said to me, with a +look both bright and sweet which it breaks my heart, while it +gladdens me, to remember. "You will come by and by, and I +shall be looking for you; and I am ready now, love." + +After that, we spoke no more of our parting. We talked a very +great deal of other things, past and future; talks, that it +seems to me - now were scarce earthly, for their pure high +beauty, and truth, and joy. The strength of them will go with +me all my life. Dr. Sandford let us alone; ministered, to Mr. +Thorold and me, all he could; and interfered with me no more. +Preston took an opportunity to grumble; but that was soon +silenced, for I showed him that I would not bear it. + +And the days in the hospital sped away. I do not know how; I +did not know at the time. Only as one lives and works and +breathes and sleeps in the presence of a single thought, +enveloping and enfolding everything else. The life was hardly +my own life; it was the life of another; or rather the two +lives were for the time so joined that they were almost one. +In a sort happy, as long as it was so. + +But I knew it could not last; and the utter uncertainty when +it would end, oppressed me fearfully. Nothing in Mr. Thorold's +looks or manner gave me any help to judge about it. His face +was like itself always; his eye yet sometimes flashed and +sparkled after its own brilliant fashion, as gayly and freely +as ever. It always gave me untold pain; it brought life and +death into such close neighbourhood, and seemed to mock at the +necessity which hung over us. And then, if Mr. Thorold saw a +shadow come over my brow, he would give me such words and +looks of comfort and help, that again death was half swallowed +up of a better life, before the time. So the days went; and +Mr. Thorold said I grew thin; and the nurses and attendants +were almost reverentially careful of me; and Dr. Sandford was +a silent servant of mine and of Mr. Thorold's too, doing all +that was possible for us both. And Preston was fearfully +jealous and irritable; and wrote, I knew long afterwards, to +my mother; and my mother sent me orders to return home to her +at once and leave everything; and Dr. Sandford never gave me +the letters. I missed nothing; knew nothing; asked nothing; +until the day came that I was looking for. + +It came, and left me. I had done all I had to do; all I wanted +to do; I had been able to do it all. Through the hours of the +last struggle, no hand but mine had touched him. It was borne, +as everything else had been borne, with a clear, brave +uncomplainingness; his eye was still bright and quiet when it +met mine, and the smile sweet and ready. We did not talk much; +we had done that in the days past; our thoughts were known to +each other; we were both looking now to the time of next +meeting. But his head lay on my shoulder at the very last, and +his hand was in mine. I don't think I knew when the moment +was; until somebody drew him out of my hands and placed him +back on the pillow. It was I then closed the eyes; and then I +laid my brow for a few minutes on the one that was growing +cold, for the last leave-taking. Nobody meddled with me; I saw +and heard nothing; and indeed when I stood up I was blind; I +was not faint, but I could see nothing. Some one took my hand, +I felt, and drew my arm through his and led me away. I knew, +as soon as my hand touched his arm, that it was Dr. Sandford. + +I did not go back to the ward that day, and I never went back. +I charged Dr. Sandford with all my remaining care, and he +accepted the charge. No illness seized me, but my heart +failed. That was worse. Better have been sick. Bodily illness +is easier to get at. + +And there was nobody to minister to mine. Dr. Sandford's +presence worried me, somehow. It ought not, but it did. Mrs. +Sandford was kind, and of course helpless to do me good. I +think the doctor saw I was not doing well, nor likely to be +better, and he brought me on to New York, to my mother. + +Mamma understood nothing of what had passed, except what +Preston's letter had told her. I do not know how much, or +what, it was; and I did not care. Mamma, however, was wrought +up to a point of discomfort quite beyond the usual chronic +unrest of the year past. She exclaimed at my appearance; +complained of my change of manner; inveighed against +hospitals, lady nurses, Dr. Sandford, the war, Yankees and +Washington air; and declaimed against the religion which did +not make daughters dutiful and attentive to their mothers. It +was true, some of it; but my heart was dead, for the time, and +powerless to heed. - I heard, and did not feel. I could not +minister to my mother's happiness now, for I had no spring of +strength in my own; and ministry that was not bright and +winsome did, not content her. Such as I had I gave; I knew it +was poor, and she said so. + +As the spring drew on, and days grew gentle, and soft weather +replaced the strong brace of the winter frost, my condition of +health became more and more unsatisfactory. My mother grew +seriously uneasy at length and consulted Dr. Sandford. And the +next thing was Dr. Sandford's appearance at our hotel. + +"What is the matter with you, Daisy?" he asked, very +professionally. Mamma was out when he came. + +"Nothing -" I answered; "except what will take its own time." + +"Not like you, that answer," he said. + +"It is like me now," I replied. + +"We must get back to a better condition. It is not I good for +you to be in this place. Would you like to go into quarters +near Melbourne, for the summer?" + +"Better than anything! - if you could manage it. Mamma would +not like it." + +"I think I can convince her." + +Dr. Sandford I knew had powers of convincing, and I judge they +were helped on this occasion by facts in the pecuniary state +of our affairs, to which my mother could no longer quite shut +her eyes. She had not money to remain where she was. I think +she had not been able, properly, to be there, for a good while +past; though the bills were paid somehow. But now her +resources failed; the war was evidently ending disastrously +for the South; her hopes gave way; and she agreed to let Dr. +Sandford make arrangements for our going into the country. It +was very bitter to her, the whole draught she had to swallow; +and the very fact of being under necessity. Dr. Sandford had a +deal of trouble, I fancy, to find any house or arrangement +that would content her. No board was procurable that could be +endured even for a day. The doctor found at last, and hired, +and put in order for us, a small cottage on the way between +Melbourne and Crum Elbow; and there, early in June, mamma and +I found ourselves established; "Buried," she said; +"sheltered," I thought. + +"I wish I was dead," mamma said next morning. + +"Mamma - why do you speak so? just now." + +"There is no sort of view here - nothing in the world but +those grass fields." + +"We have this fine elm tree over the house, mamma, to shade +us. That is worth a great deal." + +"If the windows had Italian shades, they would be better. What +windows! Who do you suppose lived here before us?" + +"Mamma, I do think it is very comfortable." + +"I hope you will show that you think so, then. I have had no +comfort in you for a long time past." + +I thought, _I_ should never have comfort in anybody any more. + +"What has changed you so?" + +"Changes come to everybody, I suppose, mamma, now and then." + +"Is that all your boasted religion is good for?" + +I could not answer. Was it? What is the boat which can only +sail in smooth water? But though feeling reproached, and +justly, I was as far from help as ever. Mamma went on - + +"You used to be always bright - with your sort of brightness; +there was not much brilliance to it; but you had a kind of +steady cheerfulness of your own, from a child. What has become +of it?" + +"Mamma, I am sorry it is gone. Perhaps it will wake up one of +these days." + +"I shall die of heartache first. It would be the easiest thing +I could do. To live here, is to die a long death. I feel as if +I could not get a free breath now." + +"I think, mamma, when we get accustomed to the place, we shall +find pleasantness in it. It is a world pleasanter than New +York." + +"No, it is not," said mamma vehemently; "and it never will be. +In a city, you can cover yourself up, as it were, and half +hide yourself from even yourself; in such a place as this, +there is not a line in your lot but you have; leisure to trace +it all out; and there is not a rough place in your life but +you have time to put your foot on every separate inch of it. +Life is bare, Daisy; in a city one lives faster, and one is in +a crowd, and things are covered up or one passes them over +somehow. I shall die here!" + +"Next spring you can have Melbourne again, mamma, you know." + +But mamma burst into tears. I knew not how to comfort. + + +"Would'st thou go forth to bless? be sure of thine own ground; +"Fix well thy centre first; then draw thy circle round." + + +I was silent, while mamma wept. + +"I wish you would keep Dr. Sandford from coming here!" she +said suddenly. + +"I see his curricle at the gate now, mamma." + +"Then I'll go. I don't want to see him. Do give him a +dismissal, Daisy!" + +Our only faithful kind friend; how could I? It was not +possible that I should do such a thing. + +"How is all here?" said the doctor, coming in. + +I told him, as well as usual - or not quite. Mamma had not got +accustomed to the change yet. + +"And Daisy?" + +"I like it." + +The doctor took an ungratified survey of my countenance. + +"Don't you want to see some of your old friends?" + +"Friends? - _here?_ Who, Dr. Sandford?" + +"Old Juanita would like to see you." + +"Juanita!" said I. "Is she alive?" + +"You do not seem very glad of it?" + +I was not glad of anything. But I did not say so. + +"She would like to see you." + +"I suppose she would." + +"Do you not incline to gratify her?" + +"Did you tell her of - my being here, Dr. Sandford?" + +"It was a very natural thing to do. If I had not, somebody +else would." + +"I will go over to see her some time," I said. "I suppose it +is not too far for me to walk." + +"It is not too far for you to ride," said the doctor. "I am +going that way now. Put on your hat and come. The air will be +good for you." + +It was not pleasant to go. Nevertheless I yielded and went. I +knew how it would be. Every foot of the way pain. The doctor +let me alone. I was thankful for that. And he left me alone at +Juanita's cottage. He drove on, and I walked up the little +path where I had first gone for a drink of water almost eleven +years ago. Yet eleven years, from ten to twenty-one, is not so +much, in most cases, I thought. In mine, it was a whole life- +time, and the end of a life-time. So it seemed. + +The interview with my old nurse was not satisfactory. Not to +me, and I think not to her. I did not seem to her quite the +same Daisy Randolph she had known; indeed I was not the same. +Juanita had a little awe of me; and I could not be unreserved +and remove the awe. I could not tell her my heart's history; +and without telling it, in part, I could not but keep at a +distance from my old friend. Time might bring something out of +our intercourse; but I felt that this first sight of her had +done me no good. So Dr. Sandford found that I felt; for he +took pains to know. + +Juanita was but little changed. The eleven years had just +touched her. She was more wrinkled, hardly so firm in her +bearing, not quite so upright, as her beautiful presence used +to be. There was no deeper change. The brow was as peaceful +and as noble as ever. I thought, speculating upon it, that she +must have seen storms, too, in her life-time. The clouds were +all cleared away, long since. Perhaps it will be so with me, I +thought, some day; by and by. + +I thought Dr. Sandford would be discouraged in trying to do me +good; however, a day or two after this drive, I saw his horses +stopping again at our gate. My mother uttered an exclamation +of impatience. + +"Does that man come to see you or me, Daisy?" she asked. + +"Mamma, I think he is a kind friend to both of us," I said. + +"I suppose every woman has a tenderness for a man that is +enamoured of her, if he is ever so great a fool," she +remarked. + +"Mamma! - nobody ever accused Dr. Sandford before of being a +fool." + +"He is a fool to look at you. Do get a little wisdom into his +head, Daisy!" And she left the room again as the doctor +entered the house. + +I knew he and I understood each other; and though he might be +a fool after mamma's reckoning, I had a great kindness for +him. So I met him with frank kindness now. The doctor walked +about the room a while, talking of indifferent things; and +then said suddenly, - + +"Do you remember old Molly Skelton?" + +"Certainly. What of her?" + +"She is dying, poor creature." + +"Does _she_ know I am here?" I asked. + +"I have not told her." + +"Would she like to see me, do you think?" I said, with an +uneasy consciousness that I must go, whatever the answer were. + +"If she can recognise you-I presume there is nobody else she +would so like to see. As in reason there ought not." + +"Can you take me there, Dr. Sandford?" + +"Not at this hour; I am going another way. This afternoon I +will take you, if you will go. Will you go?" + +"If you will be so good as to take me." + +"I will come for you then at four o'clock." + +That ride I have reason to remember. It was a fair June +afternoon, though the month was almost out now; the peculiar +brilliance which distinguishes June shone through the air and +sparkled on the hills. With clear bright outlines the Catskill +range stretched away right and left before us, whenever our +road brought us in view of it; fulness of light on the sunny +slopes, soft depth of shadow on the others, proclaiming the +clear purity of the atmosphere. The blue of the sky, the fresh +sweetness of the air, the life of colour in the fields and +trees, all I suppose made their appeal at the doors of my +heart; for I felt the pressure. It is the life in this June +weather, I think, that reproaches what in us is not life; and +my spirit was dead. Not really, but practically; and the June +beauty gave me pain. I was out of harmony with it. And I heard +nature's soft whisper of reproof. Justly given; for when one +is out of harmony with nature, there is sure to be some want +of harmony with the Author of nature. The doctor drove me +silently, letting nature and me have it out together; till we +came to the old cottage of Molly Skelton, and he handed me +from the curricle. Still the doctor was silent. + +He stopped, purposely I think, to speak to his groom; and I +went in first. The rows of flowers by the side of the walk +were tangled and overgrown and a thicket of weeds; no care had +visited them for many a day; but they were there yet. Molly +had not forgotten her old tastes. I went on, wondering at +myself, and entered the cottage. The sick woman lay on the bed +there, alone and seemingly asleep; I turned from her to look +at the room. The same old room; little different from what it +used to be; even two pots with geraniums in them stood on the +window-sill, drooping their heads for want of water. Nobody +had watered them for so long. Clearly Molly had not changed. +Was it only I? I looked and wondered, as I saw myself again at +ten years old in that very room. Here had been those first +cups of tea; those first lessons in A B C; and other lessons +in the beginnings of a higher knowledge. What had they all +come to? Was Molly the better in anything beyond her flowers? +What had eleven years wrought for her? + +I turned again from the past, as the doctor came in, to look +at the poor creature herself. She did not answer the words he +addressed to her; I doubted if she heard them; she was +evidently oppressed with disease, which was fast making an end +of her. Experience had taught me now to judge somewhat of the +looks and condition of sick people. Molly, I saw, was very +sick; and I knew soon that it was with a combination of evils, +which had taken hold of her, and made her poor existence a +wearisome thing. It was near an end now. + +"Speak to her," - said the doctor. + +And I did, and he did; but we got no response. None in words; +I fancied that the look of the face bore witness to some +aroused attention; might it be more? One hand of Molly's lay +stretched out upon the coverlid. She was a mass of disease; I +should not have thought once that I could touch that hand; but +I had had training since then. I put my hand upon that poor +hand and clasped it. I fancied, I cannot tell why, that Molly +was sensible of my action and that she liked it; yet she did +not speak. - We sat so, my hand in hers, or hers in mine, and +Dr. Sandford watching us. Time went by. I hardly knew how it +went. + +"How long will you stay?" he asked at length. + +"I cannot leave her so, Dr. Sandford." + +"You cannot stay here!" + +"Why not?" + +"It would be a peculiar proceeding. You would not do it?" + +"I cannot do otherwise, Dr. Sandford. I cannot leave her alone +in this condition." + +"I cannot leave _you_," he said. + +"There is nothing to be afraid of," I returned, looking at +him. "And something may need to be done." + +The doctor's look in answer was unguarded; it expressed so +much that he did not generally allow himself to express; it +was full of tenderness, of reverence, of affection. Full it +was of sorrow too. It was not a look I could meet. I turned +from it hastily; the former question was let drop; and we were +again still and silent. I had enough to keep me silent, and +Dr. Sandford was as mute. All three of us only breathed in +company, for a long while more; though I suppose some of Dr. +Sandford's meditations and mine came near together. I do not +know how time went; but then, the one to break silence was the +one I had thought might never speak again. Suddenly she began +in a low sort of crooning voice, saying over and over the same +words - + +"I am in the valley - in the valley - in the valley -" + +Maybe half a dozen times she repeated these words; and +forlornly true as they seemed of her, I was in doubt whether +she knew of what she was speaking. Could intelligence be +awake, in that oppressed condition of the bodily powers? Her +speech was a sort of mumbling repetition. But then, with a +change of tone, clean and round the words came out - + +"But there's light in the valley! -" + +My heart sprang with such an impulse of joy as quite +overleaped all my own sorrows and took me out of them. Then +Molly had not forgotten; then the seed sown long ago had not +perished in the ground or been caught away; it had been +growing and springing all these years; life had sprung up in +the ungenial soil, even everlasting life; and what were +earth's troubles to that? One vision of unseen things, rushing +in, made small all the things that are seen. The poor old +cripple, deformed and diseased, whose days must have been long +a burden to her, was going even now to drop the slough of her +mortality and to take on her the robes of light and the life +that is all glory. What if my own life were barren for a +while; then comes the end! What if I must be alone in my +journey; I may do the Master's work all the way. And _this_ is +His work; to set the captive free; light to the blind; the +opening of the prison doors to them that are bound; riches to +the poor; yes, life to the dead. If I may do this work, shall +I complain, because I have not the helper I wanted; when God +is my helper? + +I waited but till Dr. Sandford was gone, for I made him go; +and then I knelt down by Molly's bedside, very, very humbled, +to weep out my confession and prayer. + +Molly slumbered on, wanting nothing, when I rose to my feet; +and I went to the cottage door and sat down on the step. The +sun was going to set in glory beyond the blue misty line of +the mountains; the June evening light was falling, in +freshness and sweetness, on every leaf and blade of grass; and +the harmony I had wanted I had got again. + +Molly's words had made the first rift in my cloud; the first +sunshine had reached me that I had seen for many a long day. I +saw it at last, as I sat in the cottage door and looked at the +glory of the evening. I saw, that although my life might be in +shadow for most of its way, yet the sunshine was on the other +side of the cloud, unchanged, and I should come out into it in +due time. And others were in its full rays already; - and my +poor Molly was just going to find its brightness. Could I not +wait a while? - just for myself? - and meanwhile do my blessed +work? + +And now, in the hush of my spirit, nature came home to me with +her messages. The sunbeams laid their promise at my feet, of +everlasting joy; the hills told me of unchangeableness and +strength, and reminded me of what Mont Pilatte used to say. +The air breathed balm, comfort, the earnest of gracious +supply; the beauty around me said that God would not withhold +anything that was good for me. I could trust Him; and I +thanked Him for the messages of His creatures; and I prayed +that I, an intelligent living creature of higher order, might +live to carry higher messages, for Him, to all within my +reach. I gave myself to do His will. And as for the comfort of +my life, God would take care of that, and be Himself my +portion and my exceeding great reward. + +The sun went down behind the Catskill leaving the mountains in +a bath of glorified mist; and I, strengthened and comforted, +left my door-step and went back to Molly. She lay as she had +lain, in what I might have supposed stupor; and perhaps it +was; but she had said there was light in the valley she was +going through. That was enough. She might speak no more; and +in effect she never did intelligibly; it did not matter. My +heart was full of songs of gladness for her; yes, for a moment +I almost stood up yonder, among the harpers harping with their +harps. Meanwhile I put the little room to rights; even as I +had tried to do when I was a little child. I succeeded better +now; and then I sat down to wait; there seemed nothing more to +be done. The evening shades closed in; I wondered if I were to +spend the night alone with the dying woman; but I was not +afraid. I think I have done with fear in this world. Even as +the thought passed me, Dr. Sandford came in. + +He had not been able to get any help, and he came to take my +place, that I might go home. It ended in our watching the +night through together; for of course I would not leave the +cottage. It was a night of strange and new peace to me; peace +that I had not known for many months. Molly was slowly passing +away; not seeming to suffer much, needing little care; she was +past it; and Dr. Sandford bestowed his attention upon me. He +sent for refreshments; had a fire built, for the June night +was chill; and watched me and waited upon me. And I let him, +for I knew it gave him pleasure. + +"How do you do?" he said to me one time when the night was far +spent. + +"Why do you ask that, Dr. Sandford?" + +"Must you know, before you tell me?" + +"No, not at all; I was only curious, because I know you always +have a reason for your questions." + +"Most people have, I believe." + +"Yes, curiosity; but it is knowledge, not ignorance, that +prompts your inquiries, Dr. Sandford." + +He smiled at that; one of the pleasant smiles I used to know +so well. I saw them rarely now. It made me a little sad, for I +knew Dr. Sandford's life had suffered an eclipse, as well as +mine. + +"I have not so much knowledge that I do not desire more," he +said. + +"Yes, I know. I am very well, thank you." + +"You were not very well when I brought you here." + +"No. I was well in body." + +"You are better?" + +"Yes." + +"If it were not impertinent, I would like to ask more." + +"It is not impertinent. You may ask." + +"In pursuit of my old psychological study, you know. What has +happened in this poor little place, by this poor creature's +bedside, to do any good to Daisy Randolph?" + +Now it was not according to my nature to like to tell him. But +what had I just been asking, but that I might carry messages? +So I spoke, slowly. + +"This poor creature is just going to step out of this poor +place, into glory. The light of that glory is shining around +her now, for she said so. You heard her." + +"Yes," said the doctor. "Well?" + +"Well, Dr. Sandford, it reminded me how near the glory is, and +how little this world's things are in face of it. I have +remembered that I am a servant of the King of that land, and +an heir of the glory; and that He loves me now, and has given +me work to do for Him, and when the work is done will take me +home. And I am content." + +"What 'work' are you going to do?" the doctor asked, rather +growlingly. + +"I do not know. What He gives me." + +And even as I spoke, there was a rush of tears to my eyes, +with the thought that I must do my work alone; but I was +content, nevertheless. Dr. Sandford was not. His fingers +worked restlessly among the thick locks of his hair; as if he +were busy with a thicket of thoughts as well; but he said +nothing more. + +Towards morning Molly passed away from the scene of her very +lonely and loveless life journey. I went to the door again, in +time to see the rays of the morning brightening the blue ridge +which lay clear and cool over against me. + +What light for Molly now! And what new light for me. + +I drove home through that new light, outward and inward. I +could and did give mamma some pleasure at breakfast; and then +slept a quiet, dreamless sleep, to make up for my loss of the +night before. + +I have got through my story now, I think. In Molly's cottage, +life started anew for me, on a new basis. Not my own special +gratification, but my Lord's will. And I seeking that, He +takes care of the other. I find it so. And He has promised +that everybody shall find it so. My only care is to do exactly +the work He means I shall do. It is not so easy always to find +out and make sure of that. I would like, if I followed my +liking, I would like to go South and teach in the Freedmen's +schools somewhere. But that is not my work now, for mamma +claims me here. + +We are at Melbourne again. As soon as the last tenant's term +of possession was expired, Dr. Sandford had the house put in +order for us, and mamma and I moved in. There is a sort of +pleasure, in being here, in the old place; but it is a mingled +pleasure. I think all places are pleasant to me now. Mamma +reigns here queen, as of old; - for Ransom will not come +North, and leaves all in her hand. All the enjoyment, that is. +Dr. Sandford manages the business. I do not know how long this +will last; for Ransom may marry, and in that case he may wish +to live in the place himself, and mamma and I would have to +go; but that day is not yet; and the blue mountains across the +river, and the slopes of green turf, and the clumps and groves +of trees which stand about the house and adorn the grounds, +are all in even greater beauty than when I was ten years old; +and I enjoy them even more. + +Dr. Sandford takes care of everything that mamma cannot +manage. I know why he does it; and I am sorry. He is like a +good brother to me, and I am very fond of him; he is coming +and going in our house continually; he furthers my plans, and +ministers to all my pleasure, and looks after my well-being, +somewhat as he did when I was ten years old; only with much +more of freedom and acknowledged affection and authority. I +think he fancies that time will befriend him and bring me to +look upon him in a light more kindly for his wishes. He is +mistaken. People may love truly and love again, I suppose; I +have no doubt men may; but I think not women. Not true women, +when they have once thoroughly given their hearts. I do not +think they can take them back to give again. And mine is Mr. +Thorold's. + +My writing all this has been a great comfort to me and done me +good. Have I accomplished what I said at the beginning I would +try to do, - follow out the present truth of my life to the +possible glory? Surely I have found it. Through sorrow and +joy, through gain and loss, yes, and I suppose by means of +these, I have come to know that all joy, even fulness of joy, +is summed up in being wholly the Lord's child. To do His will, +and to be filled with the happiness that He can give and He +alone, that is enough for anybody. It is enough for me. + + +THE END. + + + + +Note by the transcriber : +DAISY IN THE FIELD is the continuation of MELBOURNE HOUSE +and DAISY. + + + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAISY IN THE FIELD*** + + +******* This file should be named 18688-8.txt or 18688-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/6/8/18688 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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