Daisy in the Field

friends mightnow perhaps get him away from Geneva at least.

  "You think with them, that he ought to go?" Hugh Marshall saidpresently 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 willdepend on my taking such a course, and doing all I can to helpon the Confederacy."

  "Yes, I know," I said rather sadly; "mamma feels very stronglyabout 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; andyou 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 ruleof my life," he answered. "I have no dearer wish."

  I was struck with dismay.

  "Please do not say that!" I said trembling. "My thoughtsshould 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 beto please you, as long as he has a life to give to it. - Willyou take mine?" he said after a pause and in a lower tone. "Ioffer 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 ofit, the pain I must give, the mischief it might do, I saw itall at once. For a while, I could not find words to speak.Hugh studied my face, and must have seen no ground of hopethere, for he did not speak either. He was quite silent andleft it to me. Oh, Lake of Annecy! what pain comes to me nowwith the remembrance of your sweet waters.

  I turned at last and laid my hand upon Hugh's arm. He did notmistake me; he took my hand in his, and stood looking at mewith 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 befriends, 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 Icould."

  "It is I who have made a mistake," he said, as he dropped myhand.

  "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 giveit to you, Hugh. But, I cannot."

  "Then it will come," said he, taking my hand again; "if youcan say that, it will come. I will wait."

  "No, it will not come," I said, as we looked one another inthe 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. Helet go my hand again.

  "Then, I understand," - he said. "Shall we go? I believe it istime."

  "Where is mamma?" I asked, looking about in some bewildermentnow.

  "Mrs. Randolph and the rest have gone on; they are somedistance ahead of us by this time."

  And what were they all thinking too, by this time! In greatdismay I turned to go after them with my unwelcome companion.We walked in silence; I blaming myself greatly for stupidnessand blindness and selfish preoccupation, which had made melook at nobody's affairs but my own; and grieving sadly toofor the mischief I had done.

  "Mayn't we be friends, Mr. Marshall?" I said somewhat timidlyat last; for I could not bear the silence.

  "I can never be anything else," he said. "You may alwayscommand me. But I have not misunderstood you, Daisy? You meantto tell me that - _some one_ has been more fortunate than I, andbeen beforehand with me ?"

  "I did not mean to tell you that," I said in a good deal ofconfusion.

  "But it is true ?" he said, looking searchingly at me.

  "Nobody knows it, Hugh," I said. "Not my mother nor myfather."

  The silence fell again and again became painful. The others ofour party were well in advance. - We caught no glimpse of themyet.

  "We will be friends, Mr. Marshall?" - I said anxiously.

  "Yes, we will be friends, Daisy; but I cannot be a friend nearyou. I cannot see you any longer. I shall be a wreck now, Isuppose. 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 ofa servant of God. Won't you, Hugh? Then you will come to truejoy, and honour - the joy and honour that God gives. Let mehave 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 voiceroughened 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 oneto stretch out one's hand for it," he answered. "The rose hasas much design!"

  He turned aside hastily, stooped for a little twig that lay onthe roadside, and began assiduously breaking it up. And thesilence was not interrupted again, till we came in sight ofour friends in advance of us, leisurely walking to let us comeup. Then Hugh and I plunged into conversation; but what it wasabout I have not the least remembrance. It lasted though, tillwe joined company with the rest of our party, and the talkbecame general. Still I do not know what we talked about. Ihad a feeling of thunder in the air, though the very stillnessof sunlight beauty was on the smooth water and the hillyshore; and I saw clouds rising and gathering, even though MontBlanc as we returned that evening showed rosy hues to its verysummit in the clear heaven. I can hardly tell how, my mother'smanner or something in it, made me sure both of the clouds andthe thunder. It was full of grace, tact and spirit, to such apoint of admiration. Yet I read in it, yes, and in that verygrace and spirit, a certain state of the nervous powers whichtold of excitement at work, or a fund of determinationgathering; the electric forces massing somewhere; and thisluminous 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 thered cashmere scarf she had wrapped round her. I remember howhappy and easy the folds of her drapery were, and how Inoticed her graceful slow movements, Surely grace is a naturalattribute of power, even though power be not always graceful;at least any uncertainty of meaning or manner is fatal togracefulness. There was no uncertainty about mamma ever,unless the uncertainty of carelessness; and that itselfbelonged to power. There was no uncertainty in any fold of hercashmere that morning; in any movement of her person, slow andreposeful as every movement was. I knew by a sort of instinctwhat it all meant. Indeed these were mamma's ordinarycharacteristics; only appearing just now with the bloom ofperfection upon them. She was powerful and she knew it; I knewmyself naturally no match for her. It was always very hard forme to withstand mamma. Nothing but the sense of right evergave me courage to do it. But striving for the right, theChristian is not at his own charges, and has other strengththan 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 ofcareless 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.

&
nbsp; But I knew I must not look for help so. To appeal to one of myparents against the other, was what it would never answer todo, even if I could have done it. I felt alone; but I was asquiet as mamma. I had not so good an appetite.

  In the course of the morning she had me up stairs to considerthe matter of dresses and fashions; and we were turning over aquantity of laces and jewels. Mamma tried one and another setof 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