Daisy in the Field

He was there, expecting me; awood-fire was burning on the hearth; the place had the air ofcomfort and seclusion and intelligent leisure; books andengravings and works of art scattered about, and luxuriouseasy-chairs standing ready for the accommodation of papa andme.

  "This is nice, papa!" I said, as the cushions of one of themreceived me.

  "It is not quite the Mount of Olives," said papa.

  "No indeed!" I answered; and my eyes filled. The bustle of thefashionable world was all around me, the storms of thepolitical world were shaking the very ground where I stood,the air of our little social world was not as on Lebanon sweetand pure. When would it be again? Papa sat thinking in hiseasy-chair.

  "How do you like Paris, my child?"

  "Papa, it does not make much difference, Italy or Paris, solong as I am where you are, and we can have a little timetogether."

  "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, butI 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, - "youare 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 anythinglike that. Though it was serious enough to awake myapprehension. I could not guess what to apprehend.

  "Did you get any clear understanding of what your mother mightmean, one day at breakfast, when she was alluding to friendsof 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, wherethe society was unusually good, it is said, as well asunusually military. I do not know how that can be true, whenall Southerners were of course out of the city - but that's nomatter. A girl like this St. Clair girl of course knew all theepaulettes there were."

  "Yes, papa - she is always very much admired. She must be thateverywhere."

  "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. Onevision of my beautiful enemy, one image of her as Mr.Thorold's friend, - it made me sick for that instant; then, Ibelieve 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 Washingtonand knew the whole progress of the affair, and testifies totheir being engaged."

  "To whose being engaged, papa?"

  "Miss St. Clair and your friend, - Colonel Somebody. I forgethis 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 rapidin the Northern army now-a-days; a lieutenant in the regularsis transformed easily into a colonel of volunteers. They wantmore 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 yourrival."

  "But, papa, nobody knew about me. It was kept entirelyprivate."

  "Not after you came away, I suppose. How else should thisstory be told as of the gentleman _you were engaged to?_"

  I waited a little while, to get my voice steady, and then Iwent on with my reading to papa. Once he interrupted me tosay, "Daisy, how do you take this that I have been tellingyou?" - and at the close of our reading he asked again in aperplexed 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 ofpossibility came over my spirit. I could not get from underit, and my soul fainted, as those were said to do who lay downfor shelter under the upas tree. A poison as of death seemedto distil upon me from that shadow. Not let it trouble me? Itwas a man's question, I suppose, put with a man'spowerlessness to read a woman's mind; even though the man wasmy father.

  I noticed from that time more than ever his tender lingeringlooks upon me, wistful, and doubtful. It was hard to bearthem, and I would not confess to them. I would not and did notshow by look or word that I put faith in the story my fatherhad brought me, or that I had lost faith in any one who hadever commanded it. Indeed I did not believe the story. I didtrust Mr. Thorold. Nevertheless the cold chill of a "What if?"- fell upon me sometimes. Could I say that it was animpossibility, that he should have turned from me, from onewhom such a thorn hedge of difficulties encompassed, toanother woman so much, - I was going to say, so much morebeautiful; 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 soattainable? It would not be an impossibility in the case ofmany men. Yes, I trusted Mr. Thorold; but so had other womentrusted. A woman's trust is not a guarantee for the worthinessof its object. I had only my trust and my knowledge. Could Isay 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, andbear the supercilious air of confident triumph with which sheregarded me. I think nobody could have observed this or readit but myself only; its tokens were too exceedingly slightand inappreciable for anything but the tension of my own heartto feel. I always felt it, whenever we were in companytogether; and though I always said at such times, "Christiancannot love her," - when I was at home and alone, the shadowof doubt and jealousy came over me again. Everything withersin that shadow. A woman must either put it out of her heart,somehow, or grow a diseased and sickly thing, mentally andmorally. I found that I was coming to this in my own mind andcharacter; and that brought me to a stand.

  I shut myself up one or two nights - I could not command mydays - and spent the whole night in thinking and praying. Twothings were before me. The story might be somehow untrue. Timewould show. In the meanwhile, nothing but trust would havedone honour to Mr. Thorold or to myself. I thought it wasuntrue. But suppose it were not, - suppose that the joy of mylife were gone, passed over to another; who had done it? Bywhose will was my life stripped? The false faith or theweakness of friend or enemy could not have wrought thus, if ithad not been the will of God that His child should be sotried; that she should go through just this sorrow, for somegreat end or reason known only to Himself. Could I not trustHim -?

  If there is a vulture whose claws are hard to unloose from thevitals of the spirit, I think it is jealousy. I found it hadgot hold of me, and was tearing the life out of me. I knew itin time. O sing praise to our King, you who know Him! he ismightier than our enemies; we need not be the prey of any. ButI struggled and prayed, more than one night through, beforefaith could gain the victory. Then it did. I gave the matterinto 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 withas He pleased; it would all be wise and glorious, and kindtoo, whatever He did. I would just leave that. But in the meantime, till I knew that He had taken my joy from me, I wouldnot believe it; but would go on trusting the friend I hadbelieved so deserving of trust. I would believe in Mr. Thoroldstill and be quiet, till I knew my confidence was misplaced.

  It was thoroughly done at last. I gave up myself to God againand 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 s
hould have what had been soprecious to me, why, well! I gave it up. But not till I wassure I had cause.

  What a lull came upon my harassed and tossed spirit, which hadbeen like a stormy sea under cross winds. Now it lay still,and could catch the reflection of the sun again and the blueof heaven. I could go into society now and please mamma, andread 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