Daisy in the Field

South, mammaasserted that I did not sympathise with it; if good for theNorth, she found that I was glad, though I tried not to showthat I was. She was irritated, and anxious, and unhappy. WhatI was, I kept to myself.

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE WOUNDED

  One desire possessed me, pressing before every other; it wasto see Miss Cardigan. I thought I should accomplish this verysoon after my landing. I found that I must wait for days.

  It was very hard to wait. Yet mamma needed me; she was nervousand low-spirited and unwell and lonely; she could not endureto have me long out of her sight. She never looked with favourupon any proposal of mine to go out, even for a walk; and Icould hardly get permission. I fancied that some - latent -suspicion lay beneath all this unwillingness, which did notmake it more easy to bear. But I got leave at last, oneafternoon early in June; and took my way up the gaythoroughfares of Broadway and the Avenue.

  It was June, June all over. Just like the June of four yearsago, when Dr. Sandford took me away from school to go to WestPoint; like the June of three years ago, when I had beenfinishing my school work, before I went to Washington. I was amere girl then; now, I seemed to myself at least twenty yearsolder. June sweetness was in all the air; June sunlightthrough all the streets; roses blossomed in courtyards andlooked out of windows; grass was lush and green; people werein summer dresses. I hurried along, my breath growing shorteras I went. The well-known corner of Mme. Ricard'sestablishment 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. Theflowers were blossoming in the garden plots and putting theirfaces out of window, exactly as if I had left them but a dayago. My knees trembled under me then, as I went up the stepsand 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 findMr. Thorold here? Such a thought crossed me as I trod thefamiliar marble floor, after the wild fashion in which ourwishes mock our reason; then it left me the next instant, inmy gladness to see through the opening door the figure of mydear old friend. Just as I had left her also. Something, inthe 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 tellwhat she said. I think I was in too great a confusion for mysenses to do their office perfectly. But her warm arms wereabout 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 youdown 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 thatstill enfolded me and laid my head on her bosom. She wassilent now for a while. And I wished she would speak, but Icould not. Her arms pressed me close in the embrace that hadso comforted my childhood. She had taken off my bonnet andkissed me and smoothed my hair; and that was all, for whatseemed a long while.

  "What is it?" she said at last. "I know you're left, mydarling. I heard of your loss, while you were so far away fromhome. 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 broadestScotch 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 burstof tears which were a great mercy to me at the time. Thestricture upon my heart had like to have taken away my breath.Miss Cardigan let me weep, saying sympathy with the tendertouch of her soft hand; no otherwise. And then I could liftmyself 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 notquite true. I had the pleasure of being with papa and mamma;and of seeing a great deal of beauty, too. And I had pleasurein Palestine, Miss Cardigan; but it was not the sort to temptme 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 folksknow it."

  "Pride? Yes, it tempted me a little," I said; "but it couldnot for long, Miss Cardigan, when I remembered."

  "Remembered? What was it you remembered?" she said verytenderly; 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, Itrust?" said my old friend. "There's crumbs to be gotten evennow from that feast; ye didn't go starving, my bairn?"

  "I hadn't much to help me, Miss Cardigan, except the Lord'swonderful 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 soberlooking back over the years.

  "And it is my own living Daisy and not an image of her? Youare 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 saidwith a sort of long breath; "and I know not how you haveescaped it. Child! the forces which have assailed you havebeaten down many a one. It's only to be strong in the Lord, tobe 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, dearMiss Cardigan."

  "Maybe no," she said. "But had ye never a minister to counselye 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, allseemed to repeat the Bible to me, all the time. I never sawthe top of Mont Blanc rosy in the sunset, nor the othermountains, without thinking of those words, 'Be ye perfect,even as your Father in heaven is perfect;' - and, 'They shallwalk 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 detailthe account of the past year's doings in my family, and of ourpresent position and prospects. She listened with the greatestsympathy and the most absorbed attention. The story had takena good while; it was growing late, and I rose to go. Not tillthen was her nephew alluded to.

  "I'm thinking," then said Miss Cardigan slowly, "there's oneperson you have not asked after, who would ill like to be leftout 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 lettersfrom him?"

  "Never; not since that one I sent him through you."

  "He got it, however," said Miss Cardigan; "for there was noreason whatever why he should not. Did you think, Daisy, hehad forgotten you?"

  "No, Miss Cardigan; but it was told of him that - he hadforgotten me."

  "How was that done? I thought no one knew about your lovingeach other, you two children."

  "So I thought; but - why, M
iss Cardigan, it was confidentlytold in Paris to my mother that he was engaged to a schoolmateof mine."

  "Did you believe it?"

  "No. But I never heard from him again, and of course papa didbelieve it. How could I tell, Miss Cardigan?"

  "By your faith, child. I wouldn't have Christian think youdidn't believe him, not for all the world holds."

  "I did believe him," I said, feeling a rill of joy flowinginto some dry places in my heart and changing the wildernessthere. "But he was silent, and I waited."

  "He