Daisy in the Field

struggleceased. He spoke no more to me; but the last look was to myeyes, and in his, it seemed to me, the shadow had clearedaway. That was all I could know.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  ORDERS

  I slept longer than I had meant to do, the next morning; but Irose with a happy feeling of being in my place; where I wantedto be. That is, to be sure, not always the criterion by whichto know the place where one ought to be; yet where it is aqualification it is also in some sense a token. The ministryof the hours preceding swept over me while I was dressing,with something of the grand swell and cadence of the notes ofa 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 therows of beds. Miss Yates nodded to me.

  "Here you are!" she said. "Fresh as the morning. Well I don'tknow why we shouldn't have pleasant things in such a place asthis, if we can get them; there's enough that ain't pleasant,and folks forget there is anything else in the world. Nowyou'll be better than breakfast, to some of them; and here'sbreakfast, my dear. You know how to manage that."

  I knew very well how to manage that; and I knew too, as I wenton with my ministrations, that Miss Yates was not altogetherwrong. My ministry did give pleasure; and I could not helpenjoying the knowledge. This was not the enjoyment offlattering crowds, waiting round me with homage in their eyesand on their tongues. I had known that too, and felt thefoolish flutter of gratified vanity for a moment, to beashamed of it the next. This was the brightening eye, therelaxing lip, the tone of gratification, from those whose daysand hours were a weary struggle with pain and disease; tobring a moment's refreshment to them was a great joy, whichgives me no shame now in the remembrance. Even if it was onlythe refreshment of memory and fancy, that was something; and Igave thanks in my heart, as I went from one sufferer toanother, that I had been made pleasant to look at. Prestonhimself smiled at me this morning, which I thought a greatgain.

  "Well, you do know how to sing!" he said softly, as I wasgiving him his tea and toast.

  "I am glad you think so."

  "Think so! Why, Daisy, positively I was inclined to blessgunpowder for the minute, for having brought me here. Now ifyou would only sing something else - Don't you know anythingfrom 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 isvile tea."

  "Hush, Preston; you know the tea is good, like everything elsehere."

  "I know no such thing. There is nothing good in this place, -except you, - and I suppose that is the reason you have chosenit for your abode. I can't imagine how Aunt Randolph came tolet 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 onlyhalf of him left? I should like just to get into one otherfield, and let powder take the other half."

  "Hush, Preston! hush; you must not talk so. There's yourmother."

  "My mother won't think much of me now, I don't know why sheshould. You never did, even when I was myself."

  "I think just as much of you now as ever, Preston. You mightbe 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 veryqueer of you to spill my tea."

  "Drink it then," I said, "and don't talk in such a way. I willnot have you do it, Preston, to me."

  He glanced at me, a little wickedly; but he had finished hisbreakfast and I turned from him. As I turned, I saw that thebed opposite, where Morton had died a few hours before, hadalready 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 stoodstill. I saw eyes watching me, - I had never but once knownsuch eyes; I saw an embrowned but very familiar face; as Ilooked, I saw a flash of light come into the eyes, quick andbrilliant as I had seen such flashes come and go a hundredtimes. I knew what I saw.

  It seems to me now in the retrospect, it seemed to me then, asif my life - that which makes life - were that moment suddenlygathered up, held before me, and then dashed under my feet;thrown down to the ground and trampled on. For a moment thesight of my eyes failed me. I think nobody noticed it. I thinknothing was to be seen, except that I stood still for thatminute. It passed, and my sight returned; and as one whoselife is under foot and who knows it will never rise again, Icrossed the floor to Thorold. We were not alone. Eyes and earswere all around us. Remembering this, I put my hand in his andsaid a simple -

  "How do you do?"

  But his look at me was so infinitely glad and sweet, that mysenses failed me again. I did not sink down; but I stoodwithout sight or hearing. The clasp of his hand recalled me.

  "It is Daisy!" he said smiling. "Daisy, and not a vision. MyDaisy! How is it?"

  "What can I do for you?" I said hastily.

  "Nothing. Stand there. I have been looking at you; and thoughtit was long till you would look at me."

  "I was busy."

  "Yes, I know, love. How is it, Daisy? When did you come backfrom 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 brightbrow.

  "I sent it to your aunt, for her to send it to you; and shesent 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 thosebrilliant 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 itnot so?"

  There was mamma. But I could not speak of her. Even she couldnot prevent the truth of what Christian said; in one way itmust be true. I gave no denial. Thorold clasped my hand veryfast, and I stood breathless. Then suddenly I asked if he hadhad his breakfast? He laughed and said yes, and still claspedmy hand in a grasp that said it was better than food and drinkto him. I stood like one from under whose feet the ground isslipping away. I longed to know, but dared not ask, what hadbrought him there; whether he was suffering; the words wouldnot come to my lips. I knew Dr. Sandford would be here by andby; how should I bear it? But I, and nobody but me, must doall that was done for this sufferer at least.

  I left Mr. Thorold, to attend to duties that called me on allhands. I did them like one in a dream. Yet my ordinary mannerwas quiet, and I suppose nobody saw any difference; only Ifelt it. I was looking all the time for the moment of Dr.Sandford's appearance, and praying for strength. It came, hisvisit, as everything does come, when its time was; and Ifollowed him in his round; waiting and helping as there waswant of me. I did it coolly, I know, with faculties sharpenedby an intense motive and feelings engrossed with one thought.I proved myself a good assistant; I knew Dr. Sandford approvedof me; I triumphed, so far, in the consciousness that I hadmade good my claim to my position, and was in no danger ofbeing shoved away on the score of incompetency.

  "Doctor," said Preston when we came round to him, "won't yousend away Miss Randolph out of a place that she is not fitfor?"

  "I will," said Dr. Sandford grimly, "when I find such aplace."

  "Out of _this_ place, then, where she ought not to
be; and youknow it."

  "It would be your loss, my friend. You are exercising greatself-denial, or else you speak in ignorance."

  "She might as well go on the stage at once!" said Prestonbitterly. "Singing half the night to sixty soldiers, - andwon't give one a thing from Norma, then!"

  The doctor gave one quick glance of his blue eye at me; it wasa glance inquiring, recognising, touched, sympathising, all inan instant; it surprised me. Then it went coolly back to hiswork.

  "What does she sing?"

  "Psalms" - said Preston.

  "Feverish tendency?" said the doctor.

  Preston flung himself to one side, with a violent word, almostan oath, that shocked me. We left him and went on.

  Or rather, went over; for at the instant Dr. Sandford's eyecaught the new occupant of the opposite bed. I was glad tofind that he did not recognise him.

  The examination of Mr. Thorold's wounds followed. They wereinternal, and had been neglected. I do not know how I wentthrough it; seeing how he went through it partly helped me,for I thought he did not seem to suffer greatly. His face wasentirely calm, and his eye clear whenever it could catch mine.But the operation was long; and I felt when it was over as ifI had been through a battle myself. I was forced to leave himand go on with my attentions to the other sufferers in theward; and I could not get back to Mr. Thorold till the dinnerhour. I managed to be at his side to serve him then. But hehad 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 camewith his dinner; which was, however, a light one.

  "No," said I. Speaking in low tones, which I was accustomed touse to all there, we were in little danger of being overheard.

  "Not to you," said he with a laughing flash of his eye; "Ionly 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 abeautiful glow in it. I half knew what was coming before hespoke.

  "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 probewhich had gone before. It was hard at the same time not tofall on my knees to give thanks; or to break out into a shoutof glad praise. I suppose I showed nothing of it, only stoodstill - and pale by the side of the bed; till Mr. Thoroldasked me for something, and I knew that I had been neglectinghis dinner. And then I knew that I was neglecting others; andflew 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 hebe 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 hehasn'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 soundand only half of me left!"

  I was dumb, for want of the power to speak. I think such apassion of indignation and displeasure never found place in myheart, before or since. But I did not wish to say anythingangrily, and yet my heart was full of violent feeling thatcould find but violent words. I fed Preston in silence tillhis dinner was done, and left him. Then as I passed near himagain soon after, I stopped.

  "You are so far from sound, Preston," I said, "that I shallkeep out of the way of your words. You must excuse me - but Icannot hear or allow them; and as you have no control overyourself, my only resource is to keep at a distance."

  I waited for no answer but moved away; and busied myself withall the ward rather than him. It was a hard, hard, afternoon'swork; my heart divided between the temptation to violent angerand violent tears. I kept away from Mr. Thorold too, partlyfrom policy, and partly because I could not command myself, Iwas afraid, in his presence. But towards evening I foundmyself by his side, and in the dusk our hands met; while Iused a fan with the other hand, by way of seeming to dosomething 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 isthe 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 itlooked into mine.

  "How many, Daisy?"

  "Anger," I said; - "and resentment; and - self-will."

  "What raised the anger?" said he; a different tone coming intohis 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. Myfan-play ceased. Christian held my hand very fast, and after afew 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 youmay have to do before to-morrow, that you will want the spiritof 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 justnow I have great displeasure against Preston. I cannot tellhim 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 anaffirmative.

  "If I could reach you, I would kiss that away," said Thorold."Daisy, must _I_ tell _you_, that there is One who can look itaway? You need not wait."

  I knew he spoke truth again; and I had forgotten it. Truththat once by experience I so well knew. I stood silent andself-condemned.

  "Christian, I do not very often get angry; but when I do, I amafraid the feeling is very obstinate."

  "The case isn't desperate - unless you are obstinate too," hesaid, with a look which conquered me. I fanned him a littlewhile longer; not long. For I was able very soon to go acrossto Preston.

  "Are you going to desert me for that fellow?" he growled.

  "I must desert you, for whoever wants me more than you do; andyou 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 aconfounded fracture in your feelings. I'll try and rememberwhat brittle ware I am dealing with."

  So that was over, and I gave him his tea; and then went roundto do the same by others. I had to take them in turn; and whenI got to
Mr. Thorold at last, there was no more time then fortalking, which I longed for. After the surgeon's round, whenall 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 couldgive no expression. I could not kneel there, to pray; I couldnot leave my post; I could not speak nor listen where I wanteda full interchange of heart with heart; the oppression almostchoked me. Then I remembered I could sing. And I sang thathour, if I never did before. My sorrow, and my joy, and my cryof heart, I put them all into the notes and poured them forthin my song. I was never so glad I could sing as these days. Iknew, all the time, it was medicine and anodynes and strength- and maybe teaching - to many that heard; for me, it was thecry of prayer, and the pleading of faith, and the confessionof utmost need. How strong "Rock of Ages" seemed to me againthat night; the hymn, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds,"was to me a very schedule of treasure; my soul mounted on thewords, like the angels on Jacob's ladder; the top of theladder was in heaven, if the foot of it was on a very roughspot of earth. That night I sang hymns, in the high-wroughtstate of my feelings, which the next day I could not havesung. I remember that one of them