Daisy in the Field

in the doctor's room, andhe was putting water or brandy - I hardly know what - on myface. With a face of his own that was pale, I saw even then,without seeing it, as it bent over me. He was speaking myname. I struggled for breath and tried to raise myself. Hegently 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 myface, and thought I would get up and be as though nothing hadbeen. Dr. Sandford's hand followed my hasty fingers and putgently away from my brow the hair I had failed to stroke intoorder. It was an unlucky touch, for it reached more than myhair and my brow. I turned deadly sick again, and fell backinto unconsciousness.

  When a second time I recovered sense, I kept still and waitedand let Dr. Sandford minister to me as he thought best, withstrong waters and sweet waters and ice water; until he sawthat I was really restored, and I saw that great concern wassitting 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 myfeet to the floor, and put up my fallen-down hair, taking outmy comb and twisting up the hair in some semblance of itswont.

  "Your work here is done," said the doctor.

  I finished doing up my hair and took a towel and wiped thedrops of water and brandy from my face.

  "Daisy, I know your face," said the doctor, anxiously; "and ithas just the determined gentleness I used to see at ten yearsold. 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 amgoing to do my work."

  "You fainted just now from very exhaustion."

  "I am not exhausted at all. Nor even tired. I am perfectlywell."

  "I never knew you faint before."

  "No," I said. "It is very disagreeable."

  "Disagreeable!" said the doctor, half laughing, thoughthoroughly disturbed. "What made you do it, then?"

  I could not answer. I stood still, with cheeks I suppose againgrowing so white, that the doctor hastily approached me withhartshorn. 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 yourwelfare is very dear to me?"

  "I know it," I said. "I know you are like a good brother tome, Dr. Sandford."

  "I am not like a brother at all!" said he. "Cannot you seethat?"

  "I do not want to see it," I answered sadly. "If I have not abrother 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 tome, speaking in a husky changed tone, -

  "You shall command me, Daisy, as you have long done. Let meknow what to do to please you."

  He went away then and left me. And I gathered my strengthtogether and went back to Mr. Thorold.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  "HERE!"

  From that time we all were, to all seeming, just as we hadbeen before that day. Dr. Sandford went his rounds, with nochange perceptible in his manner towards any- body, or towardsme. I think I was not different in the ward from what I hadbeen, except to one pair of eyes: The duties of every dayrolled on as they had been accustomed to do; the singing ofevery night was just as usual. One thing was a little changed.I sought no longer to hide that Mr. Thorold was something tome. The time for that was past. Of the few broken minutes thatremained to us, he should lose none, nor I, by unnecessarydifficulty. I was by his side now, all I could withoutneglecting those who also needed me. And we talked, all wecould, with his strength and my time. I cared not now, thatall the ward should see and know what we were to each other.

  Mr. Thorold saw a change in me, and asked the reason. And Igave it. And then we talked no more of our own losses.

  "I am quite ready to go, Daisy," he had said to me, with alook both bright and sweet which it breaks my heart, while itgladdens me, to remember. "You will come by and by, and Ishall be looking for you; and I am ready now, love."

  After that, we spoke no more of our parting. We talked a verygreat deal of other things, past and future; talks, that itseems to me - now were scarce earthly, for their pure highbeauty, and truth, and joy. The strength of them will go withme 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 soonsilenced, for I showed him that I would not bear it.

  And the days in the hospital sped away. I do not know how; Idid not know at the time. Only as one lives and works andbreathes and sleeps in the presence of a single thought,enveloping and enfolding everything else. The life was hardlymy own life; it was the life of another; or rather the twolives 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 whenit would end, oppressed me fearfully. Nothing in Mr. Thorold'slooks or manner gave me any help to judge about it. His facewas like itself always; his eye yet sometimes flashed andsparkled after its own brilliant fashion, as gayly and freelyas ever. It always gave me untold pain; it brought life anddeath into such close neighbourhood, and seemed to mock at thenecessity which hung over us. And then, if Mr. Thorold saw ashadow come over my brow, he would give me such words andlooks of comfort and help, that again death was half swallowedup of a better life, before the time. So the days went; andMr. Thorold said I grew thin; and the nurses and attendantswere almost reverentially careful of me; and Dr. Sandford wasa silent servant of mine and of Mr. Thorold's too, doing allthat was possible for us both. And Preston was fearfullyjealous and irritable; and wrote, I knew long afterwards, tomy mother; and my mother sent me orders to return home to herat once and leave everything; and Dr. Sandford never gave methe 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 wantedto do; I had been able to do it all. Through the hours of thelast struggle, no hand but mine had touched him. It was borne,as everything else had been borne, with a clear, braveuncomplainingness; his eye was still bright and quiet when itmet mine, and the smile sweet and ready. We did not talk much;we had done that in the days past; our thoughts were known toeach other; we were both looking now to the time of nextmeeting. But his head lay on my shoulder at the very last, andhis hand was in mine. I don't think I knew when the momentwas; until somebody drew him out of my hands and placed himback on the pillow. It was I then closed the eyes; and then Ilaid my brow for a few minutes on the one that was growingcold, for the last leave-taking. Nobody meddled with me; I sawand heard nothing; and indeed when I stood up I was blind; Iwas 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 heaccepted the charge. No illness seized me, but my heartfailed. That was worse. Better have been sick. Bodily illnessis easier to get at.

  And there was nobody to minister to mine. Dr. Sandford'spresence worried me, somehow. It ought not, but it did. Mrs.Sandford was kind, and of course helpless to do me good. Ithink the doctor saw I was not doing well, nor likely to bebetter, and he brought me on to New York, to my mother.

  Mamma understood nothing of what had passed, except whatPreston's letter had told her. I do not know how much, orwhat, it was; and I did not care. Mamma, however, was wroughtup to a point of discomfort quite beyond the usual chronicunrest of the year past. She exclaimed at my appearance;complained of my change of manner; inveighed againsthospitals, lady nu
rses, Dr. Sandford, the war, Yankees andWashington air; and declaimed against the religion which didnot make daughters dutiful and attentive to their mothers. Itwas true, some of it; but my heart was dead, for the time, andpowerless to heed. - I heard, and did not feel. I could notminister to my mother's happiness now, for I had no spring ofstrength in my own; and ministry that was not bright andwinsome did, not content her. Such as I had I gave; I knew itwas poor, and she said so.

  As the spring drew on, and days grew gentle, and soft weatherreplaced the strong brace of the winter frost, my condition ofhealth became more and more unsatisfactory. My mother grewseriously uneasy at length and consulted Dr. Sandford. And thenext thing was Dr. Sandford's appearance at our hotel.

  "What is the matter with you,