"And where is Preston?" said I, speaking for the first time in a long while.

"Preston?" echoed Thorold.

"My Cousin Preston—Gary; your classmate Gary."

"Gary! Oh, he is going to Washington, like the rest of us."

"Which side will he take?"

"You should know, perhaps, better than I," said Thorold. "He always has taken the Southern side, and very exclusively."

"Has taken?" said I. "Do you mean that among the cadets there has been a South and a North—until now, lately?"

"Aye, Daisy, always, since I have been in the Academy. The Southern clique and the Northern clique have been well defined; there is always an assumption of superiority on the one side, and some resenting of it on the other side. It was on that ground Gary and I split."

"Split!" I repeated.

But Thorold laughed and kissed me, and would give me no satisfaction. I began to put things together, though. I saw from Christian's eyes that he had nothing to be ashamed of, in looking back; I remembered Preston's virulence, and his sudden flush when somebody had repeated the word "coward," which he had applied to Thorold. I felt certain that more had been between them than mere words, and that Preston found the recollection not flattering, whatever it was; and having come to this settlement of the matter, I looked up at Thorold.

"My gentle little Daisy!" he said. "I will never quarrel with him again—if I can help it."

"You must quarrel with him, if he is on the wrong side," I answered. "And so must I."

"You say you must go immediately back to West Point," said Miss Cardigan. "Leave thanking Daisy's hand, and tell me when you are going; for the night is far past, children."

"I am gone when I bid you good-night," said Thorold. "I must set out with the dawn—to catch the train I must take."

"With the dawn!—this morning!" cried Miss Cardigan.

"Certainly. I should be there this minute, if the colonel had not given me something to do here that kept me."

"And when will ye do it?"

"Do it! It is done," said Thorold; "before I came here. But I must catch the first train in the morning."

"And you'll want some breakfast before that," she said, rising.

"No, I shall not," said Thorold, catching hold of her. "I want nothing. I did want my supper. Sit down, Aunt Catherine, and be quiet. I want nothing, I tell you, but more time."

"We may as well sit up the rest of the night," I said; "it is so far gone now."

"Yes, and what will you be good for to-morrow?" said Miss Cardigan. "You must lie down and take a bit of rest."

I felt no weariness; but I remember the grave, tender examination of Thorold's eyes, which seemed to touch me with their love, to find out whether I—and himself—might be indulged or not. It was a bit of the thoughtful, watchful affection which always surrounded me when he was near. I never had it just so from anybody else.

"It won't do, Daisy," said he gaily. "You would not have me go in company with self-reproaches all day to-morrow? You must lie down here on the sofa; and, sleep or not, we'll all be still for two hours. Aunt Catherine will thank me to stop talking for that length of time."

I was not sleepy, but Miss Cardigan and Thorold would not be resisted. Thorold wheeled up the sofa, piled the cushions, and made me lie down, with the understanding that nobody should speak for the time he had specified. Miss Cardigan, on her part, soon lost herself in her easy chair. Thorold walked perseveringly up and down the room. I closed my eyes and opened my eyes, and lay still and thought. It is all before me now. The firelight fading and brightening: Thorold took care of the fire; the gleam of the gaslight on the rows of books; Miss Cardigan's comfortable figure gone to sleep in the corner of her chair; and the figure which ever and anon came between me and the fire, piling or arranging the logs of wood, and then paced up and down just behind me. There was no sleep for my eyes, of course. How should there be? I seemed to pass all my life in review, and as I took the bearings of my present position I became calm.

I rose up the moment the two hours were over, for I could bear the silence no longer, nor the losing any more time. Thorold stopped his walk then, and we had along talk over the fire by ourselves, while Miss Cardigan slept on. Trust her, though, for waking up when there was anything to be done. Long before dawn she roused herself and went to call her servants and order our breakfast.

"What are you going to do now, Daisy?" said Thorold, turning to me with a weight of earnestness in his eyes, and a flash of that keen inspection which they sometimes gave me.

"You know," I said, "I am going to study as hard as I can for a month or two more,—till my school closes."

"What then, Daisy? Perhaps you will find some way to come on and see me at Washington—if the rebels don't take it first?"

It must be told.

"No—I cannot.—My father and mother wish me to go out to them as soon as I get a chance."

"Where?"

"In Switzerland."

"Switzerland! To stay how long?"

"I don't know—till the war is over, I suppose. I do not think they would come back before."

"I shall come and fetch you then, Daisy."

But it seemed a long way off. And how much might be between. We were both silent.

"That is heavy for me," said Thorold at last. "Little Daisy, you do not know how heavy!"

He was caressing my hair, smoothing and stroking it as he spoke. I looked up and his eyes flashed fire instantly.

"Say that in words!" he exclaimed, taking me in his arms. "Say it, Daisy! say it. It will be worth so much to me."

But my lips had hardly a chance to speak.

"Say what?"

"Daisy, you have said it. Put it in words, that is all."

But his eyes were so full of flashing triumph that I thought he had got enough for the time.

"Daisy, those eyes of yours are like mountain lakes, deep and still. But when I look quite down to the bottom of them—sometimes I see something—I thought I did then."

"What?" I asked, very much amused.

"I see it there now, Daisy!"

I was afraid he did, for his eyes were like sunbeams, and I thought they went through everything at that minute. I don't know what moved me, the consciousness of this inspection or the consciousness of what it discovered; but I know that floods of shyness seemed to flush my face and brow, and even to the tips of my fingers. I would have escaped if I could, but I could not; and I think Thorold rather liked what he saw. There was no hiding it, unless I hid it on his shoulder, and that I was ashamed to do. I felt that his lips knew just as well as his eyes what state my cheeks were in, and took their own advantage. Though presently their tenderness soothed me too, and even nullified the soft little laugh with which he whispered, "Are you ashamed to show it to me, Daisy?"

"You know," said I, still keeping my eyes veiled, "you have me at advantage. If you were not going—away—so soon, I would not do a great many things."

"Daisy!" said he, laughing—"Daisy!"—And he touched my cheek as one who meant to keep his advantage. Then his voice changed, and he repeated, with a deeper and deepening tone with each word—"Daisy! my Daisy!"

I had very nearly burst out into great sobs upon his breast, with the meeting of opposite tides of feeling. Sweet and bitter struggled for the upper hand; struggled, while I was afraid he would feel the laboured breath which went and came, straining me. And the sweetness, for the moment, got the better. I knew he must go, in an hour or little more, away from me. I knew it was for uncertain and maybe dangerous duty. I knew it might at best be long before we could see each other again; and back of all, the thought of my father and mother was not reassuring. But his arms were round me and my head was on his shoulder; and that was but the outward symbol of the inward love and confidence which filled all my heart with its satisfying content. For the moment happiness was uppermost. Not all the clouds on the horizon could dim the brightness of that one sun ray which reached me.

I do not know what Thorold thought, but he was as still for a while as I was.

"Daisy," he said at last, "my Daisy, you need not grudge any of your goodness to me. Don't you know, you are to be my light and my watchword in what lies before me?"

"Oh no!" I said, lifting my head; "Oh no, Christian!"

"Why no?" said he.

"I want you to have a better watchword and follow a better light. Not me. O Christian, won't you?"

"What shall my watchword be?" said he, looking into my eyes. But I was intent on something else then. I answered, "Whatsoever ye do, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus."

"A soldier, Daisy?"

"A soldier more than anybody," I said; "for He calls us to be soldiers, and you know what it means."

"But you forget," said he, not taking his eyes from my face—"in my service I must obey as well as command: I am not my own master exactly."

"Let Christ be your Master," I said.

"How then with this other service?"

"Why it is very plain," I said. "Command in the love of God and obey in the fear of God; that covers all."

I did not see the natural sequence of what followed; for it was a succession of kisses that left no chance for a word to get out of my mouth. Then Thorold rose up, and I saw Miss Cardigan enter.

"I will not forget, Daisy," he said, in a tone as if we had been talking of business. I thought, neither should I. And then came Miss Cardigan, and the servant behind her bringing coffee and bread and eggs and marmalade—I don't know what beside—and we sat down again to the table, knowing that the next move would be a move apart. But the wave of happiness was at the flood with me, and it bore me over all the underlying roughness of the shore—for the time. I do not think anybody wanted to eat much; we played with cups of coffee and with each other, and dallied with the minutes till the last one was spent.

And then came the parting. That was short.

THE END.



Transcriber's Notes

The following items were considered to be typographical errors and have been changed. Other typographic, spelling, punctuation errors and parochial speech has been left as they appear in the book.

Page 17—Changed period into comma after the word "too" in the sentence—"But I think it is nice to know things too," said I.

Page 37—Corrected "awkward" from "awkard" in the sentence—They were giggling and grinning, hopping on one foot, and going into other awkward antics; not the less that most of them had their arms filled with little black babies.

Page 40—Changed question mark to period and deleted quotation mark in the sentence—I asked what they all were."

Page 51—Changed single quote to double quote after "light" in the sentence—"They must be very dark if they could not understand light," said my governess.

Page 56—Removed superfluous "n" from governess in—Then I remembered that my governess probably did care for some fruit

Page 87—Corrected "string" to read "sting" in the sentence—It has a sting of its own, for which there is neither salve nor remedy; and it had the aggravation, in my case, of the sense of personal dishonour.

Page 91—Added apostrophe to "girls" in the sentence—I have a recollection of the girl's terrified face, but I heard nothing more.

Page 93—removed " from the start of the sentence—They had been gone half an hour, when Preston stole in and came to the side of my bed, between me and the firelight.

Page 97—Added " after Melbourne in the sentence—"We shall have to let her do just as they did at Melbourne," said my aunt.

Page 110—Added " after the word "by" in the sentence—"Mass' Preston come last night," she went on; "so I reckon Miss Daisy'll want to wear it by and by."

Page 163—Changed period to ? in the sentence—"Will that distress you very much?"

Page 178—Changed Mr. to Dr. in the sentence—"But, Dr. Sandford," I said, "nobody can belong to anybody—in that way."

Page 193—Changed 'be' to 'he' in the sentence starting—I believe I half wished be would make some objection;

Page 206—Added "le" to "aves" to make "leaves" in—"You wouldn't say so, if you knew the work it is to set those leaves round," said the mantua-maker.

Page 240—Changed "for" into "far" in—but I am afraid the rule of the Good Samaritan would put us far apart.

Page 249—Changed exclamation mark to question mark in—"Is there so much trouble everywhere in the world?"

Page 250—Changed "I" to "It" in—It was a good photograph, and had beauty enough besides to hold my eyes.

Page 257—Capitalised "W" in—Is it Daisy Randolph? What have you done to yourself?

Page 266—changed beside to bedside in—I heard no sound while I was undressing, nor while I knelt, as usual now, by my bedside.

Page 283—Changed rapidily to rapidly in—I watched him rapidly walking into the library;

Page 285—Added question mark instead of period to—"Are you tired?"

Page 316—Changed inmediately to immediately in—and placed himself immediately beside his summoner,

Page 349—Changed "not" to "nor" in—"I cannot help that. He is neither gentlemanly in his habits nor true in his speech."

Page 350—Added comma after "said" in—"You must not wear the same thing twice running," she said, "not if you can help it."

Page 355—Changed period to question mark after "next" in—Who is next? Major Banks? Take care, Daisy, or you'll do some mischief."

Page 374—Deleted comma after "see" in—Nevertheless, it was pleasant to see the firm, still attitude, the fine proportions, the military nicety of all his dress, which I had before noticed on the parade ground.

Page 386—Changed subtance to substance in—men of business, men of character and some substance,

Page 407—Changed "weel" to "well" in—"You may as well sit down and tell us."

THE END