DAISY'S TROUBLE.
"I WONDER if I couldn't manage to stand, if I tried," said Daisy
wistfully. She had had the thought in her mind for some days before it
came out. A month had passed since old Isaac's last visit to her room,
and Daisy as yet seemed not much better. John Davis in hospital was
making steady advance towards recovery, and Daisy was often haunted by
a dread of the time when Mary would have to leave her. "I can't think
what I shall do," she murmured sadly one day to her nurse, and then
after some thought she broke into the wonder whether she might not be
able to stand, if she tried.
"You'd be quick enough up if you could, Daisy," said Mary Davis.
"But perhaps I've grown lazy, Nursie," said Daisy. "Perhaps I ought
just to try. You lift me and do everything for me, so that I haven't
had to try. I'm sure father must be getting vexed at my staying in bed
so long."
Mary Davis would not tell Daisy how vexed Mr. Meads was, nor how he
grudged Daisy's nurse every mouthful of food that she ate. Her one aim
was to shelter Daisy. But she did sometimes wonder how things were to
end.
"Nurse," said Daisy suddenly, "I want to see father again."
"By-and-by," said Mary.
"No, not by-and-by. I want to see him now," said Daisy with firmness.
"I am quite sure I ought, Nursie. He must be so lonely, with nobody
to see after him all day. You needn't leave me alone with him, if you
don't like, but I mast see him, please."
"He'll make you ill again, Miss Daisy."
"No, I don't think so. I'm better than I was—a great deal," said Daisy.
"My head isn't so strange, and I don't seem to be so startled at
everything. If only my legs didn't feel so heavy, I should think I was
going to be quite well very soon indeed. Nursie, dear, I want to see
father presently, but I do want first, please, to try if I can stand."
"You can't stand," said Mary gravely.
"I want to make sure. Father is sure to ask me, and then I can tell him
that I've tried. I really can sit up a little now, with the pillows
behind me, and I don't see why I shouldn't stand,—just for a second or
two. I'd rather not ask Mr. Bennet, because he might tell me to wait,
and I do want to try."
Mary did not argue the question longer. Daisy's imploring face was
quite too much for her. She carefully wrapped a warm dressing-gown
round the prostrate thin figure, and then she very gently lifted Daisy
up and out of bed, placing and holding her in an upright position.
"Nursie, am I standing? I can't be sure," said Daisy, with dilated
anxious eyes and quick breathing. "Are my feet down flat on the floor?
It feels so queer."
"Yes, you're standing now, Daisy," said Mary Davis.
"Don't let go, please," said Daisy faintly. "The room is all going
round. My legs are just as heavy as in bed, Nursie."
"Yes, dear. I'll put you back now," said Mary.
The words seemed to rouse Daisy. "No, no, I haven't tried standing
alone yet," she said hurriedly. "Let me go a moment, Nursie."
"My dear, you can't," said Mary.
"I want to try. Please—oh, please, do, quickly."
Mary relaxed partially her firm hold, intending to do no more, but at
the same instant Daisy with a quick movement pushed both her hands
away. It was the work of a moment. Before Mary could grasp her again,
Daisy had sunk in a heap on the ground.
"O Nursie, I can't, I can't," she said despairingly. "Oh, what shall I
do?"
Mary uttered no reproaches. She lifted Daisy up from the floor, not
without difficulty, laid her in the bed, and drew the clothes over her.
Daisy hid her face in the pillow, with a burst of heart-broken sobbing.
"I did think I should be able," she moaned. "I didn't think it would be
so bad. Nursie, I don't believe I shall ever be able to walk again. And
what will father say?"
"There's no use looking forward for troubles that mayn't ever come,"
said Mary quietly. "If the trouble is sent by God, Mr. Meads'll have to
bear it, and so will you, Miss Daisy. But you don't know yet as it will
come. Nobody can tell yet. It's as like as not you'll be walking all
right in a few weeks or months."
"Does Mr. Bennet say so?" asked poor Daisy, weeping still.
"He says it's a good sign that you're able to bear sitting up a bit. He
says he don't know how long it'll be, but he hopes you'll get on better
by-and-by."
Daisy fell into a fresh fit of sobs. "Oh, I did think I should be able
to stand just for a moment," she said. "I did think I could. And it
seemed as if I hadn't the least feeling in my legs."
"And you are so weak too," said Mary. "That makes the matter worse."
"Father will be so disappointed. I shouldn't mind if it wasn't for him.
I can't think what he will say!" moaned Daisy, quite overcome by her
bitter disappointment.
It came suddenly into Mary's head that this would be no bad time for
Isaac to see Daisy again. She acted on the moment's impulse, not quite
wisely, perhaps, since she could not tell at all how the old man would
behave, and Daisy was already upset. Leaving the bedroom, she went
quickly across to the parlour, and there accosted Isaac with the words,—
"Do you want to see Daisy, Mr. Meads?"
"I'd have seen her long ago, if it hadn't been for you," grumbled Isaac.
"I'll take you in now, if you promise me not to stay a moment longer
than I give you leave."
Isaac Meads grunted a response.
"You mustn't be there many minutes, for Daisy is weak, but she wants to
have a sight of you again."
"She isn't going to die?" asked Isaac, with some show of interest.
"No," said Mary sharply. "Much you'd care if she did. Come."
Mary was vexed with herself the next moment for her sharp way of
speaking. After all, the old man could scarcely be counted to have his
full wits. She led the way, and Isaac shuffled after.