CHAPTER XXIII. "HERE!"

"My half-day's work is done;

And this is all my part -

I give a patient God

My patient heart.

"And clasp his banner still,

Though all the blue be dim.

These stripes, no less than stars,

Lead after Him."

CHAPTER I.

THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD.

While Miss Cardigan went with her nephew to the door, I

remained standing by the fire, which could have witnessed to

so much done around it that night. I felt strong, but I

remember my cheeks had an odd sensation as if the blood had

left them. I did not know Miss Cardigan had come back, till I

saw her standing beside me and looking at me anxiously.

"Will you go and lie down now, my lamb?"

"Oh, no!" I said. "Oh, no - I do not want to lie down. I have

not done my studying yet, that I came to do."

"Studying!" said Miss Cardigan.

"Yes. I want something out of some of your books. I have not

done it. I will sit down and do it now."

"You're much more fit to lie down and go to sleep," said she,

sorrowfully. "Let be the study, Daisy; and take some rest,

while ye can."

"I shall have plenty of time," I said. "I do not want any

rest, more than I shall get so."

Miss Cardigan sighed - I had heard more sighs from her that

night than in all my knowledge of her before; and I sat down

on the floor again, to pull out again the volumes I had put

up, and begin my school work anew. As I touched them, I felt

how much had come into my hands, and fallen out of my hands,

since I took them up before, just a few hours ago. It would

not do to think of that. I resolutely put it back, and set

myself about getting out of the books the facts I wanted for

my work. Miss Cardigan left the room; and for a time I turned

over leaves vigorously. But the images of modern warfare began

to mix themselves inconveniently with the struggles of long

ago. Visions of a grey uniform came blending in dissolving

views with the visions of monarchs in their robes of state and

soldiers in heavy armour; it meant much, that grey uniform;

and a sense of loss and want and desolation by degrees crept

over me, which had nothing to do with the ruin of kingdoms.

The books grew heavy; my hands trembled; yet still I tried to

make good work, and bade myself deal with the present and let

the past and the future alone. The "present" being represented

by my school day and my studies. Could I do it? The past and

the future rushed in at last, from opposite sides as it were,

and my "present" was overthrown. I dropped my books and myself

too, as nearly as possible; my heart gave way in a deep

passion of tears.

Now I tried to reason myself out of this. What had I lost? I

asked myself. What were these tears for? What had I lost, that

I had not been without until only twelve hours before? Indeed

rather, what had I not gained? But my reasonings were of no

use. Against them all, some vision of Thorold's face, some

sparkle of his eyes, some touch of his hand, would come back

to me, and break down my power and unlock fresh fountains of

tears. This passion of self-indulgence was not like me, and

surprised myself. I suppose the reason was, I had been so long

alone; I had been working my way and waiting, in exile from

home as it were, so many days and years; nobody that loved me

better than I loved myself had been near me for so very long;

that the sweetness so suddenly given and so suddenly taken

away left me a little unsteady. Was it wonderful? The joy and

the grief were both new; I was not braced for either; the one

seemed to add poignancy to the other; and between the two

facts, that Thorold loved me, and that he was gone from me

into what might be a duty of danger, - that he was gone into

danger and that he loved me, - for a little while my soul was

tossed back and forth like a ship on a stormy sea, unable to

make any headway at all. And so Miss Cardigan found me. She

half lifted half drew me up, I remember; made me lie down

again on the sofa, gave me some hot tea to drink; and when she

had made me drink it, she sat still looking at me, silent, and

I thought a good deal disturbed. It would be difficult to tell

why I thought so. Perhaps it was because she said nothing. I

lay quiet with my face hid in my hands.

"What do you think to do with yourself to-day, now?" - was at

last her practical question.

"What o'clock is it?" I whispered.

"It's just on the stroke of six, Daisy."

"I'll get up and go on with my work," I said; and I raised

myself to a sitting posture accordingly.

"Work!" echoed Miss Cardigan. "You look like much of that!

Your cheeks" (and she touched them) "they are the colour of my

magnolia there that has just opened. A night's work Christian

has made of it! I suppose he is travelling off as content as

if he had something to praise himself for. The pride of these

men! -"

I could not help laughing, and laughing made me cry. Miss

Cardigan promptly put me back on the cushions and bade me lie

still; and she sat in front of me there like a good shaggy

human watch dog. I should not say _shaggy_, for she was entirely

neat and trim; but there was something of sturdy and

uncompromising about her which suggested the idea. I lay

still, and by and by went off into a sleep. That restored me.

I woke up a couple of hours later all right and quite myself

again. I was able to rush through the bit of study I had

wanted; and went over to Mme. Ricard's just a minute before

school opened.

I had expected some uncomfortable questioning about my staying

out all night; but things do not happen as one expects. I got

no questioning, except from one or two of the girls. Mme.

Ricard was ill, that was the news in school; the other

teachers had their hands full, and did not give themselves any

extra trouble about the doings of so regular and trusted an

inmate as myself. The business of the day rolled on and rolled

off, as if last night had never been; only that I walked in a

dream; and when night came I was free to go to bed early and

open my budget of thoughts and look at them. From without, all

was safe.

All day my thoughts had been rushing off, away from the

schoolroom and from studies and masters, to look at a receding

railway train, and follow a grey coat in among the crowd of

its fellows, where its wearer mingled in all the business and

avocations of his interrupted course of life. Interrupted!

yes, what a change had come to his and to mine; and yet all

was exactly the same outwardly. But the difference was, that I

was thinking of Thorold, and Thorold was thinking of me. How

strange it was! and what a great treasure of joy it was. I

felt rich; with the most abounding, satisfying, inexhaustible

treasure of riches. All day I had known I was rich; now I took

out my gold and counted it, and could not count it, and gave

full-hearted thanks over it.

If the brightness wanted a foil, it was there; the gold

glittered upon a cloudy background. My treasure was not

exactly in my hand to enjoy. There might be many days before

Thorold and I saw each other's faces again. Dangers lay

threatening him, that I could not bear to think of; although I

knew they were there. And even were this cloud all cleared

away, I saw the edges of another rising up along the horizon.

My father and my mother. My mother especially; what would she

say to Daisy loving an officer in the Northern army? That

cloud was as yet afar off; but I knew it was likely to rise

thick and black; it might shut out the sun. Even so I my

treasure was my treasure still, through all this. Thorold

loved me and belonged to me; nothing could change that.

Dangers, and even death, would not touch it. My mother's

command could not alter it. She might forbid his marrying me;

I must obey her; but the fact that we loved each other was a

fact beyond her reach and out of her, power, as out of mine.

Thorold belonged to me, in this higher and indestructible

sense, and also I belonged to him. And in this joy I rejoiced,

and counted my treasure with an inexpressible triumph of joy

that it was uncountable.

I wondered too, very much. I had had no idea that I loved

Thorold; no dream that he liked me had ever entered my head. I

thought we were friends, and that was all. Indeed I had not

known there was anything in the world more, until one night

ago.

But I winced a little, privately, in the very bottom of my

heart, that I had let Thorold have so much liberty; that I had

let him know so easily what he was to me. I seemed unlike the

Daisy Randolph of my former acquaintance. She was never so

free. But it was done; and I had been taken unawares and at

disadvantage, with the thought of coming danger and separation

checking every reserve I would have shown. I had to be content

with myself at all events; Thorold knew my weakness and would

never forget it another time.

I thought a great many other thoughts that night; some of them

were grave enough. My sleep however, when I went to sleep, was

as light as the fall of the dew. I could not be careful. Just

seventeen, and just come into life's great inheritance, my

spirit was strong, as such spirits are, to throw off every

burden.

For several days it happened that I was too busy to see Miss

Cardigan. I used to look over to her house, those days, as the

place where I had begun to live. Meanwhile I was bending my

energies to work, with a serious consciousness of woman's life

and responsibility before me. In one way I think I felt ten

years older, when next I crossed the avenue and went into the

familiar marble-paved hall and opened Miss Cardigan's door.

That Thorold was not there, was the first thought with me.

Certainly the world had made a revolution; but all things else

looked as usual; and Miss Cardigan gave me a welcome just as

if the world had not turned round. She was busy with the

affairs of some poor people, and plunged me into them as her

custom was. But I fancied a somewhat more than usual of sober

gravity in her manner. I fancied, and then was sure of it;

though for a long time nothing was said which touched Thorold

or me. I had forgotten that it was to come; and then it came.

"And what have ye been doing, my bonnie lady, since ye went

away at eight o'clock o' the morn?"

I started, and found that I had lost myself in a reverie. I

said, I had been studying.

"You and me have need to study some new things," Miss Cardigan

said, soberly.

"Yes ma'am," I said. But then - "What, Miss Cardigan?"

"There's our duty" - she said, with a pause at that part of

her sentence; - "and then, how to do it. Yes, Daisy, you need

not look at me, nor call the bloom up into your cheeks, that

Christian says are such an odd colour. Don't you think you

have duties, lassie? and more to-day than a fortnight syne?"

"But - Miss Cardigan," I answered, - "yes, I have duties; but

- I thought I knew them."

"It will do no harm to look at them, Daisy. It is good to see

all round our duties, and it's hard too. Are you in a hurry to

go back to school?"

"No, ma'am - I can have the evening."

Miss Cardigan pushed her work-baskets and table away, and drew

her chair up beside mine, before the fire; and made it blaze,

and sat and looked into the blaze, till I wondered what was

coming.

"I suppose this is all a fixed thing between Christian and

you," she began at last.

I hardly knew what she meant. I said, that I could not unfix

it.

"And he will not, no fear! So it is fixed, as we may say;

fixed as two hearts can make it. But it's very sudden, Daisy;

and you are a young thing, my dear."

"I know it is sudden," I said, meekly. "It is sudden to me.

But he will not like me less for my being so young."

Miss Cardigan laughed a short laugh.

"Troth, he's no right, being young himself, we may say. You

are safe for his liking, my bonnie Daisy. But - your father

and mother, my dear?"

"Yes, Miss Cardigan."

"What will their word be?"

"I do not know, ma'am."

"You will tell them, Daisy?"

This was very disagreeable to me. I had thought over these

things, and made up my mind; but to outline on canvass, as it

were, and put in full depth of shadow, all the images of

opposition real and possible that might rise in my way - which

I knew might rise, - I liked not to do it. Still Miss Cardigan

had reason; and when she repeated, "You will tell them at

once?" I answered,

"No, Miss Cardigan; I think not."

"When, then, will you tell them?" she said shortly.

"I think I will not tell them at all. I will wait, till -"

"Till Christian does it?"

"Yes."

"When will _that_ be?"

"I do not know. It may be - a great while. Why should I tell

them before, Miss Cardigan?"

"For many reasons, as they seem to my mind, Daisy; and I

thought, as they would seem to yours. 'Honour thy father and

thy mother.' Daisy, would it be honouring them, to let them

not know?"

There were so many things, of which Miss Cardigan was

ignorant! How could I answer her? I sat silent, pondering the

difficulty; and she was silent on her side, waiting for me to

think over it. It was never her way to be in a hurry; not to

leave her work half done neither, as I knew.

"I will honour them the best way I can," I said at length.

"Then you will write them next steamer. Is it not so, Daisy?"

"That would make it very difficult for me to honour them," I

said; "to honour them in action, I mean."

"Why so? There is no way so short as a straight way."

"No, ma'am. But -I cannot undo what is done, Miss Cardigan."

"What our cheeks say your heart has done. No, child." And

again I heard the unwonted sigh from Miss Cardigan's lips.

"Not my heart only," I went on, plucking up courage. "I have

spoken - I have let him speak. I cannot undo it - I cannot

undo it."

"Well?" said Miss Cardigan, looking anxious.

"It was done before I thought of mamma and papa. It was all

done - it is done; and I cannot undo it now, even for them."

"My dear, you would not marry without your parents' consent?"

"No, Miss Cardigan. They may forbid _that_."

"What then? What harm would be done by your letting them know

at once how the case stands. They would care for your

happiness, Daisy."

Not with a Northerner, a farmer's son, and an officer in the

Northern army. I knew how it would be; but I could not tell

Miss Cardigan.

"What is it you cannot undo, little Daisy?" she said softly, I

suppose seeing me look troubled. And she stretched out a kind

hand and took hold of mine. It was very hard to bear. All this

was a sort of dragging things into light and putting things in

black and white; more tangible and more hard to deal with for

ever after.

"What is it you cannot undo? Since you confess, that if they

desired, you would undo the whole."

"Not my faith, nor my affection," - I said, slowly. "Some

things they may forbid, and I obey; but _these_ things are

passed beyond their power, and beyond mine. I will be true. I

cannot help it now, if I would."

"But, Daisy -" said Miss Cardigan, and she was evidently

perplexed now herself. - "Since you are ready to obey them in

the utmost and give up Thorold if they say so, what is there,

my dear, which your father and mother could command _now_ in

which you are not ready to obey them?"

"The time has not come, Miss Cardigan," I said. "It may be -

you know it may be - long, before they need know anything

about it; before, I mean, anything could be done. I am going

abroad - Christian will be busy here - and they might tell me

not to think of him and not to write to him; and - I can't

live so. It is fair to give him and myself the chance. It is

fair that they should know him and see him before they hear

what he wants of them; or at least before they answer it."

"Give him and yourself the _chance_ - of what, Daisy?"

"I don't know," I said faint-heartedly. "Of what time may do."

"Then you think -my dear, you augur ill of your father's and

mother's opinion of your engagement?"

"I can't help it now, Miss Cardigan," I said; and I know I

spoke firmly then. "I did not know what I was doing - I did

not know what was coming. If I had known, if I could have

helped myself, I think I ought not to have loved anybody or

let anybody speak to me without my father and mother choosing

it; but it was all done before I could in the least help it;

and you know I cannot help it now. I owe something besides to

them now. I will not disobey them in anything I can help; -

but I will be true, - as long as I live."

Miss Cardigan sat a long while silent, holding my hand all the

while; sometimes clasping, and sometimes fondling it. Then she

turned and kissed me. It was very hard to bear, all of it.

"I suppose you are a great heiress," she said at last; as if

the words escaped her, and with a breath of a sigh.

"It is not that!" I exclaimed. "No, I am not. I am not - I

shall not be a great heiress, or an heiress at all, I think.

Christian is richer than I."

"My dear!" said Miss Cardigan. "Christian never said a word to

me about it, but your friend Mrs. Sandford - she told _me_; she

told me you would be one of the richest women in your State."

"She thought so," - I said.

"My dear, your parents are very wealthy; and they have only

one other child, Mrs. Sandford told me. I remember, for it

took me with a pity at my heart, little Daisy, for you."

"Yes, they are wealthy," I said; "and Ransom, my brother, is

the only other one. _He_ will be rich. But I shall not."

"Do you mean he is the favourite?" said Miss Cardigan.

"Oh, no!" I said. "At least, if he is, so am I. It isn't that.

But I shall never be an heiress, Miss Cardigan. I shall be

very poor, I rather think."

I smiled at her as I said these words - they were upon the

first pleasant subject that had been touched for some time

between us; and Miss Cardigan looked quite bewildered. I

remembered she had good reason; and I thought it was right,

though very much against my will, to explain my words.

"You know what makes my father and mother rich?" I said.

"My dear!" said Miss Cardigan - "They have large Southern

properties."

"And you know what makes Southern wealth?" I went on.

"Rice - cotton -"

"No, it isn't that," I said.

"What then, my dear? I do not know what you mean. I thought it

was mainly cotton."

"It is unpaid labour," I said. "It is hands that ought to work

for themselves; and men and women that ought to belong to

themselves."

"Slaves," said Miss Cardigan. "But, Daisy, what do you mean?

It's all true; but what can you do?"

"I can have nothing to do with it. And I will have nothing. I

would rather be poor, as poor as old Darry and Maria, than

take what belongs to them. Miss Cardigan, so would you."

She settled herself back in her chair, like a person who has

got a new thought. "My dear child!" she said. And then she

said nothing more. I did not wish she should. I wanted no

counsel, nor to hear any talk about it. I had only spoken so

much, as thinking she had a right to hear it. I went back into

my own meditations.

"Daisy, my child," she said suddenly after a while, - "there

is only one thing to be said; and the word is not mine. 'If

the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated

you."

"Why, Miss Cardigan," said I, smiling, "do you think the,

world will hate me for such a thing?"

"It hates all those who pretend to tell it is wrong."

"I do not pretend to tell it anything," I said.

"There is no preaching like that of the life. Daisy, have you

well considered this matter?"

"For years."

"Then I'll know how to pray for you," she said. And there our

conversation ended. It had laid on my heart a grave burden of

well-defined care, which went with me thenceforth. I could

never ignore it nor doubt it was there. Not but I knew well

enough each several point in our discussion, before it had

come up in words between Miss Cardigan and me; but having so

come up, and taken form, each was a tangible thing for ever

after. It is odd, how much we can bear unspoken, to which

words give an unendurable weight and power. However, these

troubles, in their present form, were not unendurable. I only

felt them constantly from that time.

My visits to Miss Cardigan now were what they had always been;

only perhaps she was a little more tenderly affectionate and

careful of me. We did not go back to the discussions of that

day, nor to any other regarding my affairs; but she and I

scanned the papers well, and talked to each other of the items

that seemed now to touch Thorold's and my future as well as

the future of the country. We talked, - I could not help it;

and yet often I would as lief not; the subjects were not

quieting.

The first thing, was the going to Washington of Christian and

his class. He wrote to me about it. They went in haste and

zeal; waiting for nothing; losing not a train; going by night.

Some in civilian's dress; some in cadet clothes, with the

black stripe torn off the leg; all eager for their work. What

work? It was peaceful enough work just at first. Thorold and

others were set to drill the new citizen soldiers who had come

in, answering to the President's proclamation, and who knew

simply nothing of the business they were to be wanted for, if

wanted at all. It was likely they would have something to do!

Already a second proclamation from the President had called

for a second supply of men, to serve for three years, if the

war was not sooner ended. Seamen for the navy also, in like

manner.

For three years or the war! It went to my heart, that

requisition. It looked so terribly in earnest. And so

unhopeful. I wondered, those days, how people could live that

did not know how to pray; when every one had, or might have, a

treasure at stake in this fierce game that was playing. I have

often since felt the same wonder.

I do not know how studies and the usual forms of school

recitations went on; but they did go on; smoothly, I suppose.

I even recollect that mine went on successfully. With my

double or treble motive for desiring success, I had also a

reason for prizing and remembering the attainment. But my head

was on graver matters, all the time. Would the rebels attack,

Washington? it was constantly threatened. Would fighting

actually become the common news of the land? The answer to

this second query began to be sounded audibly. It was before

May was over, that Ellsworth's soldiers took possession of

Alexandria, and he was killed. That stirred people at the

time; it looks a very little thing now. Alexandria! how I

remembered driving through it one grey morning, on one of my

Southern journeys; the dull little place, that looked as if it

had fallen asleep some hundred or two years ago and never

waked up. Now it was waked up with rifle shots; but its slave

pen was emptied. I was glad of that. And Thorold was safe in

Washington, drilling raw soldiers, in the saddle all day, and

very happy, he wrote me. I had begun to be uneasy about his

writing to me. It was without leave from my father and mother,

and the leave I knew could not be obtained; it would follow

that the indulgence must be given up. I knew it must. I looked

that necessity in the face. A correspondence, such a

correspondence, carried on without their knowing of it, must

be an impossibility for me. I intended to tell Christian so,

and stop the letters, before I should go abroad. My

difficulties were becoming daily more and more clear, and

looking more and more unmanageable. I wondered sometimes

whither I was drifting; for guide or choose my course I could

not. I had got into the current by no agency and with no fault

of my own. To get out of the current - perhaps that might not

be till life and I should go out together. So I was a somewhat

sober and diligent student those closing weeks of the term;

and yet, very happy, for Christian loved me. It was a new,

sweet, strange, elixir of life.

The term was almost out, when I was called to the parlour one

day to see Mrs. Sandford. All winter I had not seen her; she

had not been in New York. I think she was unaffectedly glad to

see me; somehow my presence was pleasant to her.

"Out of school!" she exclaimed, after a few greetings had

passed. "Almost out of school. A woman, Daisy. My dear, I

never see you but I am struck with the change in you. Don't

change any more! you are just right."

I laughed and asked her, what was the change in me? I had not

grown taller.

"No -" said Mrs. Sandford - "I don't know that you have; but

your figure is improved, and you have the air of being taller,

Daisy. I never saw you looking so well. My dear, what work you

are going to do now! now that you are out of the 'elements.'

And by the by - what _are_ you going to do, when school closes

and you are set free?"

I said I could not tell; I had received no directions. I was

waiting for letters from somewhere, to tell me what I must do.

"Suppose you go with me to Washington."

"Washington!" - I ejaculated, and therewith the power of

speech left me.

"Yes. You are not afraid, Daisy, that you look at me so? Some

people are afraid, I know, and think Washington is going to be

stormed by the Southern army; but that is all nonsense, Grant

says; and I always trust Grant. He knows. He wants me to come.

He says Washington is a novel sight just now, and I may never

have such another chance; and I think I shall do as he says

and go. Washington is full of soldiers, and no ladies in it.

You are not _afraid?_"

"Oh, no. But - Dr. Sandford has not written to me to come."

"Yes, he has; or something very like it. He asked me to come

and see you as I passed through the city - I was not likely to

need his admonition, Daisy, my dear, for it always does me

good to see you; - and he added that I might suggest to you

that I was coming, and ask you if your curiosity inclined you

to take the trouble of the journey. He said _he_ thought it

worth while, - and that we would both find it so."

I was dumb. Dr. Sandford little knew to what he was inviting

me; and I - and Thorold - What a strange chance.

"Well, what are you pondering?" Mrs. Sandford cried gaily.

"Dresses? You don't care for dresses; besides, we can have

them made in two minutes. Don't you want to go, Daisy? I am

sure you do; and I am sure Grant will take famous good care of

us, and you specially, and show us the camps and everything.

And don't you want to see the President?"

"I have seen him."

"When, and where?"

"In the street - when he went through, on his way to

Washington."

"Well, I don't care much for Presidents; but this one they say

so many different things about, that it makes me curious.

Don't you want to see him again?"

"Yes - I would like it."

"Then you'll come with me - I see it; and I'll have everything

in readiness. Thursday, does your school-work end? then we

will go Saturday. You will want one day perhaps, besides, they

say Friday is unlucky. I never go a journey on Friday."

"I would as lieve go Friday as any day," I said.

"Oh, well - Saturday will be soon enough; and now good-bye, my

dear; you to your work and I to mine. You are beautiful, my

dear Daisy!" she added, kissing me.

I wondered if it was true. If it was, I was glad, for

Thorold's sake. I knew it would be a pleasure to him. And to

my father and mother also; but that brought other thoughts,

and I went off to my studies.

CHAPTER II.

AT THE RENDEZVOUS.

The examination was over and school ended for me, before I had

one half hour to spare to go to see Miss Cardigan. The

examination had passed as I could have wished it might; all

had gone well; and I could afford to put by that whole train

of thought, even as I put up my school-books and stowed them

away; being things that I should not immediately want again.

Some time would pass, it was likely, before I would need to

refresh my memory with mathematics or philosophy. My music was

another matter, and I kept that out.

I put my books hastily as well as securely away; and then took

my hat and rushed over to Miss Cardigan's. It was a very warm

June day. I remember now the cool feeling of her marble hall.

Miss Cardigan sat in her matted parlour, busy as always,

looking quiet and comfortable in a white muslin wrapper, and

neat as a pin; also an invariable thing. Something in the

peaceful, settled, calm air of the place impressed me, I

suppose, with a feeling of contrast; of an uninvaded,

undisturbed domain, which changes were not threatening. I had

gone over the street hurriedly; I walked into the room with a

slow step.

"Daisy! my dear child!" Miss Cardigan exclaimed, - "is it you?

and is all over? I see it is. Just sit down, and you shall

have some strawberries; you look tired, my love."

I sat still, and waited, and eat my strawberries.

"Miss Cardigan," I said at length, "what is Christian's

address in Washington?"

"In Washington? I don't know. Did he never give it to you?"

"No, ma'am; nothing except 'Washington.' "

"I suppose that is enough. Haven't you written to him?"

"I have written once. - I have been thinking, Miss Cardigan,

that I must stop the writing."

"Altogether?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"His writing too?"

"Yes. My father and mother do not know - and I cannot ask

them, - and -"

"You are right," Miss Cardigan answered sorrowfully. "And yet

you will let your engagement stand, Daisy?"

"I cannot break my part of it, ma'am. I - nor they - cannot

change what is, and what has been done. The future is in their

hands - or in God's hands, rather."

Miss Cardigan sighed.

"And what then, dear, about the address?" she said.

"Because, Miss Cardigan, I am going there. I am going to

Washington."

She stopped her work to look at me.

"I am going Saturday. My guardian has sent for me. It is very

strange, Miss Cardigan; but I must go; and I thought I would

like to know in what part of the city Christian is."

"Will you write to let him know? You will, of course. Write

just as usual, child; the letter will reach him."

"Why should I, Miss Cardigan? what use? He cannot come to see

me."

"Why not?"

"I would not dare. My guardian watches me well; and he would

not like my seeing Mr. Thorold of all people."

"Why not? Ah, child! there is a rose leaf in each of your

cheeks this minute. That tells the story. Then, Daisy, you had

better not go to Washington. Christian will not bear that very

well; and it will be hard for you too. My dear, it will be

hard."

"Yes, ma'am - and hard not to go. I shall go, Miss Cardigan."

"And mayn't I tell him you are there?"

"No, ma'am. If I can, I will let him know somehow."

But a sense of the difficulties, dangers, doubts and

uncertainties, thronging my way, therewith pressed heavily

upon me; and I sat in silence and weariness, while Miss

Cardigan put up her work and ordered tea, and finally went off

to her greenhouse. Presently she came back with a rose in her

hand and held it under my face. It was a full dewy sweet

damask rose, rich and fragrant and lovely as such a rose can

be. I took it and looked at it.

"Do ye mind," my old friend said, "how the flowers spoke to

you and brought you messages, when Daisy was a child yet and

first came to see me?"

"I know - I remember," I said.

"Does that no tell you something?"

"What does it tell me?" I said, scarce able to command my

words, under the power of association, or memory, which was

laying its message on my heart, though it was a flower that

bore the message. Inanimate things do that sometimes - I

think, often, - when the ear of the soul is open to hear them;

and flowers in especial are the Lord's messengers and speak

what He gives them. I knew this one spoke to me.

"Listen, and see," Miss Cardigan said.

I looked, and as I looked, these words came up in my mind -

"Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?"

"The Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him."

And still as I looked, I remembered, - "In all their

afflictions He was afflicted;" - and, "My God shall supply all

your need, according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus."

The words came into my head; but apart from the words, the

rose seemed to say all these things to me. People who never

heard flowers talk would think me fanciful, I suppose.

"And you will go to that city of trouble, and you will not let

Christian know?" Miss Cardigan said after a while.

"Yes ma'am. - No ma'am," I answered.

"Suppose he should be angry about it?"

"Does he get angry?" I asked; and his aunt laughed.

"Does the child think he is perfect?"

"No, certainly," I said; "of course he has faults; but, Miss

Cardigan, I did not think anger was one of them, - or getting

angry."

"He will never get angry with you, Daisy, it is my firm

belief."

"But does he, easily, with other people?"

"There! I don't know," she said. "He used to be gay quick with

his temper, for all so gentle as he is. I wouldn't try him too

far, Daisy, with not letting him know."

"I cannot tell him -" I said, sighing.

For I knew, better than she did, what thorough good care would

be taken of me, and what small mercy such a visitor as Mr.

Thorold would meet at the hands of my guardians. So with a

doubtful heart I kissed Miss Cardigan, and went back over the

way to prepare for my journey. Which was, however, thrown over

by a storm till the next week.

The journey made my heart beat, in spite of all my doubts. It

was strange, to see the uniforms and military caps which

sprinkled every assemblage of people, in or out of the cars.

They would have kept my thoughts to one theme, even if

wandering had been possible. The war, - the recruiting for the

war, - the coming struggle, - the large and determined

preparation making to meet it, - I saw the tokens of these

things everywhere, and heard them on every hand. The long

day's ride to Washington was a long fever dream, as it seems

to me now; it seemed a little so to me then.

It was dark when we reached Washington; but the thought that

now became present with me, that anywhere Thorold might be,

could scarce be kept in check by the reflection that he

certainly would not be at the railway station. He was not

there; and Dr. Sandford was; and a carriage presently conveyed

us to the house where rooms for us were provided. Not a hotel,

I was sorry to find. By no chance could I see Thorold

elsewhere than in a hotel.

Supper was very full of talk. Mrs. Sandford wanted to know

everything; from the state of the capital and the military

situation and prospects for the nation, to the openings for

enjoyment or excitement which might await ourselves. The

doctor answered her fast enough; but I noticed that he often

looked at me.

"Are you tired?" he asked me at length; and there was a tone

of gentle deference in his question, such as I often heard

from Dr. Sandford. I saw that my silence struck him.

"Nonchalant," said Mrs. Sandford, half laughing. "Daisy does

not care about all these things. Why should she? To see and to

conquer are the same thing with her, whatever becomes of your

Southern and Northern camps and armies."

"Indeed I do care," I said.

"For receptions at the White House? - or military reviews? -

or parades, or encampments? Confess, Daisy."

"Yes, I care," I said. "I care about some of these things."

"I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Sandford. "I really thought,

Daisy, you were superior to them all. Why, child, you have

done nothing but meditate, in the gravest manner, ever since

we took seats in the cars this morning. I was thinking that

nothing but cabinet ministers would interest you."

This would not do. I roused myself and smiled.

"What do you think of your ward?" said Mrs. Sandford

pointedly.

"I think more of her guardian," said the doctor somewhat

dryly.

"How soon are you going to send Daisy to Europe?"

"According to orders, just as soon as I can satisfy myself

with a good opportunity. I wish you would go."

"Meanwhile, it is a very good thing that she should come here.

It will keep her from _ennui_ at least. Washington is alive,

that is one thing; and Daisy, my dear, we may mount muskets

yet. Come, let us go and get a good night's sleep while that

is possible."

I was glad to be alone. I took off my dusty travelling dress,

refreshed myself with a bath, put on a wrapper, and sat down

to think.

I found my heart was beating in a way that showed some mental

fever. What was I about? what was I going to do? I asked

myself.

I sat with my head in my hands. Then I got up and walked the

floor. I found that I was determined to see Mr. Thorold, and

to see him as soon as possible. Yet I had no certain means of

communicating with him. My determination was a vague

determination, but it sprung from the necessity of the case. I

must see Mr. Thorold. Both of us in Washington for a little

while now, no foresight could tell when again we might be near

each other. It might well be never. I would see him. Then came

the question, - Daisy, what are you going to say to him, when

you see him? I walked and thought.

Our correspondence must cease. I must tell him that. - It was

dreadfully hard to think it, but I knew it must cease. I could

not receive letters from Christian in Switzerland, and

certainly I could not write them, without the knowledge of my

father and mother; - and if I could, I would not. We must stop

writing; we must be hundreds of miles apart, know that dangers

clustered round the path of one if not both, know that clouds

and uncertainties hung over all our future, and we must not

write. And I must tell Mr. Thorold so. It was very hard; for I

did not flatter myself with an easy bright clearing away of

our difficulties by and by, even if the storm of the war

should roll over and leave Christian to encounter them with

me. I did not hope that explanations and a little persuasion

would induce my mother and my father to look favourably on a

Northern suitor for their daughter's hand. My father? - he

possibly might give up his pleasure for the sake of my

happiness; with my mother I saw no such possibility. It was

useless to hope they would let me write to an officer in the

Union army. If any chance at all for my happiness were in the

future, it must lie in changes not yet accomplished, or in Mr.

Thorold's own personal power of recommending himself; rather

in both these. For the present - I could not tell how long -

now, soon, as soon as I should leave Washington again, we must

be separated. I wished I could see Thorold that very evening!

In Washington - maybe not far off - and days so few - and I

could not see him! I sat down again and put my head in my

hand. Had I done wrong, made any unconscious mistake neglected

any duty, that this trouble had come upon me? I tried to

think. I could not find that I had to blame myself on any such

score. It was not wrong to go to West Point last summer. I

held none but friendly relations with Mr. Thorold there, so

far as I knew. I was utterly taken by surprise, when at Miss

Cardigan's that night I found that we were more than friends.

Could I hide the fact then? Perhaps it would have been right

to do it, if I had known what I was about; but I did not know.

Mr. Thorold was going to the war; I had but a surprised

minute; it was simply impossible to hide from him all which

that minute revealed. Now? Now I was committed; my truth was

pledged; my heart was given. My heart might be broken, but

could never be taken back. Truth must be truth; and my life

was Mr. Thorold's if it belonged to anybody but my father and

mother. I settled that point. It was needless ever to look at

it again.

I had something else to tell Mr. Thorold; and here I took up

my walk through the room, but slowly now. I was not going to

be an heiress. I must tell him that. He must know all about

me. I would be a poor girl at last; not the rich, very rich,

Miss Randolph that people supposed I would be. No yearly

revenues; no Southern mansions and demesnes; no power of name

and place. Would Mr. Thorold care? I believed not. I had no

doubt but that his care was for myself alone, and that he

regarded as little as I the adventitious circumstances of

wealth and standing which I intended to cast from me.

Nevertheless, _I_ cared. Now, when it was not for myself, I did

care. For Mr. Thorold, I would have liked to be rich beyond my

riches, and powerful above my power. I would have liked to

possess very much; that I might make him the owner of it all.

And instead, I was going to give him as poor a wife as ever he

could have picked up in the farm-houses of the North. Yes, I

cared. I found I cared much. And though there was not, of

course, any wavering of my judgment as to what was right, I

found that to do the right would cost me something; more than

I could have thought possible; and to tell Mr. Thorold of it

all, was the same as doing it. I walked down a good many

bitter regrets, of pride or affection; I think both were at

work; before I dismissed the matter from my mind that night.

I think I had walked a good part of the night while I was

cogitating these things and trying to bring my thoughts into

order respecting them. While I was at last preparing for

sleep, I reflected on yet another thing. I always looked back

to that evening at Miss Cardigan's with a mixture of feelings.

Glad, and sorrowful, and wondering, and grateful, as I was in

the remembrance, with all that was mingled a little

displeasure and disapproval of myself for that I had allowed

Mr. Thorold so much liberty, and had been quite so free in my

disclosures to him of my own mind. I did not know how it had

happened. It was not like me. I ought to have kept him more at

a distance, kindly of course. One, or two, kisses - my cheek

burnt at the thought - were the utmost he should have been

allowed; and I ought to have been more reserved, and without

denying the truth, to have kept myself more in my own power. I

resolved I would do it in the future. I would keep my own

place. Mr. Thorold might indeed know what he was to me and

what I was to him; I did not mean to hide that; but he must be

satisfied with knowing it and not take any liberties with the

knowledge.

So I went to sleep; but my sleep was heavy and scarcely

refreshing. I woke up, startled with the thought that I was in

Washington and might see Christian to-day. And I found the

desire quite outran the possibility.

I was therefore ready to agree to all the plans of my

companions; which included for that day a ride to the camps

and the President's reception. Abroad, amidst the stir of men,

especially where soldiers were or soldiers' work was done, I

might hope to see Christian. What then, if I saw him? I left

that point. One thing at a time.

CHAPTER III.

IN REVIEW

There were a party of us that went that morning to see the

sights in the neighbourhood of Washington. On horseback we

were; Dr. Sandford and Mrs. Sandford, Colonel Forsyth, whom I

had seen at West Point, another gentleman, and myself. I

suppose my senses were keened by anxiety; I never shall forget

the wonderful beauty of the afternoon and of what we came to

see. In some intense moods of mind, it seems as if every

sunbeam had daguerreotyping power, and memory the preparedness

to receive and retain. And I could tell even now, where there

was a sunny bank, and where a group of sun-touched trees; the

ring of our horses' hoofs is in my ear with a thought; and I

could almost paint from memory the first view of the camp we

went to see. We had crossed over into Virginia; and this

regiment, - it was Ellsworth's they told me, - was encamped

upon a hill, where tents and trees and uniforms made a bright,

very picturesque, picture. Ellsworth's corps; and he was gone

already. I could not help thinking of that; and while the rest

of the party were busy and merry over the camp doings, I sat

in my saddle looking over some lower grounds below the hill,

where several other regiments were going through certain

exercises. It looked like war! it went through my heart. And

Ellsworth's soldiers had lost their commander already. Very

likely there was somebody to miss and mourn him; somebody at

home; his mother - a young wife, perhaps -

"Is Daisy tired already?" Dr. Sandford's voice was at my side.

I roused myself and said we had had a pretty brisk ride, and I

had not been on horseback in a long time; which was true and I

felt it.

"Has it been too much for you?" he said, with a change of

tone.

I disclaimed that.

"These war-shows make you thoughtful?"

"They give me something to think about."

"They need not."

"How can they help it?"

"Daisy, I am confident there is not the slightest danger to

Washington. Do you think I would have brought you into

danger?"

"Oh, I am not thinking of danger to myself!" I exclaimed. "I

am not afraid in that way."

"For the country, are you afraid?"

"Dr. Sandford, do you think there is real danger to the

country?" I asked.

"The South will do what they can."

"Do you expect the North will be able to stand against them?"

"_You_ do not," - he said smiling.

"I know nothing about it," I said; "or at least, I know very

little of what the North can do. Of course, I know _some_

Northern soldiers will fight as well as any; but, do you

think, Dr. Sandford, they can stand - the greater part of them

- do you think they can meet the bravery and skill of the

South and get the better?"

I asked anxiously. Dr. Sandford's brow grew grave.

"Daisy, I don't know, as you say; but I have lived among the

Northern people in my life; and when a Yankee 'takes a

notion,' he is as tough a customer as ever I wish to have to

deal with."

"But they are not accustomed to fighting," I said.

"I am afraid they will be, before it is through."

"Then you think they are as brave as the South? Can they be?"

Dr. Sandford laughed at me a good deal. Nevertheless, I could

not find out what he thought; and I knew, I thought, what he

did not know so well. I knew the fiery proud spirit of my

native portion of the people. While his banter fell on my

ears, my eyes went off to the sunlit green fields where the

troops were parading; on Southern soil; and I saw in

imagination the rush and fury of vengeful onset, which might

come over those very fields; I saw the unequal contest; I saw

- what happened soon after. I sighed as I turned my eyes to

the doctor again.

"You are more of a Southerner than I thought you," he said.

And I fancied some gratification lurked behind the words.

"But _you_ are true?" I exclaimed.

"True!" said the doctor, smiling. "True to what? I hope I am

true."

"I mean, you are a true Northerner? you do not sympathise with

the South?"

"I do not think they are in the right, Daisy; and I cannot say

I wish they should succeed. It is very natural that you should

wish it."

"I do not," I said. "I wish the right to succeed."

"I believe you do, or you would not be Daisy. But, with a

woman, - excuse me, - the right is where her heart is."

Dr. Sandford touched so much more than he knew in this speech,

I felt my cheek grow hot. I thought at the same time that he

was speaking with the intent to find out more than he knew. I

was silent and kept my face turned from him.

"You do not plead guilty," he went on.

"The charge is not guilt, but weakness," I said coolly.

"Weakness!" said the doctor. "Not at all. It is a woman's

strength."

"To be misled by her feelings?"

"No; to be _led_ by them. Her feelings tell her where the right

is - generally. You are Daisy; but a woman, and therefore

perhaps no exception. Or _are_ you an exception? How is it,

Daisy?"

"I do not wish the South to succeed, Dr. Sandford - if that is

what you mean."

"It is quite enough," he said, "to constitute you a remarkable

exception. I do not know three more at this minute, in this

cause. You will not have the sympathies of your father and

mother, Daisy?"

"No, Dr. Sandford."

"Your cousin, Mr. Gary, whom we saw last summer; - on which

side is he?"

"I have not heard from him since he came to Washington. I do

not know where he is. I want to find out."

"We can easily find out," said the doctor. "If Colonel Forsyth

does not know, we shall see somebody this evening probably who

can tell us about him."

We rode home through the lingering sunlight of that long day;

uniforms, camps, fortifications, cannon, on all sides

proclaiming the new and strange state of things upon which the

country had fallen; busy people passing and repassing in all

directions; an air of life and stir everywhere that would have

been delightful, if the reason had been only different. It

saddened me. I had to make a constant effort to hide the fact

from my companions. One of them watched me, I knew. Dr.

Sandford thought I was tired; and proposed that we should

defer going to the White House until the next occasion; but I

could not rest at home and insisted on carrying out the

original scheme for the day. I was in a fever now to see Mr.

Thorold; keeping up a constant watch for him, which wearied

me. To watch with more hope of success, I would go to the

President's reception. Mr. Thorold might be there.

Mrs. Sandford, I remember, was very earnest about my dress. I

was in no danger from gratified or ungratified vanity now; it

was something else that moved me as I robed myself for that

reception. And I met my escort in the drawing-room, forgetting

that my dress could be a subject of interest to anybody but

one, - who might not see it.

"Why, that is - yes! that is the very same thing you wore to

the cadets' hop; the last hop you went to, Daisy?" Mrs.

Sandford exclaimed, as she surveyed me.

"It will do, won't it?" I said. "I have had nothing new made

this spring."

"Do!" said the lady. "What do you think, Grant?"

Dr. Sandford's face was a little flushed.

"Anything will do," he said. "It makes less difference than

ladies suppose."

"It has more to do than gentlemen ever imagine!" Mrs. Sandford

returned indignantly. "It is very good, Daisy. That pure white

somehow suits you; but I believe everything suits you, my

dear. Your mother will be a proud woman."

That sentence laid a little weight on my heart, which had just

been springing with undefined hope. I had been thinking of

somebody else who might perhaps be not displeased with me.

I sought for his figure that night, among the crowds at the

President's reception; amidst all the other interests of the

hour, that one was never forgotten. And there were many

interests certainly clustering about Washington and Washington

society then. The assembly was very peculiar, very marked,

very striking in many of its characteristics. The women were

few, much fewer than make part of ordinary assemblies; the men

were unusually well-looking, it seemed to me; and had an air

of life and purpose and energy in definite exercise, which was

very refreshing to meet. Besides that, which was generally

true, there were in Washington at this time many marked men,

and men of whom much was expected. The last have been first,

it is true, in many an instance; here as elsewhere;

nevertheless, the aspect of things and people at the time was

novel and interesting in the highest degree. So, was the talk.

Insipidities were no longer tolerated; everybody was _living_,

in some real sense, now.

I had my second view of the President, and nearer by. It did

not disappoint me, nor change the impression produced by the

first view. What a homely face! but I thought withal, what a

fine face! Rugged, and soft; gentle, and shrewd; Miss

Cardigan's "Yon's a mon!" recurred to me often. A man, every

inch of him; self- respecting, self-dependent, having a sturdy

mind of his own; but wise also to bide his time; strong to

wait and endure; modest, to receive from others all they could

give him of aid and counsel. But the honest, keen, kindly eyes

won my heart.

The evening was very lively. There were a great many people to

see and talk to, whom it was pleasant to hear. Dr. Sandford, I

always knew was a favourite; but it seemed to me this evening

that our party was thronged. Indeed I had little chance and

less time to look for Mr. Thorold; and the little I could use

availed me nothing. I was sure he was not there; for he

certainly would have seen me. And what then? It would not have

been agreeable. I began to think with myself that I was

somewhat inconsistent.

It was not till I got home that I thought this, however. I had

no time for private reflections till then. When we reached

home, Mrs. Sandford was in a talkative mood; the doctor very

silent.

"And what do you think of General Scott, Daisy? you have not

seen him before."

"I do not know," I said. "I did not hear him, talk."

"You have not heard Mr. Lincoln talk, have you?"

"No, certainly not; not before to night."

"You know how you like _him_," Dr. Sandford said pointedly.

"Yes."

"My dear, you made him the most beautiful reverence that I

ever knew a woman could make; grace and homage in perfection;

but there was something else in it, Daisy, something more;

something most exquisitely expressed. What was it, Grant?"

"You ought to know," said the doctor, with a grim smile.

"I do, I suppose, only I cannot tell the word for it. Daisy,

have you ever seen the President before?"

"When he passed through New York," I said. "I stood in the

street to see him."

Dr. Sandford's eyes opened upon me. His sister-in-law

exclaimed,

"You could not see him _then_, child. But you like him, don't

you? Well, they tell all sorts of stories about him; but I do

not believe half of them."

I thought, I could believe all the good ones.

"But Grant, you never can keep Daisy here," Mrs. Sandford went

on. "It would be hazardous in the extreme."

"Not very," said the doctor. "Nobody else is going to stay; it

is a floating community."

So we parted for the night. And I slept, the dark hours; but

restlessness took possession of me the moment I awoke. Dr.

Sandford's last words rung in my heart. "It is a floating

community." "Nobody else is going to stay." I must see Mr.

Thorold. What if _he_ should be ordered on, away from Washington

somewhere, and my opportunity be lost? I knew to be sure that

he had been very busy training and drilling some of the new

troops; and I hoped there was enough of the same work on hand

to keep him busy; but I could not know. With the desire to

find him, began to mingle now some foretaste of the pain of

parting from him again when I - or he - should leave the city.

A drop of bitter which I began to taste distinctly in my cup.

I was to learn now, how difficult it sometimes is in new forms

of trial, to be quiet and submissive and trust. I used to be

able to trust myself and my wants with God; I found at this

time that the human cry of longing, and of fear, was very hard

to still. I was ready to trust, if I might only see Mr.

Thorold. I was willing to wait, if only we might not be

separated at last. But _now_ to trust and to wait, when all was

in doubt for me; when, if I missed this sight of my friend, I

might never have another; when all the future was a cloudy sea

and a rocky shore; I felt that I _must_ have this one moment of

peace. Yet I prayed for it submissively; but I am afraid my

heart made its own cry unsubmissively.

I was restless. The days that followed the President's levee

were one after the other filled up with engagements and

amusements, - if I can give that term to what had such deep

and thrilling interest for me; but I grew only more secretly

restless with every one. My companions seemed to find it all

amusement, the rides and parades and receptions that were

constantly going on; I only saw everywhere the preparation for

a desperate game soon to be played. The Secessionists

threatened Washington; and said "only wait till the Fourth."

The people in Washington laughed at this; yet now and then I

saw one who did not laugh; and such were often some of those

who should know best and judge most wisely. Troops were

gathered under Beauregard's command not very far from the

capital. I knew the dash and fire and uncompromising temper of

the people I was born among; I could not despise their threats

nor hold light their power. My anxiety grew to see Mr.

Thorold; but I could not. I watched and watched; nothing like

him crossed my vision. Once, riding home late at night from a

gay visit to one of the neighbouring camps, we had drawn

bridle in passing the grounds of the Treasury Building, where

the Eleventh Massachusetts regiment was encamped; and slowly

walking by, were endeavouring to distinguish forms and sounds

through the dim night air - forms and sounds so novel in

Washington and so suggestive of interests at stake and dangers

at hand; when the distinct clatter of a horse's hoofs in full

gallop came down the street and passed closed by me. The light

of a passing lamp just brushed the flying horseman; not enough

to discover him, but enough to lift my heart into my mouth. I

could not tell whether it were Mr. Thorold; I cannot tell what

I saw; only my nerves were unstrung in a moment, and for the

rest of that night I tossed with impatient pain. The idea of

being so near Mr. Thorold, was more than I could bear. One

other time, in a crowd, I heard a bit of a laugh which

thrilled me. My efforts to see the person from whom it came

were good for nothing; nobody like my friend was in sight, or

near me; yet that laugh haunted me for two days.

"I do not think Washington agrees with Daisy," Mrs. Sandford

said one morning at breakfast.

"She never looked better," said the doctor.

"No. Oh, I don't mean that; she looks all herself; yes, she is

in great beauty; but she is uncommonly abstracted and

uninterested."

"Not being in general a sensitive person," observed Dr.

Sandford.

I explained that I had never been more interested in my life;

but that these things made me sober.

"My dear Daisy!" Mrs. Sandford laughed. "You were never

anything but sober yet, in all your little life. I should like

to see you intoxicated."

I felt on dangerous ground and was silent. The doctor asked

why? - to Mrs. Sandford's last speech.

"No matter!" said the lady. "The first man she loves will know

why."

"The first," said Dr. Sandford dryly. "I hope she will not

love more than one."

"She will be an uncommonly happy woman then," said Mrs.

Sandford. "Nonsense, Grant! every woman loves two or three

before she has done. Your first liking will come to nothing, -

Daisy, my dear, I forewarn you; - and most probably the second

too; but no one will be the wiser but yourself. Why don't you

blush, child? On my word, I believe you are growing pale!

Never mind, child; I am not a prophet."

I believe the blushes came then, and they all laughed at me;

but Dr. Sandford asked me very kindly if I was too tired to

see the review that day? I was not tired; and if I had been,

nothing would have tempted me to be absent from the review. I

went everywhere, as far as I could; and Dr. Sandford was

always with us, indulging every fancy I expressed or did not

express, it seemed to me. He had to work very hard at other

times to make up for it; and I thought Washington did not

agree with _him_. He looked pale and jaded this day.

I thought so after the morning's work was done; at the time I

had no leisure for such thoughts. The morning's work was a

review of many thousand troops, by the President. Dr. Sandford

and our friends had secured an excellent place for us, from

which we could well see all we wished to see; and I wished to

see everything. For various reasons. The platform where Mr.

Lincoln stood had its own peculiar attractions and interests.

It held himself, first of all, standing in front, in plain

view much of the time. It held besides a group of men that one

liked to look at just then. General Scott was there, and I

know not how many other generals; the members of the Cabinet,

and inferior military officers; and each colonel of the

regiments that passed in review, after passing, dismounted and

joined the group on the platform. I looked at these officers

with particular interest, for they and their command were

going straight across into Virginia expecting active service

soon. So I looked at their men. While each regiment marched

by, the band belonging to it halted and played. They were

going to the war. In good earnest they were going now. This

was no show of pleasure; it was work; and my heart, it seemed

to me, alternately beat and stood still. Sometimes the

oppression of feeling grew very painful, obliged as I was to

hide carefully the greater part of what I felt. A little

additional stir was almost more than I could bear. One

regiment - the Garibaldis, I think, had bouquets of flowers

and greens in their hats. I did not indeed notice this, until

the foremost came just in front of the platform and the

President. Then the bouquets were taken out from the hats, and

were tossed, in military order, rank by rank, as the files

passed by, to Mr. Lincoln's feet. It was a little thing; but

how it shook me! I was glad of the rush which followed the

passing of the regiment; the rush of people eager to secure

these bunches of flowers and evergreens for memorials; the

diversion of interest for a moment gave me chance to fight

down my heart-swelling.

"Daisy! you are - what is the matter? You are not well - you

are tired," - my guardian exclaimed anxiously, as he came back

to my side with one of the Garibaldi flower bunches.

"I am well - you are mistaken, Dr. Sandford," I made myself

say quietly.

"For which side are you so anxious?" he inquired. "You are

paler than you ought to be, at this moment, with a smile on

your lips. I got this for you - will you scorn it, or value

it?"

"You would not waste it upon me, if you thought I would scorn

it?" I said.

"I don't know. I am not infatuated about anybody. You may have

the bouquet, Daisy. Will you have it?"

I did not want to have it! I was not amusing myself, as many

and as Mrs. Sandford were doing; this was not an interesting

little bit of greens to me, but a handful of pain. I held it,

as one holds such handfuls; till the regiment, which had

halted a little while at Willard's, was ordered forward and

took the turning from Pennsylvania Avenue into the road

leading to Virginia. With that, the whole regiment burst into

song; I do not know what; a deep-voiced grave melody from a

thousand throats, cheering their advance into the quarter of

the enemy and of actual warfare. I forgot Dr. Sandford then,

whose watchful eyes I generally remembered; I ceased to see

the houses or the people before me; for my eyes grew dim with

tears it was impossible to keep back; and I listened to

nothing but that mellow, ominous, sweet, bitter, strain, till

the sound faded away in the distance. Then I found that my

cheeks were wet, and that Mrs. Sandford was wondering.

"This is what it is to have an ear for music!" she said.

"There is positively no possession which does not bring some

inconvenience on the possessor. My dear Daisy, you are in

pain; those were not tears of joy; what did that chant say to

your sensibilities? To mine it only sounded strength, and

victory. If the arms of those - _what_ are they? - that

regiment, - if their arms are only constituted proportionately

to their throats, they must do good fighting. I should think

nothing would stand before them. Daisy, they will certainly

bear down all opposition. Are you afraid? Here is the Fourth,

and Washington safe yet, for all the Southern bluster."

"I do not think you had better try to go to the Capitol," the

doctor put in.

"What, to see the meeting of Congress? Oh, yes, we will. I am

not going to miss it."

"Daisy will not?" he asked.

But Daisy would. I would try every chance. I did not at the

moment care for Congress; my wish was to find Mr. Thorold. At

the review I knew I had little reason to hope for what I

wanted; at the Capitol - after all, what chance there? when

Mr. Thorold was drilling troops from morning till night;

unless he had been already sent out of Washington. But I would

go. If I had dared, I would have expressed a desire to see

some troops drilled. I did not dare.

I remember nothing of the scene at the Capitol, except the sea

of heads, the crowd, and the heat; my intense scrutiny of the

crowd, and the weariness that grew on me. Mrs. Sandford had

friends to talk to; I only wished I need not speak to anybody.

It was a weary day; for I could not see Mr. Thorold, and I

could not hear the President's Message. I was so placed or so

surrounded that it came to me only in bits. Wearily we went

home.

At least, Dr. Sandford and I. Mrs. Sandford tried in vain to

rally us.

"There is to be a marriage in camp," she said. "What do you

think of that, Daisy? We can have invitations, we like. Shall

we like? Wouldn't it be a curious scene? Daisy is interested,

I see. Grant, no. What is the matter, Grant?"

"I hope, nothing," said the doctor.

"Will you go, if I get you an invitation?"

"Who is to be married?"

"La fille du régiment."

"It takes two," said the doctor.

"Oh! The other is a sergeant, I believe; some sergeant of the

same regiment. They are to be married to-morrow evening; and

it is to be by moonlight and torchlight, and everything odd;

up on that beautiful hill where we were the other day, where

the trees and the tents make such a pretty mingling with red

caps and everything else."

"I hope the ceremony will be performed by comet light, too,"

said Dr. Sandford. "It ought, to be in character."

"You do not feel well to-night, Grant?"

"Tired. So is Daisy. Are you tired of Washington, Daisy?"

"Oh - no!" I said eagerly. "Not at all. I like very much to be

here."

"Then we will go and see the sergeant's wedding," said he.

But we did not; for the next day it was found to be only too

true that Dr. Sandford was unwell. Perhaps he had been working

too hard; at any rate, he was obliged to confess to being ill;

and a day or two more settled the question of the amount of

his indisposition. He had a low fever, and was obliged to give

up to it.

CHAPTER IV.

ON FOOT

Mrs Sandford devoted herself to the doctor. Of course, a

sudden stop was put to our gay amusements. I could not ride or

drive out any more; nor would I go to entertainments anywhere.

The stir and the rush of the world had quietly dropped me out

of it.

Yet I was more than ever eager to be in it and know what was

doing; and above all, what one was doing. I studied the

newspapers, more assiduously than I had hitherto had time for.

They excited me almost unbearably with the desire to know more

than they told, and with unnumbered fears and anxieties. I

took to walking, to wear away part of the restless uneasiness

which had settled upon me. I walked in the morning; I walked

at evening, when the sun's light was off the avenue and the

air a little cooler; and kept myself out of the house as much

as I could.

It was so that I came upon my object, when I was not seeking

it. One evening I was walking up Pennsylvania avenue; slowly,

for the evening was warm, although the sun had gone down.

Slowly and disconsolately. My heart began to fail me. I

pondered writing a word to Mr. Thorold, now that I was

completely at liberty; and I wished I had done it at once upon

Dr. Sandford's becoming ill. Two or three days' time had been

lost. I should have to take the note to the post-office

myself; but that would not be impossible now, as it had been

until now. While I was thinking these things, I saw a horseman

riding down the avenue; a single horseman, coming at a fast

gallop. I had never seen Mr. Thorold on horseback; yet from

almost the first sight of this mounted figure my heart said

with a bound who it was. I stood still by the curbstone,

looking breathlessly. I felt more and more sure as he drew

nearer, if that can be when I had been sure all along; but,

would he know me? Would he even see me, in the first place? So

many ladies walk on Pennsylvania avenue; why should his eye

pick me out? and he was riding so fast too, there would be but

one instant to see or miss me. I would not like to go again

through the suspense of that minute, though it was almost too

intense to be conscious pain. I stood, all eyes, while that

figure came on, steady, swift, and moveless, but for the quick

action of the horse's muscles. I dared not make a sign,

although I felt morally sure who it was, until he was quite

close to me; then, I do not know whether I made it or not. I

think not; but the horse wheeled, just as he was past me; I

did not know a horse could wheel so short; and the rider had

dismounted at the same instant it seemed, for he was there, at

my side, and my hand in his. I certainly forgot at that minute

all I had stored up to say to Mr. Thorold, in the one great

throb of joy. He did not promise to be easily managed, either.

"Daisy!" was his first question - "Daisy, where have you

been?"

"I have been here - a while."

"I heard it from Aunt Catherine yesterday - I should have

found you before another day went over - Daisy, how long?"

I hardly liked to tell him, he looked so eager and so

imperative, and so much as if he had a right to know, and to

have known. But he did not wait for the answer; and instead,

drawing my arm within his own, bent down to me with looks and

words so glad, so tender, so bright, that I trembled with a

new feeling, and all the blood in my heart came surging up to

my face and away again. The bridle was over his other arm, and

the horse with drooped head walked on the other side of him,

while Mr. Thorold led me on in this fashion. I do not know how

far. I do not know what he said or what I answered, except in

bits. I know that he made me answer him. I was not capable of

the least self-assertion. What startled me at last out of this

abstraction, was the sudden fear that we might be observed. I

looked up and said something about it. Only to my confusion;

for Thorold laughed at me, softly, but how he laughed - at me.

I tried a diversion.

"Have you been drilling troops to-day?"

"All day; or I should have come to find and scold you. By the

way, how long _have_ you been in Washington, Daisy?"

"I should not have thought you would ride such a pace at the

end of a day's work - you did not ride like a tired man."

"I am not a tired man. Didn't I tell you, I had a letter from

Aunt Catherine yesterday. I have felt no fatigue since. When

did you come here, Daisy?"

"Christian, I could not let you know, for I was with my

guardian - he is a sort of guardian for the time - and -"

"Well? I know your guardian. Dr. Sandford, isn't he"

"Yes, but he would not like to see you."

"I don't care whether he likes it or not, Daisy."

"Yes, but, you see, Christian, it would be not pleasant if he

were to carry me off away from Washington; as he took me from

West Point last year."

"To get you away from me?"

"He would, if he suspected anything."

"Daisy, I do not like suspicions. The best way is to let him

know the truth."

"Oh, no, Christian!"

"Why not, little one?"

"I would rather my father and mother heard it first from you

in person," I answered, stumbling in my speech.

"So would I, Daisy; but the times are against us. A letter

must be my messenger; and Dr. Sandford has nothing to do with

the matter."

"He would think he had," I answered, feeling the difficulties

in my way.

"Aren't you my Daisy?" he said, looking down into my face with

his flashing eyes, all alight with fire and pleasure.

"But that -" I began.

"No evasions, Daisy. Answer. Aren't you mine?"

I said "yes" meekly. But what other words I had purposed to

add were simply taken off my lips. I looked round, in scared

fashion, to see who was near; but Thorold laughed softly

again.

"It is too dark for people to make minute investigations,

Daisy."

"Dark!" said I. "Oh, Christian, I must go home. I shall be

missed, and Mrs. Sandford will be frightened."

"Will the doctor come after you?"

"Oh, no, he is sick; but Christian, I must go home."

He turned and went with me, changing his tone, and making a

variety of tender inquiries about my situation and my doings.

They were something new; they were so tender of me, so

thoughtful of my welfare, so protecting in their inquisitive

care; and moreover they were the inquiries of one who had a

right to know all about me. Something entirely new to my

experience; my mother's care was never so sympathetic; my

father's never so fond; even my guardian's was never so

strict. Dr. Sandford to be sure had no right to make his care

like this. I did not know that Mr. Thorold had; but I found it

was indisputable. And in proportion it was delightful. We had

a slow, very busy walk and talk until within a few doors of my

Washington home; there we parted, with a long hand clasp, and

the promise on my part that Mr. Thorold should find me at the

same hour and place as to-day on the next evening.

Nobody was looking for me, and I gained my room in safety. I

was very happy, yet not all happy; for the first use I made of

my solitude, after getting rid of my bonnet and mantilla, was

to sit down and cry. I asked myself the reason, for I did not

like to be in the dark about my own feelings; this time they

were in a good deal of confusion.

As I look back, I think the uppermost thing was my happiness;

this new, delicate, strange joy which had come into my life

and which I had never tasted so fully or known the flavour of

it so intimately as this evening. Looks and tones, and little

nameless things of manner telling almost more yet, came back

to me in a small crowd and overwhelmed me with their

testimony. Affection, and tenderness, and pleasure; and

something apart from these, an inexplicable assuming of me and

delight in me as so assumed; they found me or made me very

weak to-night. What was the matter? I believe it was, first,

this happiness; and next, the doubt that rested over it and

the certainty that I must leave it. Certainly my weeping was

hearty enough to answer to all three causes. It was a very

unaccustomed indulgence to me; or not an indulgence at all,

for I was not fond of tears; but it did act as a relief. I

washed away some of my trouble in my tears; the happiness

sprung to the surface; and then I could almost weep for joy

and thankfulness that I was so happy. Even if the grounds of

my happiness were precarious, I had trusted God all my life

with all I cared for; could I not trust Him still? My tears

stopped; and I believe one or two smiles could not be checked

as I remembered some look or word of Mr. Thorold's.

I was to see him the next evening; and it would behove me to

lose no time in telling him all the various matters I had

wished him to understand. It seemed to me there was something

to reconsider in my proposed communications. I had to tell him

that our correspondence must be stopped. Would he agree to

that? I had thought he would agree, and must, to anything I

desired. To-night assured me that he had a will in the matter

too, and that his will was strong. Further, it assured me that

he had a right; and knew it. Yet it was impossible that we

should write to each other without my parents' leave; and

impossible that we should gain the leave. Mr. Thorold would

have to see the matter as I looked at it; but a doubt came

over me that to make him do so might prove difficult. That was

one thing. Then about my not being an heiress. I suddenly

found a great dislike in myself to speak to him on the

subject. There was no doubt that it would be right to tell him

what I had thought to tell him; wrong not to do it; the right

and the wrong were settled; my willingness was not. A little

inner consciousness that Mr. Thorold would relish any handling

of the matter that savoured of the practical, and would

improve it for his own ends, made my cheek hot. Yet I must

tell him. The thing stood, with only an addition of

disagreeableness. And what chance should I have, in the

street?

I meditated a good while, before there suddenly started into

my mind a third subject upon which I had meant to take action

with Mr. Thorold. I had thought to qualify a little the

liberty he had assumed upon our first betrothal; to keep at a

somewhat more reserved distance, and make him. Could I? Was

Mr. Thorold under my management? He seemed to take me under

his. I pondered, but between laughing and rebellion I could

make nothing of the subject. Only, I resolved, if

circumstances gave me any chance, to act on my proposed

system.

The next day was swallowed up in like thoughts. I tried to

arrange my subjects and fix upon one to begin with; but it was

a vain effort. I knew that as soon as I began to get ready for

my walk. Things must come as they would. And my cross tides of

purpose resolved themselves into one long swell of joy, when I

discerned the figure I was looking for, waiting for me on

Pennsylvania avenue; too soon, for it was near the place where

we parted the night before.

"This is very dangerous -" I said, as we began to stroll up

the avenue.

"What?" said Mr. Thorold, looking down at me with his eyes as

full of mischief as ever.

"It is so light yet, and you come so near the house."

"You walk with other people, don't you?"

"I am not afraid of the other people."

"Are you afraid of me?" said he smiling; and then growing

grave, "We may have only a few times, Daisy; let us make the

most of them."

How could I start anything after that. I was mute; and Mr.

Thorold began upon a new theme.

"Daisy, how long have you been in Washington?"

"Christian, I _could_ not let you know. I was always hoping to

see you somewhere."

"Sounds as if you felt guilty," he said. "Confess, Daisy; you

look as if you were afraid I would be angry. I will not be

very hard with you."

I was afraid; and he was angry, when I told him. His face

flushed and his eye changed, and turned away from me.

"Christian," I said, "I was very unwilling that Dr. Sandford

should know anything about it; that was my reason. If I had

written to you, you know you would have come straight to where

I was; and the risk was too great."

"What risk?" he said. "I might have been ordered away from

Washington; and then we might never have met."

"Are you vexed?" I said gently.

"You have wronged me, Daisy."

It gave me, I do not know whether more pain or pleasure, the

serious grave displeasure his manner testified. Neither pain

nor pleasure was very easy to express; but pain pressed the

hardest.

"I have been looking for the chance of seeing you; looking the

whole time," I said. "Everywhere, it was the one thing I was

intent upon."

"Daisy, it might have been lost altogether. And how many days

have been lost!"

I was silent now; and we walked some steps together without

anything more. But the next words were with a return to his

usual clear voice.

"Daisy, you must not be afraid of anything."

"How can I help it?" I asked.

"Help it? - but have _I_ brought those tears into your eyes?"

It was almost worth while to have offended him, to hear the

tone of those words. I could not speak.

"I see you are not very angry with me," he said; "but I am

with myself. Daisy, my Daisy, you must not be so fearful of

unknown dangers."

"I think I have been fearful of them all my life," I answered.

"Perhaps it is my fault."

And with unspeakable joy I recognised the truth, that at last

my life was anchored to one from whom I need neither fear nor

disguise anything.

"To fear them is often to bring them." he added.

"I do not think it will, in my case," I said. "But, if Dr.

Sandford had known you were coming to see me, he might have

carried me off from Washington, just as he did from West Point

last year."

"From West Point?" said Mr. Thorold, his eyes making a

brilliant commentary on my words; - "Did he carry you away

from West Point for any such reason? Is he afraid of me?"

"He would be afraid of anybody," I said in some confusion, for

Mr. Thorold's eyes were dancing with mischief and pleasure; -

"I do not know - of course I do not know what he was afraid

of; but I know how it _would_ be."

Mr. Thorold's answer was to take my hand and softly draw it

through his own arm. I did not like it; I was fearful of being

seen to walk so; yet the assuming of me was done in a manner

that I could not resist nor contravene. I knew how Christian's

eyes fell upon me; I dared not meet them.

"Is the doctor jealous of you, Daisy?" he whispered laughing.

I did not find an answer immediately.

"Does he _dare?_" Mr. Thorold said in a different tone.

"No, no. Christian, how imperious you are!"

"Yes," he said; "I will be so where you are concerned. What do

you mean, Daisy? or what does he mean?"

"He is my guardian, you know," I said; "and he has sharp eyes;

and he is careful of me."

"_Very_ careful?" said Mr. Thorold, laughing and pressing my

arm. "Daisy, _I_ am your guardian while you are in Washington. I

wish I had a right to say that you shall have nothing more to

do with Dr. Sandford. But for the present I must mind my

duty."

"And I mine," - I added, with my heart beating. Now it seemed

a good opening for some of the things I had to say; yet my

heart beat and I was silent.

"Yours, Daisy?" he said very tenderly. "What is yours? What

present pressure of conscience is giving you something hard to

do? I know it will be done! What work is this little soldier

on?"

I could not tell him. I could not. My answer diverged.

"What are _you_ on, Christian?"

"The same thing. Rather preparing for work - preparing others.

I am at that all day."

"And do you expect there will be real work, as you call it?

Will it come to that?"

"Looks like it. What do you think of Fairfax Court-house? -

and Great Bethel? - and Falling Waters, and so on?"

"That was bad, at Great Bethel," I said.

"Mismanagement -" said Mr. Thorold calmly.

"And at Vienna."

"No, the troops behaved well. They behaved well, Daisy. I am

content with that."

"Do you think - don't be angry, Christian! - do you think the

people of the North generally will make as fiery fighting men

as the people of the South, who are used to fighting, and

commanding, and the practice of arms?"

"When you get a quiet man angry, Daisy, he is the very worst

man to deal with that you ever saw."

"But the people of the North are all accustomed to peaceful

employments?"

Mr. Thorold laughed, looking down at me with infinite

amusement and tenderness mixed.

"I see what your training has been," he said. "What will you

do when you have one of those quiet people for your husband?"

"Quiet!" said I. "When your eyes are showering sparks of fire

all over me!"

"Daisy," he said, "those rose leaves in your cheeks are the

very prettiest bits of colour I ever saw in my life."

"But we are wandering from the subject," I said.

"No, we are not," he said decidedly. "You are my one subject

at all times."

"Not when you are training soldiers?" I said half laughing.

But he gave me a look which silenced me. And it nearly took

away all the courage I had, for everything I wanted to say to

him and had found it so difficult to say.

"Christian," I began again after an interval, "were the troops

that were sent over into Virginia just now, sent, do you

suppose, to meet Beauregard?"

"I suppose so."

"You are not going?" - I asked, because the question was

torturing me.

He looked down at me again, a steady, fixed, inquiring look,

that grew very full of affection before he answered,

"I hope so, Daisy."

"You are not ordered!"

"No; not yet."

"But if you were to go, would you not know it by this time?"

"Not certainly. Some troops will be left here of course, to

guard Washington."

I walked with my heart in my mouth. I knew, what he did not

say, that orders might be issued suddenly and as suddenly

obeyed; with no beforehand warning or after delay. How could I

speak anything of what had been in my mind to be said? Yet the

very circumstances which made it more difficult made it also

imperative, to speak them. I fought myself, while Mr. Thorold

sometimes watched me and constantly took care of me, with a

thoughtful care in little things which was eloquent.

"Christian" - I began, feeling my voice changed.

"That is to tell me we must turn homeward?" he said gayly.

"No; I want to speak to you. But we must turn homeward too."

"To speak to me? In that voice? Look at me, Daisy. - No, I

won't hear it now, and not here. We must have something

better. Daisy, go and ride with me to- morrow evening!"

"Oh, I cannot."

"Yes, Daisy. I ask it of you. Dr. Sandford is in bed. He

cannot go along. Then you can tell me all that is on your mind

about Northern soldiers."

"Oh, I only thought Christian - You know, I know the temper of

the Southern people."

"You will know the temper of the other section of the country

some day," he said, with a smile at me which was half serious

and half personal in its bearing. But he made me promise to go

and ride with him if I could; and so left me.

I met Mrs. Sandford as I went into the house. She said she was

glad I kept up my walks; she was sorry I had such a terribly

dull time; it was a pity I came to Washington. Dr. Sandford

was no better, and much worried about me, that I should be so

cut off from amusement.

"Tell him I am doing very well, and having time to read the

papers," I said.

"Those horrid papers!" said Mrs. Sandford. "They make my hair

stand on end. I wouldn't read them; Daisy."

"But you do."

"Well, I cannot keep my hands off them when I see them; but I

wish I was where I could never see them. Ever since I read

General Beauregard's proclamation, I have been in a fury with

everything South; and it is uncomfortable to be in a fury. O

dear! I wish Grant would get well and take us away. Come in

and let us have a cup of tea, dear. Isn't it hot?"

I took the tea and bore the talk, till both were done and I

could shut myself into the seclusion of my own room. And tears

did not come to-night, but dry heart- aching pain instead;

with which I struggled till the night had worn far on.

Struggled, trying to reason it away and to calm it down by

faith and prayer. Ah me! how little reason could do, or faith

either. For reason only affirmed and enlarged my fears; and

faith had no power to say; they might not come true. The

promise, "He shall not be afraid of evil tidings," belongs to

those who have their will so merged in God's will as not to be

careful what that will may be. I had not got so far. A new

lesson was set me in my experience book; even to lay my will

down; and nobody who has not learned or tried to learn that

lesson knows how mortal hard it is. It seemed to me my heart

was breaking the whole livelong night.

CHAPTER V.

ON HORSEBACK

A little sleep and the fresh morning light set me up again. I

was to ride with Mr. Thorold in the evening; my mind fixed on

that nearest point, and refused for the moment to go further.

I heard from Mrs. Sandford at breakfast that Dr. Sandford was

no better; his low nervous prostration continued and

threatened to continue. Mrs. Sandford was much troubled about

me. All this suited my convenience; even her unnecessary

concern; for I had made up my mind to tell Mrs. Sandford I was

going to ride; but I would not till our late dinner, that

there might be no chance of her consulting the doctor. At

dinner I mentioned that a friend had asked me to ride and I

had half consented. Mrs. Sandford looked somewhat startled and

asked who the friend might be?

"Another officer," I said quietly; "his name is Thorold. I saw

him last summer, Mrs. Sandford; and I know about him. He is a

good one to go with."

"I can't ask Grant anything," she said, looking doubtful. "He

knows everybody."

"It is not needful," I answered. "I am going to take the

indulgence this once. I think it will do me good."

"Daisy, my dear!" said Mrs. Sandford - "You are as good as

possible - but you have a will of your own. All you

Southerners have, I think."

I replied that I was a Northerner; and the talk went to other

things. Mrs. Sandford left me with a kiss and the injunction

to take care of myself. I was very glad to get off so, for she

looked a little unsatisfied. My way was clear now. I dressed

with a bounding heart, mounted, and was away with Mr. Thorold;

feeling beneath all my gladness that now was my time and my

only time for doing all the difficult work I had set myself.

But gladness was uppermost, as I found myself in the saddle

and away, with Mr. Thorold by my side; - for once free and

alone together; - gladness that kept us both still I think;

for we exchanged few words till we were clear of the city and

out upon the open country. There we slackened bridle, and I

began to feel that the minutes were exceedingly precious. I

dreaded lest some words of Christian's should make it

impossible for me to do what I had to do.

"Christian," I began, "I have things to talk to you about."

"Well," said he brightly, "you shall. Will it take a great

while, Daisy? Because I have things to talk to _you_ about."

"Not a great while, I hope," I said, almost stammering.

"You shall talk what you will, darling. But wait till we get a

better place."

I would have liked the place where we were, and the time.

Better where the road was rough than where it was smooth;

easier where there was something to make interruption than

where Christian could give too exclusive heed to me. But I

could not gainsay him; and we rode on, till we came to a piece

of pretty broken ground with green turf and trees. Here Mr.

Thorold stopped and proposed that we should dismount; he said

we should talk more at our ease so. I thought my predetermined

measures of dignity could be more easily maintained on

horseback; but I could not bear to refuse him, and he did not

mean to be refused, I saw. He had dismounted even while he

spoke, and throwing his horse's bridle over the branch of a

tree, came to lift me down; first throwing his cap on the

grass. Then keeping me in his arms and bending a brilliant

inquisitive look on my face, he asked me,

"Daisy - is this my Daisy, as I left her?"

I could not help answering a plain yes. Nothing in me was

changed; and come what might, that was true. No other answer

would have been true. And I could not blame him that he held

me fast and kissed me, almost as he had done that first time.

Almost; but the kisses were more grave and deliberate now;

every one seemed a seal and a taking possession. Indeed the

whole manner of Mr. Thorold had taken gravity and manliness

and purpose; he was changed, as it would have taken much

longer in other circumstances to change a man. I stood still

and trembled, I believe; but I could no more check him than I

could that first night.

Still holding me fast, he lifted my face a little and smiling

asked me, what Daisy had to say to him? The tone, tender and

happy, was as much as I could bear; more than I could answer.

He led me a little way, arranged a seat for me on a green

bank, and threw himself down by my side. But that was very

inconvenient, for he could look up right into my face.

"Business, Daisy?" he said gayly and tenderly at once. The

tone seemed to .touch the colour in my cheeks and the droop of

my eyes.

"Yes," I said. "It is business."

"Well, what, love?"

"Christian," said I, putting my hand in his, "you know papa

and mamma do not know of this."

"They shall know, as soon as I can write to them," he answered.

"I understand - you do not wish that, Daisy; but see - I

cannot leave it unsaid, as long as your thought would leave

it. Till they know, I have only half a right to you. I cannot

live so."

"You must," I whispered, - "till this war is over."

"What then?" said he quickly. "How will that help the matter?"

"Then they may see you for themselves. A letter would not do."

"If you please, how do you expect I am to live till then?" he

said smiling. "With half a right to you."

"Yes - with that, - and without writing to me," I answered.

"Daisy!" exclaimed Thorold, raising himself half up.

"Yes," I said - "I know - I have been wanting to talk to you

about it. You _know_, Christian, I could not write nor receive

your letters without my father's and mother's permission."

"Can _you_ bear that, Daisy?" he asked.

My heart seemed to turn sick. His words suggested nothing new,

but they were his words. I failed to answer, and my face went

down in my hands.

"There, is no need of that, darling," he said, getting one of

them and putting it to his lips. "Here you are fearing dangers

again. Daisy -with truth on your side and on mine, nothing can

separate us permanently."

"But for the present," - I said as soon as I could speak. "I

am sure our chance for the future is better if we are patient

and wait now."

"Patient, and wait?" said Mr. Thorold. "If we are patient now?

What do you mean by patience? You in Switzerland, with half a

hundred suitors by turns; and I here in the smoke of artillery

practice, unable to see twenty yards from my drill - and _that_,

you think, does not call for patience, but you must cut off

the post-office from our national institutions. And to wait

for you is not enough, but I must wait for news of you as

well!"

"Christian!" said I, in desperation - "it is harder for me

than for you."

He laughed at that; laughed and looked at me, and his eyes

sparkled like a shower of fireworks, and then I was sure that

a mist was gathering in them. I could scarcely bear the one

thing ands the other. My own composure failed. He did not this

time answer by caresses. He got up and paced the turf a little

distance below me; his arms folded, his lips set, and the

steps never slackening. So he was when I could look up and

see. This was worse than anything. And the sun was lowering

fast, and we had settled nothing, and our time was going. I

waited a minute, and then I called him. He came and stood

before me, face and attitude unchanged.

"Christian," I said, - "don't you see that it is best - my

plan?"

"No," he said.

I did not know what to urge next. But as I looked at him, his

lips unbent and his face shone down at me, after a sort, with

love, and tenderness and pleasure. I felt I had not prevailed

yet. I rose up and stood before him.

"Indeed it is best!" I said earnestly.

"What do you fear, Daisy?" His look was unchanged and feared

nothing. It was very hard to tell him what I feared.

"I think, without seeing you and knowing you, they will never

let us write; and I would rather they did not know anything

about the - about us - till you can see them."

He took both my hands in his, and I felt how hard it is for a

woman to move a man's will when it is once in earnest.

"Daisy, that is not brave," he said.

"No - _I_ am not," I answered. "But is it not prudent?"

"I do not believe in cowardly prudence," he said; but he

kissed me gently to soften the words; "the frank way is the

wisest, always, I believe; and anyhow, Daisy, I can't stand

any other. I am going to ask you of your father and mother;

and I am going to do it without delay."

"I wish they could see you," I said helplessly.

"And as I cannot be present to do my pleading in person, I

must trust you to plead for me."

"You forget," said I; "it is against you that you are a

Northern officer."

"That may depend upon the event of the war," he said; and I

saw a sparkle again. Wilful and manly as he could be; but he

did not know my father and mother. Yet that last word of his

might be true; what if it were? The end of the war! When might

that be? and how? If all the Northern army were Thorolds, -

but I knew they were not. I felt as if my magazine of words

was exhausted. I suppose then my face spoke for me. He

loosened his hold of one hand to put his arm round me and draw

me to him, with a fine tenderness, both reverent and

masterful.

"My Daisy" - he said, - "what do you want of me?"

And I could not tell him then. As little could I pretend to be

dignified. Pain was too sharp. We drew very close to each

other, and were very silent for those minutes. I would command

myself, and did, hard work as it was, and though my face lay

on his shoulder. I do not know how his face looked; when he

spoke again the tone was of the gravest tenderness.

"What do you want of me, Daisy?"

"I think, this," I said, raising my head and laying my hand on

his shoulder instead. "Suppose, Christian, you leave the

question undecided - the question of letters, I mean, - until

I get there, - to Switzerland, - and see my father and mother.

Perhaps I can judge then what will be safe to do; and if I can

write, you know I will write immediately."

"And if you cannot?"

"Then - I will write once, to let you know how it is."

He stood still, reading my face, until it was a little hard to

bear, and my eyes went down.

"Suppose your father and mother - suppose they are obdurate,

Daisy, and will not have me, being a Northern man and in the

Government service?"

What then? I could not say.

"Suppose it, Daisy."

"Well, Christian?" I said, raising my eyes to his face.

"What will you do?"

"You know, Christian, I _must_ obey my father and mother."

"Even as I my other duty. Well, we are both soldiers. But what

would you do, Daisy?"

"Do? -" I repeated.

"Yes," he said very gravely, and with a certain determination

to have the answer.

"I should do nothing, Christian. I should be just the same."

But I believe my cheeks must have answered for me, for I felt

them grow pale.

"What if they chose a Southern husband for you, and laid their

commands in his favour?"

"I am _yours_ -" I said, looking up at him. I could not say any

more, but I believe Mr. Thorold understood it all, just what I

meant him to understand; how that bond could never be

unloosed, what though the seal of it might be withheld. He was

satisfied.

"You are not brave, Daisy," he said, holding me again very

close; "here are these cheeks fairly grown white under my

supposings. Does that bring the colour back?" he added

laughing.

"Christian," I said, seizing my time while my face was half

hidden, "what would _you_ do, supposing I should prove to be a

very poor girl?"

"What is that?" said he, laughing more gayly, and raising my

face a little.

"You know what our property is."

"No, I do not."

"You know - I mean, you know, my father's and mother's

property is in Southern lands mostly, and in those that

cultivate them."

"Yes. I believe I have understood that."

"Well, I will never be the owner of those people - the people

that cultivate those lands; and so I suppose I shall not be

worth a sixpence; for the land is not much without the

people."

"You will not be the owner of them?"

"No."

"Why do you tell me that?" said Mr. Thorold gravely.

"I wanted you to know -" I said, hesitating and beginning very

much to wish my words unsaid.

"And the question is, what I will do in the supposed

circumstances? Was that it?"

"I said that," - I assented.

"What shall I do?" said Mr. Thorold. "I don't know. If I am in

camp, I will pitch a tent for my wife; it shall have soft

carpets and damask cushions; as many servants as she likes,

and one in especial who will take care that the others do her

bidding; scanty accommodations, perhaps, but the air full of

welcome. She will like it. If I am stationed in town

somewhere, I will fill her house with things to please her. If

I am at the old farm, I will make her confess, in a little

while, that it is the pleasantest place she ever saw in her

life. I don't know what I will do! I will do something to make

her ashamed she ever asked me such a question."

"Oh, don't!" said I, with my cheeks burning. "I am very much

ashamed now."

"Do you acknowledge that?" he said, laughing and taking his

revenge. "So you ought."

But then he made me sit down on the grass again and threw

himself at my feet, and began to talk of other things. He

would not let me go back to the former subjects. He kept me in

a state of amusement, making me talk too about what he would;

and with the light of that last subject I had unluckily

started, shining all over his face and sparkling in his eye

and smile, until my face was in a condition of permanent

colour. I had given him an advantage, and he took it and

played with it. I resolved I would never give him another. He

had gone back apparently to the mood of that evening at Miss

Cardigan's; and was full of life and spirits and mischief. I

could do nothing but fall in with his mood and be happy;

although I remembered I had not gained my point yet; and I

half suspected he had a mind I should not gain it. It was a

very bright, short half hour; and then I reminded him it was

growing late.

"Moonlight -" he said. "There is a good large moon, Daisy."

"But Mrs. Sandford -" I said.

"She knows you are your own mistress."

"She _thinks_ I am," I said. "You know better."

"You are mine," said Mr. Thorold, with gentle gravity,

immediately. "You shall command me. Do you say go, Daisy?"

"May I influence you in something else?" I said putting my

hand in his to enforce my words.

"Eh?" said he, clasping the hand. "What, Daisy?"

"Christian, I want you not to write to my father and mother

until I give you leave." I thought I would let go arguing and

try persuasion.

He looked away, and then looked at me; - a look full of

affection, but I saw I had not moved him.

"I do not see how we can settle that, Daisy."

"But you said - you said -"

"What?"

"You said just now, you intimated, that my wishes would have

weight with you."

He laughed a little, a moved laugh, and kissed me. But it was

not a kiss which carried any compromise.

"Weight with me? Yes, a little. But with me, Daisy. They must

not change me into somebody not myself."

"Would that? -"

"If I could be content to have your faith in secret, or to

wait to know if I might have it at all? I must be somebody not

myself, Daisy."

I pondered and felt very grave. Was it true, that Mr. Thorold,

though no Christian, was following a rule of action more noble

and good than I, who made such professions? It was noble, I

felt that. Had my wish been cowardly and political? Must not

open truth be the best way always? Yet with my father and

mother old experience had long ago taught me to hold my tongue

and not speak till the time came. Which was right? I felt that

his rule of action crossed all my _inner_ nature, if it were not

indeed the habit which had become second nature. Mr. Thorold

watched me.

"What is it, Daisy? - my Daisy?" he asked with a tender

inquisitiveness, though looking amused at me.

"I was thinking -" I answered, - "whether you are a great deal

better than I am."

"Think it by all means," he said laughing. "I am certainly a

good deal braver. But what else, Daisy? there was something

else."

"That," said I. "I was thinking of my habit, all my life long,

of keeping things back from my father and mother till I

thought it was safe to show them."

"Are you going to let that habit live? What lessons you will

have to learn, my little Daisy! I could never bear to have my

wife afraid of me."

"Of you!" I said. "I never should." - But there I stopped in

some confusion, which I knew my neighbour enjoyed. I broke up

the enjoyment by standing up and declaring that it was now

time to go.

We had a pretty ride home. My mind was disburthened of its

various subjects of care which I had had to communicate to Mr.

Thorold; and although I had not been able entirely to prevail

with him, yet I had done all I could, and my conscience was

clear. I let myself enjoy, and the ride was good. Mr. Thorold

said we must have another; but I did not believe that

feasible.

However, it fell out so. Dr. Sandford lingered on in the same

disabled state; his sister-in-law was devoted to her

attendance on him; I was left to myself. And it did come to

pass, that not only Mr. Thorold and I had walks continually

together; but also we had one more good ride. I did not try

moving him again on the point of my father and mother. I had

read my man and knew that I could not. And I suppose I liked

him the better for it. Weakness is the last thing, I think,

that a woman forgives in men, who ought to be strong.

Christian was not weak; all the more he was gentle and tender

and thoughtful for those who were. Certainly for me. Those

days, those walks, - what music of thought and manner there

was in them! The sort of protecting care and affection I had

from him then, I never had from any other at any time. Care

that seemed to, make my life his own; affection that made it

something much before his own; but all this told, not in

words, which could not have been, but in indescribable little

things of manner and tone; graces too fine to count and

measure. Once I had fancied I ought to put more reserve into

my manner, or manage more distance in his; that thought fled

from me after the first afternoon's ride and never came back.

I did not take care for myself; he took care for me. The

affection that held me as a part of himself, held me also as a

delicate charge more precious than himself; and while he

protected me as one who had a right to do it, he guarded me

also as one whose own rights were more valuable than his. He

never flattered, nor praised, nor complimented me; or with

rare exceptions; but he showed me that he lived for me, and

sometimes that he knew I lived for him.

What days and walks! The extreme and impending gravity of the

time and the interests at work, lent only a keen and keener

perception of their preciousness and sweetness. Any day our

opportunities might suddenly come to an end; every day they

were welcomed as a special fresh gift. Every evening, as soon

as Mr. Thorold's engagements allowed it, he met me on the

avenue, and we walked until the evening was as far spent as we

durst spend it so. I basked in a sunshine of care and

affection which surrounded me, which watched me, which catered

to my pleasure, and knew my thoughts before they were spoken.

We were both grown suddenly older than our years, Mr. Thorold

and I; the coming changes and chances in our lives brought us

to life's reality at once.

One ride besides we had; that was all. Except one other

experience; which was afterwards precious to me beyond price.

As it became known that Dr. Sandford's illness was persistent

and not dangerous, and that I was in consequence leading a

(supposed) bitterly dull life; it naturally happened that our

acquaintances began to come round us again; and invitations to

this or that entertainment came pouring upon me. I generally

refused; but once thought it, best, as a blind to Mrs.

Sandford, to accept an invitation to ride. Mrs. Sandford as

before demurred, but would not object.

"Who is it this time, Daisy?" she asked.

I named Major Fairbairn; luckily also an officer whom I had

known the last summer at West Point.

"Nothing but officers!" she remarked in a dubious tone. "Not

much else to be had here."

"And nothing much better anywhere," I said, "when, one is

going on horseback. They know how to ride."

"All Southerners know that. By the way, Daisy, I have heard

yesterday of Lieutenant Gary. He is in Beauregard's army."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Quite, I think. I was told by Mr. Lumpkin; and he knows all

the Southern doings, and people."

"Then he ought not to be here." I said. "He may let them know

our doings."

"_Ours!_" said Mrs. Sandford. "How fierce you are. Is Major

Fairbairn South or North? I don't remember."

"From Maine."

"Well. But, Daisy, what will your father and mother say to

you?"

There was no use in considering that question. I dismissed it,

and got ready for the major and my horse. Mounted, my

companion asked me, where should we go? I had considered that

point; and after a little pause asked, as coolly as I could,

where there were any troops drilling in cavalry or artillery

exercises. Major Fairbairn pondered a minute and told me, with

rather a rueful countenance.

"Let us go there first," I said. "It is an old story to you;

but I never saw such a thing. I want to see it and understand

it, if I can."

"Ladies like to see it, I know," said the major.

"You think, we cannot understand it?"

"I don't see how you should."

"I am going to try, Major Fairbairn. And notwithstanding your

hopeless tone, I expect you to give me all the help you can."

"I think, the less you understand of it, the better," said the

major.

"Pray why?"

"Doesn't seem comfortable knowledge, for those who cannot use

it."

"Men think that of many things," I said. "And they are much

mistaken. Knowledge is always comfortable. I mean, it is

comfortable to have it, rather than to be ignorant."

"I don't know -" said the major. "Where ignorance is bliss -"

"Ignorance never is bliss!" I said energetically.

"Then the poet must be wrong."

"Don't you think poets may be wrong as well as other people,

Major Fairbairn?"

"I hope so! or I should wish to be a poet. And that would be a

vain wish for me."

"But in these war matters," I resumed, as we cantered on, "I

am very much interested; and I think all women ought to be -

must be."

"Getting to be serious earnest -" said the major, resignedly.

I was silenced for a while. The words, "serious earnest," rang

in my heart as we went through the streets.

"Is it getting to be such serious earnest?" I asked as lightly

as I could.

"We shall know more about it soon," the major answered. _His_

carelessness was real.

"How soon?"

"May be any day. Beauregard is making ready for us at Manassas

Junction."

"How many men do you suppose he has?"

"Can't tell," said the major. "There is no depending, I think

myself, on any accounts we have. The Southern people generally

are very much in earnest."

"And the North are," I said.

"It is just a question of who will hold out best."

I thought I knew who those would be; and a shiver for a moment

ran through my heart. Christian had said, that the success of

his suit with my father and mother might depend on how the war

went. And certainly, if the struggle should be at all

prolonged and issue in the triumph of the rebels, they would

have little favour for the enemies they would despise. How if

the war went for the North?

I believe I lost several sentences of my companion in the

depth of my musing; remembered this would not do; shook off my

thoughts and talked gayly, until we came to the place where he

said the drilling process was going on. I wondered if it were

the right place; then made sure that it was; and sat on my

horse looking and waiting, with my heart in a great flutter.

The artillery wagons were rushing about; I recognised _them;_

and a cloud of dust accompanied and swallowed up their

movements, a little too distant from me just now to give room

for close observation.

"Well, how do you like it, Miss Randolph?" my major began,

with a tone of some exultation at my supposed discomfiture.

"It is very confused -" I said. "I do not see what they are

doing."

"No more than you could if it was a battle," said the major.

"Won't they come nearer to us?"

"No doubt they will, if we give them time enough."

I would not take this hint. I had got my chance; I was not

going to fling it away. I had discerned besides in the distant

smoke and dust a dark figure on a gray horse, which I thought

I knew. Nothing would have drawn me from the spot then. I kept

up a scattering fire of talk with my companion, I do not know

how, to prevent the exhaustion of his patience; while my heart

went out at my eyes to follow the gray horse. I was rewarded

at last. The whole battery charged down upon the point where

we were standing, at full gallop, "as if we had been the

Secession army," Major Fairbairn remarked; adding, that

nothing but a good conscience could have kept me so quiet. And

in truth guns and horses and all were close upon us before the

order to halt was given, and the gunners flung themselves from

the wagons and proceeded to unlimber and get the battery in

working order, with the mouths of the cannon only a few yards

from our standing-place. I hardly heard the major now, for the

gray horse and dark rider were near enough to be seen,

stationed quietly a few paces in the rear of the line of guns.

I saw his eye going watchfully from one point to another of

his charge; his head making quick little turns to right and

left to see if all were doing properly; the horse a statue,

the man alive as quicksilver, though nothing of him moved but

his head. I was sure, very sure, that he would not see me. He

was intent on his duty; spectators or the whole world looking

on were nothing to him. He would not even perhaps be conscious

that anybody was in his neighbourhood. I don't know whether I

was most glad or sorry; though indeed, I desired nothing less

than that he should give any sign that he saw me. How well he

looked on horseback, I thought; how stately he sat there,

motionless, overseeing his command. There was a pause now;

they were all still, waiting for an order. I might have

expected what it would be; but I did not, till the words

suddenly came out -

"Battery - Fire!"

The voice went through my heart; but my horse's nerves were

immediately as much disturbed as mine. The order was followed

by a discharge of the whole battery at once, sounding as the

burst of one gun. My horse, exceedingly surprised, lifted his

fore feet in the air on the instant; and otherwise testified

to his discomposure; and I had some little difficulty to keep

him to the spot and bring him back to quietness. It was

vexatious to lose such precious minutes; however, we were

composed again by the time the smoke of the guns was clearing

away. I could hardly believe my eyes. There lay the cannon, on

the ground, taken from their carriages; the very carriages

themselves were all in pieces; here lay one wheel, there lay

another; the men were sitting around contentedly.

"What is the matter?" I exclaimed.

"The officer in charge of the drill, seeing what mischief his

guns have unwittingly done, you see, Miss Randolph, has taken

his battery to pieces. He will not fire any more while you are

here. By George!" said the major, "I believe here he comes to

tell us so."

I wished myself away, as I saw the gray horse leap over some

of the obstacles before him and bear down straight towards me.

I bowed low, to hide various things. Mr. Thorold touched his

cap gravely, to the major as well as to me, and then brought

his gray horse alongside.

"Your horse does not like my battery," he remarked.

I looked up at him. His face was safely grave; it meant

business; but his eyes sparkled a little for me; and as I

looked he smiled, and added,

"He wants a spur."

"To make him run? I had difficulty enough to prevent his doing

that just now, Mr. Thorold."

"No; to make him stand still. He wants punishing."

"Miss Randolph deserves a great deal of credit," said the

major. "But all Southern women know how to ride; and the men

to fight."

"We are going to have a hard time then," said Thorold; with a

wilful presuming on his privileges.

"But what have you done with your battery?" I asked.

"Taken it to pieces - as you see."

"Pray, what for? I thought something was the matter."

"Nothing was the matter, I am glad to know," Thorold said

looking at me. "It is sometimes necessary to do this sort of

thing in a hurry; and the only way to do it then in a hurry,

is to practise now when there is no hurry. You shall see how

little time it will take to get ready for another order to

fire. But Miss Randolph had better be out of the way first.

Are you going farther?"

The major said he hoped so, and I answered certainly.

"I shall fire no more while you are here," Thorold said as he

touched his cap, and he gallopped back to his place. He sat

like a rock; it was something pretty to see. Then came an

order, which I could not distinguish; and in an incredibly

short time wheels were geared, guns were mounted, and the

dismantled condition of everything replaced by the most alert

order. The major said it was done very well, and told me how

quick it could be done; I forget, but I think he said in much

less than a minute; and then I know he wanted to move; but I

could not. I held my place still, and the battery manoeuvred

up and down the ground in all manner of directions, forming in

various forms of battery; which little by little I got the

major partially to explain. He was not very fluent; and I did

not like his explanations; but nevertheless it was necessary

to give him something to do, and I kept him busy, while the

long line of artillery wagons rushed over the ground, and

skirted it, and trailed across it in diagonal lines; walking

sometimes, and sometimes going at full speed of horses and

wheels. It stirred me, it saddened me, it fascinated me, all

at once; while the gray horse and his rider held my eye far

and near with a magnet hold. Sometimes in one part of the

line, sometimes in another, the moving spirit and life of the

whole. I followed and watched him with eye and heart, till my

heart grew sick and I turned away.

CHAPTER VI.

IN THE FIRE

My ride with Major Fairbairn made me unsettled. Or else it was

my seeing Mr. Thorold at his drill. A certain impatience

seized me; an impatience of the circumstances and position in

which I found myself privately, and of the ominous state and

position of affairs in public. The horizon black with clouds,

the grumble of the storm, and yet the portentous waiting and

quiet which go before the storm's burst. It irked me to see

Mr. Thorold as I had seen him yesterday; knowing ourselves

united, but standing apart as if it were not so, and telling a

lie to the world. It weighed on me, and I half felt that

Christian was right and that anything openly acknowledged was

easier to bear. And then Major Fairbairn's talk had filled me

with fears. He represented things as being so very

threatening, and the outbreak of the storm as being so very

near; I could not regain the tranquillity of the days past, do

what I would. I did a very unwise thing, I suppose, for I went

to reading the papers. And they were full of Northern

preparations and of Southern boastings; I grew more and more

unsettled as I read. Among other things, I remember, was a

letter from Russell, the _Times_ correspondent, over which my

heart beat wearily. For Mr. Russell, I thought, being an

Englishman, and not a party to our national quarrel, might be

expected to judge more coolly and speak more dispassionately

than our own writers, either South or North. And the speeches

he reported as heard from Southern gentlemen, and the feelings

he observed to be common among them, were most adverse to any

faint hope of mine that the war might soon end, or end

advantageously for the North, or when it ended, leave my

father and mother kindly disposed for my happiness. All the

while I read, a slow knell seemed to be sounding at my heart.

"We could have got on with those fanatics if they had been

either Christians or gentlemen" - "there are neither

Christians nor gentlemen among them." "Nothing on earth shall

ever induce us to submit to any union with the brutal, bigoted

blackguards of the New England States, who neither comprehend

nor regard the feelings of gentlemen." That was like what

Preston said. I recognised the tone well. And when it was

added, "Man, woman, and child, we'll die first" - I thought it

was probably true. What chance then for Christian and me?

"There is nothing in all the dark caves of human passion," Mr.

Russell wrote, "so cruel and deadly as the hatred the South

Carolinians profess for the Yankees." The end of the letter

contained a little comfort in the intimation of more moderate

counsels just then taking favour; but I went back to my father

and mother, and aunt, and Preston, and others; and comfort

found no lodgment with me. Then there was an extract from a

Southern paper, calling Yankees "the most contemptible and

detestable of God's creation" - speaking of their "mean,

niggardly lives - their low, vulgar and sordid occupations" -

and I thought, How can peace be? or what will it be when it

comes?

I went out for my usual evening walk, longing and half

dreading to see Mr. Thorold; for I did not like to show him my

fears; they gave him pain; and yet at the same time I wanted

him to scold them away. But this time I did not see him. I

walked the avenue, at first eagerly, then anxiously; then with

an intense pressing pain and suspense which could hardly be

borne. Neither Thorold nor Thorold's horse appeared among all

the figures moving there; and after walking as long as I

dared, I was fain to go home with that pain in my heart. It

seemed, as I went up the stairs to my room, almost as if I

could die at once with it. Yet I had to make my hair smooth

and meet Mrs. Sandford at tea, and hear all her little details

about Dr. Sandford's illness; which, as they were precisely

the same as those of the day before, had nothing even to hold

my attention for a moment. But I attended. It was necessary.

And I eat toast and drank tea. That was necessary too; with

every mouthful a stab of pain, and every little ordinary

incident of the tea-table a wrenching of my heartstrings. One

does those things quietly and the world never knows. But I

hailed it as a great relief when Mrs. Sandford rose from the

table.

"Poor Daisy!" she said. "I must leave you to yourself again -

all alone. It's too bad!"

"I like it very well so," I told her.

"It mustn't go on," she said. "Really it must not. You will

mope, if you don't already. _Don't_ you, Daisy? Where are all

your admirers?"

She had touched my face caressingly with her fingers, and I

had to look up and meet her. It was one of the hardest minutes

of self-control I ever knew. I met her and answered calmly,

even coldly; and she went; and I sat down and shrank, I

remember how I shrank, lowering my head and neck and shoulders

in a crushing reaction from the erect self-assertion of the

moment before. The next thing, two hands were on my shoulders

and a voice whispered in my ear a question, "what was the

matter?". So as no other voice ever asked me that question; -

with the tender assumption of the right to know, and an

equally gentle hint that there was comfort and help somewhere

not far off. Now, however, I only started up with terror at

hearing that voice there; - terror instantly displaced by

another terror at the reason of its being there. I knew, I

can't tell how I knew, by the first glance into Mr. Thorold's

face.

"Yes," said he, in a low voice, "I have got orders."

"Where?" I managed to ask. "To do what?"

"I must take a battery across the country to General

Patterson."

"That will take you out of the way," I said.

"Out of the way of what?" said he, drawing me to his breast,

and looking down into my face with his hazel eyes sparkling

over a depth of something that was not merry. "Out of the way

of what, Daisy?" he repeated. "Out of the way of fighting, do

you mean? Is that your way of being a proper soldier's wife?

It is out of your way, love; that is what I think of."

I hid my face and we stood still. It was no time then to be

dignified.

"How long?" - I whispered at last.

"Impossible to tell, you know. I could not meet you this

evening. I must be off in an hour."

"To-night?"

"Yes."

There was another silence.

"What is General Patterson doing?" I ventured then.

"I suppose he has to keep Johnston in order. How long will you

stay in Washington? - can you tell?"

"Till Dr. Sandford can travel. - He is no better."

"Well!" - and a breath of a sigh came then which went to my

heart - "Something will be decided before a few days; and then

we shall know a little better where we stand. I must go!"

He clasped me close and gave me kisses all over my face; but I

would not have lost one this time. Then he gently put me on

the sofa, pressed his lips to mine one last time, and was out

of the room in an instant. I listened to every step in the

hall; I heard him open the door and shut it; I heard his foot

upon the stone steps outside two or three times; and then I

had lost all.

I sat very still and stunned for a long time. There seemed

nothing to do. I could not rouse myself. It was the fear of

being found there that roused me at last. I gathered myself

up, and went to my room. Oh days, days! How much one lives

through.

I was keen set now for news, army news especially; and I spent

hours in studying all the public prints that were within reach

of my hand. So contradictory they were, and so confusing, that

they made me only the more long for actual living advices. The

second day, Major Fairbairn came to ask me again to ride; and

though at first I thought I could not, the next feeling of

restless uncertainty and suspense decided me. Better be on a

horse's back than anywhere else, perhaps. And Major Fairbairn

was not a bad person to talk to. But I had to nerve myself

forcibly to the task of entering upon the subject I wanted.

"How perplexing the papers are," I remarked, by way of making

an easy beginning.

"Find them so?" said the major. "That is because you read all

sides."

"How else can one make up one's mind? How can you know what is

the truth?"

"Apparently you do not know it that way," said the major,

smiling. "No; the way is, to choose your side, and stick to

it. Then you stand a chance to be comfortable."

"But you cannot go into society without hearing more sides

than one."

"Silence the wrong."

"I want to know first which is right."

"Haven't you found _that_ out yet?" my companion said, with a

surprised glance at me. "I thought, Miss Randolph, you were a

safe person; all right for the good cause."

"Oh, yes, of course, that is not the question. I do not want

to hear both sides to decide that. But I mean lesser

questions; movements, probabilities, dangers; the truth of

actual events. _Those_ I want to know about."