"I am sure, so do I," said the major.

"I hoped you could enlighten me, Major Fairbairn."

"About movements?" said the major. "Well, our forces are

moving; there is no doubt. McDowell is going forward in

earnest at last."

"Against Beauregard?"

"Against whatever he meets; and I suppose Beauregard will meet

him."

"Then there will be a battle?"

"I hope so."

"Why do you hope so, Major Fairbairn?"

"It is the shortest way to peace, Miss Randolph. But it is not

likely that one battle will do it."

"I know it will not if the North succeed," I said; "but how if

the Southern army should get the better?"

"You aren't a rebel in disguise?" said the major, looking

askance at me. "Is my reputation in danger, to be riding with

you?"

"It is just as well to look the truth in the face, Major

Fairbairn."

"So it is; you are right there," said my companion seriously

enough. "Well, I look for a long tussle of it, whichever way

this particular game goes to-day. It will be well if there is

anything left to fight for, by the time it is over."

"There is always the truth" - I said.

"The truth gives poor board wages to its servants, though,"

said the major. "It is all very well to cry 'victory,' when

there is no corn in the hopper."

"Is it likely that Patterson will fight?" I asked, with my

heart in my mouth. I had been trying to get this question out;

and it seemed to me now as if every word were as big as two.

"Humph! - I don't know," said the major. "I suppose he will,

if he can't help it."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he has got work enough to do," said Major Fairbairn. "I

don't know if it is work that he likes. I have some private

acquaintance with the man. His business is to keep Johnston

busy, so that he will not have leisure to look our way."

"And suppose Patterson does not do his duty?"

"Then we may have too much on our hands. Beauregard doesn't

want any help just now." And weary, no doubt, of the subject,

the major diverged to some lighter matters of conversation. I

tried to answer and make talk, but my heart was very sick. I

could hardly know what he was saying; Beauregard, and

Patterson, and Johnston, so ran in my thoughts. I suppose the

major did not find it out, for he seemed very well satisfied,

and at parting said that "after the victory" he would come and

have another ride with me.

So I waited now for news. Dull, dreadful days; long with an

interminable length of quarters and half hours; heavy with

fear. They were not many; for the morning but one, I think,

after my last ride, a gentleman stopped me in the street to

tell me that firing had been heard that morning, and McDowell

had, it was thought, met his enemy. I calculated the days

since I had seen Mr. Thorold; speculated on Patterson's

probable activity or non-activity, and Christian's consequent

place and duty in the position of affairs; and could only know

that it was all a confusion of pain. At first I thought to go

at once back to the house and give up my walk; but a second

thought of that dull weary waiting inside of walls sent me on

up the avenue. I might hear something more; at any rate, the

open sky was a better breathing-place.

The open sky! Blue and calm as ever; moveless and pure; while

the grim strife of a battlefield was raging beneath it. Was

there another struggle where Johnston's forces were opposed by

General Patterson? And why could I not leave my cares now, as

so many a time I had left them, as I longed to leave them this

minute, - in the hand that upheld that blue sky? I could not.

That is to say, I did in some fashion, which kept me from

utterly fainting; but I was not confident; I was not willing

that the will of God should be done irrespective of mine, If

writhed from under the pressure of a coming possibility. Could

I help it? My one first earthly joy, the treasure that

gathered up all life's riches for me; could I think of that

treasure being scattered and not know that should be left

poor? And what if God willed I should be thus poor? Ah, I was

not ready.

I had a long, feverish walk, made as long as I could; and came

home with a sort of thirst of heart, and very weary. Mrs.

Sandford met me, and I had to turn into the parlour.

"Grant is a little better, I think," she said.

I could not find words to speak to her. If he was better, why,

then, he would be taking me from Washington. I knew how it

would be.

"He is certainly better," she repeated, with exultation in her

voice; "and now, my dear Daisy, we will get away from this

horrid place. My dear, how - how _grey_ you look! What is the

matter? you are tired to death."

I almost wished I was. However, I commanded myself, and told

her I had been walking far, and it was hot, and no doubt I was

grey with dust.

"And do you know," Mrs. Sandford went on, "they say the attack

has commenced. Firing has been heard from some direction down

in Virginia; the doctor told me."

"Mr. Vinton told me."

"Did he? while you were out? and you never mentioned it!

Daisy, you are the coolest creature! I envy you for that more

than for everything else you have got; though people do say -

some people - that Miss Randolph's grey eyes are depths of

delight. My dear! whose possible encomiums have I hit in your

memory, that your cheeks are taking up the matter with such a

delicious rose colour?"

She did not know what she touched. It was no vanity, but her

words brought up suddenly what Thorold had told his aunt about

Vermont lakes, and all the bitter-sweetness of that evening.

My heart swelled. I was very near bursting into tears and

astonishing Mrs. Sandford.

"Daisy, my dear," she said fondly and half seriously, "you are

too great a treasure to be risked out of your parents' hands.

The responsibility is weighing upon me. I hope Grant will get

well, I am sure, and take us away. What with one sort of

danger and another, it is really too much. Fancy, what it

would be if we were to lose this battle! Why, the rebels would

be here in no time; the doctor said so."

"Well -" I said. I could not tell all my thought; that in such

an event I would not be anywhere but where I was, for worlds;

unless indeed I could be with the army of General Patterson

before Johnston.

"Is Dr. Sandford really better?" I asked.

"He certainly is; I am so glad! and I will tell him you asked

so earnestly about him, and that will make him better still.

Yes, we will get away now from this dismal place some time, I

do believe. Do go and lie down, Daisy; and I will send you

some lemonade."

The lemonade stood by me all day; while I thought of the smoke

and the conflict to which no refreshment could come. I could

not touch the lemonade.

I cannot tell now whether that day was Friday or Saturday. I

have tried to recollect, and I cannot. I am not sure whether

it was not Thursday. But I know it was Saturday evening when

the next thing happened which stands clear in my memory. I was

in my own room, forlornly endeavouring to work some worsted

embroidery; - though the sickness of my heart seemed to find

its way into my fingers, and it was with pain and difficulty

that they pulled the needle in and out. It was only more

difficult to sit still and do nothing; and to read was

impossible. I sat drawing the wool through the canvass-drawing

long threads of thought at the same time - when Mrs. Sandford

burst in.

"Daisy! - they say McDowell has had a bad time - they have

driven him back, or something; isn't it dreadful! - and there

you sit embroidering as quiet as can be. But bless me, child!

you haven't a bit of colour. Washington will kill us all yet."

"Who told you?"

"Doctor Barnard says it's so; it's all through the city. And

if the rebels get the better of McDowell, they'll come

straight here, Daisy, and take Washington. Oh, I wish Grant

was well enough to set right off to-morrow! but he isn't. How

can you be so quiet? I tell you, our army has been repulsed,

and how bad it is nobody knows."

"We had better wait till somebody does know," I said. "We have

had repulses before. There was Big Bethel - and Vienna - and a

great many."

"But this is McDowell and the great army; and Beauregard has

hosts at his back."

"Well! -" I said.

"But you are dreadfully pale, Daisy. How can you keep so

quiet? What are you made of?"

"I do not think they will take Washington," I said. "I am in

no hurry, for my part, to get away. Look - do you say maroon

or dark purple for this bit of grounding? I cannot make up my

mind."

Mrs. Sandford dived into the purples and browns of my coloured

wools; came back again to McDowell and Beauregard, but came

back quieted, and presently left the room. Then, I put down my

needle and laid my head on the table, and shook from head to

foot with the trembling she had given me. And a longing to see

Christian took possession of me; a sick, crying thirst for the

sight, if it were only for a minute; the impatient agony of

self-will. Necessity's bands and manacles put it down after a

time.

The next day was Sunday. I went to church alone, and with my

usual average of calm. But I heard some one say to his

neighbour, that there was a great battle going forward - with

what promise nobody knew. The words sent me home with a sort

of half breath. I avoided Mrs. Sandford, took no dinner; and

in the afternoon feverishly crept out to church again. The air

seemed to me full of bodings. Yet I heard nothing. I saw

people whisper each other, and nod; I thought good news was

given and received, and I breathed a little easier. It was not

till I was coming out from the service that any one spoke to

me. I found myself then near a gentleman whom we knew.

"Glorious news, Miss Randolph!" he half whispered. "General

Scott will dine with a good appetite to-day."

"What is the news"

"Oh, a great victory! We have not got the details yet, of

course; but it seems all is going right."

"It _seems_ going right."

"Yes. You know we have not details yet. There's been heavy

fighting, though."

"Is it a general engagement?"

"Oh, yes! All in that could be in. And some that had no

business to be in. They say, Johnston has reinforced

Beauregard; but they are totally routed, I believe. So it is

said."

"Who says it?"

"The accounts from the battlefield, I presume. They are coming

in all the time. The Nation has triumphed. I congratulate you.

I know you are loyal. Mrs. Sand- ford will be rejoiced. Good

afternoon."

It was too sudden, too soon, and too confused. I could not

breathe freely yet. Johnston reinforced Beauregard? That was

just what Patterson was expected to prevent; ought to have

prevented. Then, probably, Patterson had done no fighting? I

was pondering, when I suddenly found Major Fairbairn beside

me. He belonged with the troops left to guard Washington.

"Oh, Major," said I, "what is the news?"

"Firing down in Virginia, -" said the major, laconically.

"Is it true, that a battle has been won by McDowell?"

"I wish it were," said he; "but in general it is safe not to

speak of a fight till it is over."

"Then it is not over?"

"I have not heard that it is."

"But they tell me a fight has been won."

"They tell every conceivable thing in war-time," said the

major. "Don't you know that? It is safe to believe nothing."

"Has Johnston joined Beauregard?"

"I am afraid he has. The advices seem to put that beyond

disbelief."

"You are _afraid!_ Then the news means nothing to you; nothing

good, I mean?"

"The rumours mean nothing to me," said the major, smiling.

"The reliable news is really, so far, not much. It is certain

there is a battle going on, Miss Randolph, and a battle along

the whole line. And it is certain that Patterson had orders to

follow up Johnston, and keep him from troubling us. And I am

afraid it is also certain that he has not done it - confound

him! Excuse me; but a man who don't obey orders deserves to

have people swear at him, Miss Randolph."

I left the major at a corner, and before I got home, another

acquaintance informed me that the victory was undoubted,

though severely purchased, and that the city was in a state of

exultation. I did not know what to think. I said as little as

possible to Mrs. Sandford; but later in the evening Dr.

Barnard came with the details of the day, and the added

intelligence that since seven o'clock the firing had

recommenced.

"What for? if the victory is sure?" said Mrs. Sandford; and I

went to my room feeling that it was not sure. Nevertheless I

slept that night. I cannot tell why, or how. Whether it were

most akin to weariness or despair, I slept, and quietly, and

the whole night through. But I know very well that I awaked

with a full sense that it was not to quietness nor peace. I

took up my burden as I got out of bed.

My room was at the back of the house. Consequently I heard and

saw nothing of the outer world till I came down to the

breakfast-room. Nobody was there yet, and I went to the

window. The first thing I saw then made my heart stand still.

A group was gathered just before the window, on the sidewalk.

In the midst a soldier, one of a gay Zouave regiment, not at

all gay now, stood talking to a little crowd of listeners;

talking in a pouring rain, which nobody seemed to care about.

He was wet; his bright uniform was stained and draggled; he

had no musket; and his tasseled cap sat on a head which in

every line and movement expressed defeat and disgrace. So they

all listened who stood around; I read it as well as if I had

heard the words they were hearing. I saw dejection, profound

sorrow, absorbed attention, utter forgetfulness of present

bodily discomfort. I noticed that one man who carried an

umbrella had put it down, and stood listening in the rain.

Occasionally the soldier raised his arm to eke out his words

with a gesture; and then moved a step as if to go on, but they

closed around him again and staid him with eager questions or

urgings. I was very near throwing up the sash to ask what it

all was; and then I thought, what matter! I should know soon

enough, But I could not move from the window; and Mrs.

Sandford entering and seeing me there came and looked over my

shoulder. I did not know it, till I heard her -

"Good Heavens! - Daisy, my dear, what is the matter?"

"We shall hear presently," I said, turning away from the

window.

"But what is it?" - And Mrs. Sandford first took my place, and

then did what I had been tempted to do; - threw up the sash.

"What is the matter?" she said. "Is there news. Men, is there

news?"

I do not know what was answered; I did not hear; I had gone

into the middle of the room; but Mrs. Sanford closed the

window presently and came to me, looking even pale. A rare

thing for her.

"Daisy, there is trouble," she said.

"Yes, -" I answered.

"How do you know? They say - they say, the army is all cut to

pieces!"

I could not speak about it. We knew nothing yet; but Mrs.

Sandford went on -

"He says, everybody is killed. All routed and destroyed, the

army is. Can it be possible?"

I thought it was very possible: I never had doubted but that

the Southerners - as a body - were the best fighters. But I

said nothing; while Mrs. Sandford poured out sorrows and fears

and speculations in a breath. I could have smiled, but that I

could not have smiled. We stood still, looking at each other,

nobody remembering breakfast. I was thinking, if the cause was

lost, where would Mr. Thorold be then. And I ceased to hear

Mrs. Sandford.

"But Daisy!" she said suddenly - "the other army -

Beauregard's - they will be here directly to take Washington,

if all this is true; and it must be true; or that soldier

would not have been out there in the rain. They will be coming

here directly, Daisy. And, bless me! how wicked I am! You are

standing there, patient and pale, and you have had no

breakfast. Come here and let me give you some coffee. Grant

said he would be down to dinner perhaps; and how angry he

would be."

We drank cups of coffee, but I do not think either of us broke

bread.

That was a weary day. All the day long new groups were forming

and dispersing in the street, telling and talking over the

news; groups of all sorts. Soldiers discoursing to audiences

like the one in the morning; knots of officers; twos and

threes of business men; debating, inquiring, discussing; all

under the dark rain, all with downcast faces and dispirited

bearing. Late in the day Major Fairbairn called. He somewhat

reassured us. The carnage was not so great; the loss not so

tremendous, as we had at first been told; the damage done not

so absolutely overwhelming.

"Then you do not think Beauregard will come and take

Washington?" Mrs. Sandford asked.

"I don't know!" the major said, with a smile. "He must be

quick about it, or it will be too late."

"But is this a final settling of the question, Major

Fairbairn?" I inquired. "That is what I want to know."

"We have been whipped," he said, looking at me.

"Yes, I know; but the North - will they take this as a

settlement of the question?"

"The North!" echoed the Major. "Will they give up, you mean?

Not just yet! The Government does not feel like it. Do you?"

"I am so ignorant -" I answered.

"You must be, - pardon my saying so. Not at all. The sting of

the whip will make us move faster. Orders are issued already

for the reinforcement and reorganisation of the army. General

McClellan is to take command here; and we will get things upon

a new basis."

"Is McClellan the man we want?" Mrs. Sandford inquired.

"I cannot say. If he is not, we will wait for another."

"You are very cool, Major Fairbairn!" said the lady.

"It is the best plan, in July."

"But it is very hard to keep cool."

The major smiled and looked at me.

"What has Patterson been doing all this while?" I asked.

Smiles died out of the major's face.

"_He_ has kept cool," he said. "Easy - when a man never was

warm."

"And you think, major," said Mrs. Sandford, "you really think

that the truth is not so bad as it has been reported. Why, Mr.

May was positive the rebels would come and take Washington.

You think there has not been such dreadful loss of life after

all?".

"A tenth of the story will be nearer the mark," said the

major. "But we shall know more particulars to-morrow; and I

will step in again, as I can, and let you know what I know. I

must not stay now." And with a bow to me, the major went.

I did not stop then to inquire what his bow meant. Nor did I

hear Mrs. Sandford's long string of comments and speculations,

any further than was necessary to enable me to reply from time

to time with some show of connectedness. I was eagerly

calculating chances, without any basis of data to go upon.

Trying to conjecture General Patterson's probable coming duty,

and to what it might lead. If his foe had disappeared from

before him, must he not follow on this way, where (I thought)

men were so imperatively needed? If he came, there would be

fighting for him, certainly, the next time! Beauregard would

muster again for the fray; I knew that; and it seemed the

Union army was going to make ready also on its side. If

Patterson and his command staid where he was, to take care of

that part of the country, perhaps it might be a bloodless

charge for a while; it might, till the two grand armies should

encounter once more, and one or the other get the mastery.

Then, how long might it be, before these two armies would be

ready to try another, a third tussle together? and would Mr.

Thorold be willing to stay permanently where inaction would be

his portion? Twenty such incongruous unreasonable questions I

was mooting and turning over, while Mrs. Sandford's running

fire of talk made it impossible for me to think to any

conclusion.

When I went up to my room, however, and got free of her, I sat

down to it. There had been no fighting for this bout in that

part of the army where Patterson commanded and where Thorold

served. So far he had escaped. Now, if Patterson could only be

kept in that region, for a little time, and the question

between the North and South be brought to an issue meanwhile

and decided here -

I was in a fever of hope and fear, cogitating deeply things

which I had no means of knowing or settling, when the question

suddenly occurred to me, What was I doing? What was I doing?

Only, trying to arrange the wheels of Providence; trying to

make peace and war; to kill and to keep alive. I was taking

and bearing on my shoulders the burden of the nation's armies

and of their destiny. It fell on my heart all at once, what I

was doing. And my nerves were straining, even now, to throw

around my beloved the shield of circumstances; to keep him

where he would be safe; to put my hand between his life and a

blow. Could Daisy do that? Was her arm long enough, or her eye

enough far-seeing? In despair and in humiliation both, I fell

on my knees. _This_ must be given up. I must leave armies and

battles, yes and every several bullet and cannon ball, yes,

yes, and more; I must leave Mr. Thorold's life and heart in

other hands than mine. I must put the care of them out of

mine; I must give up even the thought of shielding him, or

arranging for him. More. Yes, though it pressed upon my heart

with the great difficulty, I must be willing to have God do,

with him and with me, just what He pleased. How else could I

live, with the struggle before me? How else could I live at

all as a believing and obedient child of God? "I must," and "I

will," are not words for a child to say.

My heart, my heart, how it died within me as I saw my duty! as

I saw that it behoved me to give up all, and then wait in

patience to see what the Lord would let me have. My heart died

first, and then rose again to the struggle. But those only

know what a struggle it is, who, have tried. It seems to me,

most people, even Christians, do not try. Yet, to "forsake

all," the test of discipleship, what is it but to cease saying

"I must" and "I will," about anything, and to hold everything

thenceforth at the will of God. I spent that night on my

knees, when I was not walking the floor. I spent it in tears

and in pleading the promises; sometimes almost in despair. But

I reached at last a place of great calm. I gave up insisting

upon my own will; and though with every nerve of affection

throbbing, as it were, I gave up the care of myself and of

Thorold; I gave up the disposal of the lives of both. And when

the calm was once reached, it grew deeper and quieter, and the

throbbing nerves were stilled, and a great burden was taken

off my shoulders. And then, the sense of a love better than

mine, and of a power stronger than mine, stole over my heart

with an infinite sweetness; the parched and thirsty places of

my spirit seemed to catch the dews of heaven; and still

soothed and quieted more and more, I went to sleep with my

head upon the bed's side, where I was kneeling.

CHAPTER VII.

DETAILED FOR DUTY

I awaked in the peace of one who has laid his burden down. My

joints were a little stiff, from the position in which I had

slept; my mind was set free. The charge of the rival armies

and their conflicts was no longer on my shoulders; even the

care of individual life and safety I thought no longer to

secure. Myself I was a soldier, in a different army; and I had

been forgetting my business and presuming into the General's

province. No wonder my nerves were strained and my heart

almost broken. That was now all given up; and I went through

my morning duties in a quiet that was profound, if it was also

very humble. I had found the only harbour of rest that can be

found on the shores of this world; that one which is entered

by paying the tribute of one's self-will. The tides of the

great sea do not rise and fall there; the anchorage is good;

the winds that weep over the waters bring balm with them; and

the banner that floats at the entrance bears this inscription

-

"He shall not be afraid of evil tidings; his heart is fixed,

trusting in the Lord."

The first thing I heard from Mrs. Sandford was that he doctor

was almost well, and would come down stairs after breakfast. I

knew what that portended for me; thought I knew; but as I

said, I had given up the management of myself and my concerns.

"If ye be not able to do that thing which is least, why take

ye thought for the rest?" I got my worsted and sat down stairs

at my work, to be ready to see the doctor when he should come.

Mrs. Sandford took post at the window; and so we waited. The

weather to-day was clear and bright; the street full yet of

motley groups, returned soldiers and gathered civilians,

looking however far less dismal than the day before. Mrs.

Sandford from the window detailed all she saw; while my

worsted needle went in and out to an interrupted refrain - "He

shall not be afraid of evil tidings" - "Why take ye thought?"

-

Then Mrs. Sandford said, "Here comes the major, Daisy. It

seems to me he is very attentive -" and in the major walked.

He gave his hand to me, and his eye glanced at the figure in

the window. I could not help the thought that he wished it not

there. But things too far down had been stirred in me, for a

little surface matter like this to move my calm.

"What news, major?" my friend asked.

"Good. How do you do, Mrs. Sandford? I told you yesterday that

it would be good."

"Yes, but how good is it, Major Fairbairn?"

"Fine."

"Well, go on and tell us. You are a nice major."

"Thank you. In the first place, as you may remember I said it

would be, the lists of casualties are greatly reduced."

"Casualties?" said Mrs. Sandford. "What is that? I am learning

so many new things."

"The lists of the killed and wounded."

"Oh! That is what a military man calls _casualties_, Daisy, my

dear."

"It is the term in common use -" said the major, looking

somewhat taken aback.

"I know. Pray, Major Fairbairn, have the officers of the army

the reputation of making good husbands and heads of families?"

"I have always heard that they did," said the major, colouring

a little and by no means free of his astonishment.

"I don't see how they can have any sympathy for little common

heartaches and headaches, though, when to be run through the

body is such a trifle. They can't, I think, major."

"But Mrs. Sandford -"

"For instance," the lady went on, unmercifully, - "for

instance, Miss Randolph has her head taken off by a cannon

ball. The doctor and I are desolate; but Major Fairbairn says

it is a 'casualty.' Or, the doctor himself may be hit by a

shot not intended for him, and put out of charge of his

hospital for ever. Miss Randolph and I are in ashes; but our

friend Major Fairbairn says it is only a 'casualty.' "

"But _friends_, Mrs. Sandford, -" the major began.

"Everybody has friends," said Mrs. Sandford. "I was reading in

the paper just now a list of these little accidents. One man

had his leg shattered by a minie ball; it killed him in a few

hours. Another had a charge of grape-shot in his breast; it

struck the spine. _He_ is dead. What is grape-shot, Major

Fairbairn?"

The major hastily passed to the sideboard in the other room

and brought me a glass of water.

"Daisy!" Mrs. Sandford exclaimed. "Are you faint, my dear?

These are only casualties. My dear, are you faint? what is the

matter? - Bless me, how white you are! What is it?"

I drank the water, and struggled back into composure, at least

outwardly; being very much surprised at myself.

"But what _is_ the matter, Daisy? what is the matter? I have

said nothing in the world. Cannot you bear that?"

"Major Fairbairn was going to tell us something, ma'am," I

said, endeavouring to throw my thoughts off.

"That can wait until you are better."

"No," I said, "do not wait. I am well. What were you going to

say, major?"

"Only that things are much better than they were supposed to

be yesterday."

"You said that before. Please go on."

"Well, it is always so," said the major. "At first all the

stragglers are counted for lost. Then they come in. They are

coming in now, by scores, all the while. Instead of thousands

killed and wounded, it is found to-day that there are but five

or six hundred; and without being particularly hard-hearted, I

rejoice at it. That is part of what I was going to say."

The major spoke gravely, and looked at me with an anxious

expression. I assured him I was better, and begged him to tell

us the rest.

"You have put it all out of my head, Miss Randolph. Will you

have - won't you have - something else? - wine? Pardon me, you

have not regained your usual colour."

"The best thing would be some more of your good news. I have a

great appetite for good news, after yesterday."

"Naturally. Well, the rest of my news is very good. The

country is answering the call made upon her."

"The call for fortitude?" said Mrs. Sandford.

"The call for men, - and for pluck, if you like," said the

major.

"More men," - said Mrs. Sandford.

"Certainly. We must have men. And from every quarter, wherever

we have heard, there comes an enthusiastic response. Sixty

thousand new men have been accepted already by the Government;

and they are coming in all the while. There will be a very

great number of fresh arrivals here in a very few days. Miss

Randolph, your question is answered."

"What question, Major Fairbairn?"

"Whether the North would give up, you know."

"I am glad," I said. "I am glad!"

"And even in saying it, you grow pale again, Daisy. You are

not well!" Mrs. Sandford exclaimed.

"Perfectly well. These times are exciting."

"Rather too exciting. I like the excitement that brings the

blood into the cheeks. Do go out and take a walk; you want

fresh air; or yesterday has unstrung your nerves. But you were

so quiet, I thought nothing moved you. Do go and take a walk,

Daisy."

The major added a quiet word of urging, saying that if I could

go at once, he would see that I did not faint before I got

home.

I was bewildered, I think, or I should not have gone; but I

wanted to get away from the talk and to feel the fresh air; I

was stifled; and I went. My nervous perturbation was a

surprise to me. I had given up everything, I thought; I was

quite calm, ready for everything. I thought I was; and yet, so

little a word had unsettled me. So I went with the major. And

then, I was brought to myself presently by more than the fresh

air; for I found my friend somewhat too happy in his charge,

and more careful of me than I chose he should think there was

any occasion for. Moreover, I could not bear to accept his

care. I summoned my forces and plunged him into a depth of

political and philosophical discussion which he could not get

out of till he left me again at my own door. I reassured Mrs.

Sandford then; and sat down to my worsted embroidery with a

profound sense of how little my strength was. A few minutes

afterwards Dr. Sandford came in.

I had not seen him now for several weeks; and I never saw him

look better. It immediately struck me, that with him well, it

mattered comparatively little whether Mr. Thorold and I were

in the same place together or not. Dr. Sandford's clear blue

eye was not to be braved with impunity. No more was it to be

shunned. But I needed not to shun it. I met it full now. I

could, since last night. The disposal of my affairs, if it was

not in me, it certainly was not in him. He met me with a smile

and a look of pleasure; and sat down by me to watch the

progress of my worsted work. So ostensibly; but I soon knew

that he was watching not my work, but me.

"How have these weeks been with Miss Randolph? Dull?"

"No," I said; - "not dull."

"How have they escaped that?"

"There has been too much to interest, Dr. Sandford."

"Yet I see you at your Berlin wools. Pardon me - but whenever

I see a lady busy with her needle and a bit of canvass, I

always think she is hard up for something to think of. Pardon

again, Daisy. I know you have no mercy upon slang."

"See how mistaken you are, Dr. Sandford."

"In that? Not in that."

"No; but in your notions about wool and canvass."

"They are true!" said the doctor.

"Ah, but, don't you know that extremes meet?"

"What extremes?"

"All extremes, perhaps. I have been working worsted; for a

day or two, just because I had so much to think of."

"They have been exciting days," said the doctor slowly, "to a

sick man who could do nothing."

"Why not to a woman, for the same reason?"

"Have they tried you very much, Daisy?"

"Why, she was turning faint here a little while ago," broke in

Mrs. Sandford, "because I was giving an account of some

wounded soldiers I had read about in the papers; and the major

and I persuaded her to go out and take a walk to recover

herself."

"The major? - that is indefinite, though you use the definite

article. What major?"

"Oh, we have a number of military friends. They have kept us

alive since you have been shut up. What is this one, Daisy? He

is a very good one. Major Fairbairn."

"Fairbairn? I do not know him," said the doctor.

"It is not necessary that you should know everybody," said his

sister-in-law. "Daisy knows him very well."

"And likes him -" said the doctor; "or he could not have a

share in persuading Miss Randolph to anything."

"Yes, I like him," I said. I thought, the more friends in the

army I had, the better; and also, that Dr. Sandford must not

be permitted to push his lines too far.

"Who _is_ Major Fairbairn?"

"I do not know; he is from Maine or New Hampshire, I think."

"Your parents, Daisy, would not desire these Northern

associations for you; would they?"

I do not know with what calm I faced the doctor and answered

him. "These Northern associations" - the words touched the

innermost beatings of my heart - if such an expression can be

used. Yet I looked at Dr. Sandford in absolute calm, knowing

all that the doctor did not know, and spoke with perfect

composure.

"I cannot escape them, you know, Dr. Sandford, unless I were

to go over to the enemy's lines; and I cannot do that."

"I would not wish that," said the doctor.

"Then your feelings continue all with the Northern men,

Daisy?"

"All -" I said.

I went back to my worsted work, but I had a sense that the

doctor was studying me. One cannot judge, of course, of one's

own manner, or know what is in it; so I cannot tell what had

been in mine. The doctor sat and considered me; I thought, in

some perplexity.

"Daisy's feelings are appreciated and returned by the Northern

men," Mrs. Sandford said, laughing. "Rides and walks - how

many rides and walks have you taken, Daisy, these forlorn

weeks, with officers of the Northern army? Oh! they are not

ungrateful."

Dr. Sandford made no answer, and when he spoke I knew he was

not making answer to these words. But they startled me.

"Is there anybody engaged in this struggle, Daisy, that you

are concerned for?"

"Certainly!" I said; - "several."

"I was not aware -" the doctor began.

"Some whom you know, and some whom you don't know, and on both

sides."

"You have a cousin, I believe, somewhere in the Southern army.

He was at West Point, if I remember."

"Preston Gary. I do not know where he is now, only he is among

them. They say, he is with Beauregard. I was very fond of him.

Then there is my brother; he either is with them or he will

be; and there are still others."

"On the Southern side," said the doctor.

"Those two are on the Southern side," I said. "Others are on

the Northern. I am there myself."

"Not exactly in the struggle," said the doctor; "and yet, I do

not know. These women!"

I think the doctor was baffled by my perfect quietness and

readiness. He spoke presently in a disengaged manner, -

"Mr. Ransom Randolph is in no danger at present. I know from a

word in a late letter from your father, that he is in Europe

still. Would you not like to get out of this confused state of

things, and join them there?"

"I would like better to go if it was peace here," I said.

"Would you? Then you are not afraid lest the rebels should

take Washington and confiscate the whole of us?"

"Major Fairbairn thinks the danger of that is past."

"He does! However, other dangers might arise -"

"I knew you would not think Washington very safe ground for

us," Mrs. Sandford rejoined.

"Mrs. Sandford is at her own risk. But I should hardly be

doing the duty of a good guardian if I risked anything, where

so important a charge is committed to me. I shall get you away

from here without delay. How soon can you both be ready?"

I wanted to say I was ready, but I could not get out the

words. My two friends debated the matter, and the doctor fixed

his own time. The day after to-morrow.

It was good for me, that I had given up the charge of my own

interests; or I never could have maintained the ease of manner

which it was desirable to maintain in face of this

proposition. I was very calm, remembering that "a man's heart

deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps." I went on

with my worsted stitching under the eye of the doctor. I do

not know why he watched me so.

"Has anybody ventured to tell you, Miss Randolph, that you

have changed within a few months?" This question was put after

I had forgotten the doctor and was marching somewhere before a

battery in Patterson's column. I started a little.

"Yes, indeed! has she not?" exclaimed Mrs. Sandford. "Changed!

She came out of school the dearest little schoolgirl that ever

lived; or I should say, she went back to school so, last year.

What has the year done to you, Daisy?"

"What _has_ it done to me?" I replied, smiling at her. "How am I

changed?"

"Changed!" Mrs. Sandford repeated. "Tell her, Grant, what is

she now?"

"She would not thank me for telling her," said the doctor.

"But I will thank you, Mrs. Sandford," I said. "I _was_ 'the

dearest little schoolgirl.' "

"My dear, you are not that now," Mrs. Sandford said solemnly.

"It all comes to this, Daisy," said the doctor. "You are a

psychological puzzle to me. For the matter of that, now I

think of it, you always were. When you went to visit Molly

Skelton, and carried rose-bushes round the country in your

pony-chaise, just as much as now. You are not the same Daisy,

however."

"Yes, I am; just the same," I said earnestly.

"Fancy it!" said Mrs. Sandford. "My dear, you do I not see

yourself; that is clear."

"I would like to do the same things again," I insisted. But

that nearly choked me. For a vision of myself in my happy

pony-chaise; the free, joyous child that I was, ignorant of

soldiers and wars, further than as I knew my dear Captain

Drummond; the vision of the Daisy that once was, and could

never be again; went nigh to shake all my composure down. The

emotion came with a rush, and I had nearly succumbed to it.

"Miss Randolph has a philosophy," the doctor went on, still

watching me, - "which is not common to the world, and which I

have hitherto in vain endeavoured to fathom. I have always

fancied that I should be happier if I could find it out."

"Did I never tell you what it was, Dr. Sandford?"

"Never - intelligibly. You will excuse me. I do not mean to

accuse you, but myself."

"But you know what it is," I said, facing him. "My philosophy,

as you call it. It is only, to live for the other world

instead of this."

"Why not live for this world, while you are in it, Daisy?"

"I am not going to stay in it."

"I hope, very long!" said the doctor - seriously. "And do you

not think that people are meant to enjoy this world, while

they have it?"

"Yes, when they can," I answered; remembering vividly that

enjoyment is not always the rule. "But I enjoy the world

better than you do, Dr. Sandford; because, living for the

other, I take the good of both. And if this fails at any time,

the other - cannot."

Dr. Sandford's blue eye went as deep into mine, and into me, I

think, as it could; and he did not look satisfied.

The preparations for our journey were pressed with a diligence

that admitted of no delay, all that day and the next. I was

quietly busy too, thinking that it did not matter; that the

time must come, and as well then as ever.

I had miscalculated my strength, or my weakness. Or perhaps

the emotional part of our nature is never to be depended on.

That dim morning of our early departure is fixed in my memory

as one of the most heart-sinking times my heart ever knew. My

companions were brisk and bright, in travelling mood, taking

cars and porters and ticket offices and crowds, as pleasant

concomitants of a pleasant affair. Glad to get away from

Washington, both of them. And I, alone in my heart, knew what

a thread was breaking for me; knew that Thorold's path and

mine were starting from that point upon divergent lines, which

would grow but further and further apart every day. Until that

moment I had not realised what it would be, to leave the

neighbourhood of his work and his danger, and cut off all but

the most distant and precarious communication between him and

me; what it would be, too, to him, to know that I was gone. It

did seem then for a minute as if I could not go; as if I must,

as necessity, remain within hailing distance of him, and at

the headquarters of information. But there was another "must,"

stronger than mine; I was seated in the car, the whistle blew

its mockery of me; and the slow movement which immediately

followed was the snapping of the thread, - the parting of the

lines. It was something that no human action could stay or

avert now; and the gentle motion soon grew to a whirl of speed

which bore me relentlessly away. The slow pang of that first

stir of the cars, I can feel yet.

It was a dumb pain at my heart all day. I could not understand

myself. For several days I had been quiet and prepared, I

thought, and submissive; now to-day all was disorder; no

preparedness; no quiet. Instead were heartaches and regrets

and wild wishes; sometimes in dull and steady force, like a

still rain storm; and sometimes sweeping over me with the fury

of a tempestuous blast. I had not strength to resist; my

utmost was to keep a calm front before my friends. I did that,

I think. But what torture is it not, to be obliged to hear and

answer all manner of trifling words, to enter into every

trivial thought, of people at ease around one, when the heart

is bending and bowing under its life burden; to be obliged to

count the pebbles in the way, when one is staggering to keep

one's footing at all. Yes, and one must answer with a

disengaged face, and one must smile with ready lips, and

attention must not wander, and self-absorption for a minute

cannot be allowed. Perhaps it was good for me.

My companions attended to me well, so that I got no respite

all day. Not till night, when I reached my room; and when I

had respite, I found no rest. It was great relief to put my

head down without fear lest somebody should ask me if it

ached; but all night long I struggled with the pain that had

fought me all day. The next morning I went to find Miss

Cardigan. To my great disappointment she was not at home; and

would not be at home, I was told, under a week.

I passed slowly in, over the familiar stones of the marble

floor, in through the empty rooms, to the innermost one which

opened upon the little conservatory. That too was stripped of

its beauties; most of the plants were set out in the open

ground, and the scaffolding steps were bare. I turned my back

upon the glass door, which had been for me the door to so much

sweetness, and sat down to think. Not only sweetness. How

strange it was! From Miss Cardigan's flowers, the connecting

links led on straight to all my sorrow and heartache of the

present and perhaps of many future days. They had led me here;

and here Mr. Thorold had said words to me that had bound him

and me together for the rest of our lives, and made his

welfare my welfare. And now, he was in the shock of

battlefields; and I - afar off - must watch and listen. And I

could not be near and watch. I must be where even good news

would be no news, except of the past; where nobody would speak

to me of Mr. Thorold, and where I could not speak of him to

anybody. I was sure, the more I thought of it, that the only

possible chance for a good issue to our engagement, would be

to wait until the war should be over; and if he persisted in

his determination of speaking to my father and mother before

such a favourable conjuncture, the end would be only disaster.

I somewhat hoped, that the pressure of active duty on his

part, or some happy negligence of post-office officials, or

other contingency, might hinder such a letter as he had

threatened from coming to my father's hands at present.

Meanwhile, in Miss Cardigan's little room, I struggled for a

right mind. If I was sorrowful, I told myself, I was also

glad. If I pitied myself a little for all that had happened,

it was also true that I would not have undone it - that is, my

part in it, - for the world. I would rather belong to Mr.

Thorold, even through all this pain, than be nothing to him

and have him nothing to me. Yes, even going away on my distant

journey to Europe, the knowledge of his love was a richer

jewel in my heart than any other of earth's jewels that I

carried. So what was I crying about?

I washed away some of the soreness of the days past in those

tears. And then I came quietly back to my position; willing

that God should dispose of me and do with me what He pleased;

send me away or bring me home; give or take from me. At least

so far I was willing, that I gave up all care-taking and

ceased to struggle. My mood grew even sunshiny as I walked

back to the hotel where we were all stationed. Hope began to

execute little dances before me.

The doctor was busy now, I understood, with trying to find

some party with whom I might make the journey to Switzerland.

Mrs. Sandford was eager to get back to Melbourne, or its

neighbourhood; I always called the whole region by that name.

How I wished I could be allowed to go with her, and wait there

till an opportunity offered for my further journey! But such

were not the views of my guardian.

"Here's devotion!" exclaimed Mrs. Sandford as I came in to tea

one evening. "My dear, he says he will go with you himself."

"Where? - who?" I asked.

"Why, Grant, to be sure. He says he will go with you, himself,

and then his mind will be easy."

"How can he?" I said. "An army surgeon, - how can he get

away?"

"Yes, and in war-time," said Mrs. Sandford. "But the truth is,

that he needs to get away, he says; he is not fit for duty;

and the voyage over and back will just set him up. I think it

is a capital plan, for my part. He won't be gone any length of

time, you know; and indeed he must not; he will just run

across and put you in the hands of your friends; and so your

passage is engaged, Daisy, in the _Persia_. I only wish I was

going along, but I can't. I advise you never to marry Grant.

It ties one up terribly."

"It does not tie _you_ very close," the doctor answered.

"When does the _Persia_ go?" I asked.

"Yes, indeed; that _is_ a question," said Mrs. Sandford. "Just

think - she sails Saturday, and this is Thursday. Only one

single day for you, Daisy; but after all, it is best so. You

can be ready just as well, and the sooner you are off now the

better. I shall miss you dreadfully, though."

I felt my cheeks turn cold, and I busied myself with my cup of

tea.

"You are not so eager to be off, Miss Randolph, as my good

sister is to have you," I heard the doctor say.

"No, not quite. I would like better to go if all this trouble

in the country were ended."

"That would be to wait some time, I am afraid, said the

doctor, helping himself to a piece of toast. And I do not know

what in his motion and his manner of speech conveyed to me the

notion that he was glad I could not wait. And, my mother's

child though I was, I could not thwart him this time.

"It is a good time to be away, _I_ think," said Mrs. Sandford.

"I'd keep the news from her, Grant, if I were you. She sits

and studies the papers as if her life were in them."

"There will be no news on board the steamer," said the doctor.

Yes, I knew that. The very beginning of my journey was to cut

me off from tidings. How should I get them in Switzerland? And

I must go too without seeing Miss Cardigan. Well, I thought,

nothing can take my best Friend from me.

CHAPTER VIII.

DAISY'S POST

Dr. Sandford and I stood together on the deck of the steamer,

looking at the lessening shore. I was afraid the doctor should

see how I looked, yet I could not turn my eyes from it. I had

given up the care of myself; I could bear to see America

fading out of my sight; yet it seemed to me as if I left Daisy

and her life there, and as if I must be like a wandering

spirit from another world till I should come back to those

shores again. I would minister to my father and mother, but

nobody would minister to me. And I thought it was very likely

very good for me. Maybe I was in danger of growing selfish and

of forgetting my work and all happiness except my own and

Thorold's. I could do nothing for either of those now; nothing

actively. But I called myself up as soon as that thought

passed through me. I could always pray; and I could be quiet

and trust; and I could be full of faith, hope and love; and

anybody with those is not unhappy. And God is with his people;

and he can feed them in a desert. And with that, I went down

to my stateroom, to sob my heart out. Not altogether in

sorrow, or I think I should not have shed a tear; but with

that sense of joy and riches in the midst of trial; the

feeling of care that was over my helplessness, and hope that

could never die nor be disappointed sin spite of the many

hopes that fail.

After that, my voyage was pleasant, as every voyage or journey

is when one goes in the Lord's hand and with Him for a

companion. I had no news, as the doctor had said, and I laid

down all the matter of the war; though I was obliged to hear

it talked of very much and in a way that was often extremely

hard to bear. The English people on board seemed to think that

Americans had no feeling on the subject of their country, or

no country to feel about. Certainly they showed no respect for

mine; and though Dr. Sandford and one or two other gentlemen

could and did answer their words well and cogently, and there

was satisfaction in that; yet it was a warfare I did not

choose to enter into unless good breeding could be a defence

on both sides. They abused Mr. Lincoln; how they abused him!

they have learned better since. They abused republics in

general, rejoicing openly in the ruin they affected to see

before ours. Yes, the United States of America and their

boasted Constitution were a vast bubble - no solidity - rather

a collection of bubbles, which would go to pieces by their own

contact. Specially the weight of dislike and maligning fell on

the Northern portion of the country; sympathy was with the

South. These natives of the free British Isles were

unmistakably disposed to cheer and help on a nation of

oppressors, and wished them success. It was some time before I

could understand such an anomaly; at last I saw that the

instinct of self-preservation was at work, and I forgave as

natural, what I could not admire as noble.

This element in our little society troubled somewhat my

enjoyment of the voyage. I _had_ some patriotic nerves, if I was

an American; and every one of them was often tingling with

disagreeable irritation. Besides, ill-breeding is of itself

always disagreeable enough; and here was ill-breeding in well-

bred people, - worst of all. And I had my own private reasons

for annoyance. A favourite theme with the company was the want

of soldiers or generals at the North, and the impossibility

that a set of mechanics and tradesmen, who knew only how to

make money and keep it, should be able in chivalrous and

gentlemanly exercises to cope with the Southern cavaliers, who

were accustomed to sword and pistol and the use of them from

their youth up. Bull Run, they said, showed what the

consequence must always be, of a conflict between soldiers

with the martial spirit and soldiers without it. It would be

much better and cheaper for the North to succumb at once. I

had Southern prejudice enough to believe there might be a good

deal of truth in this, but I could not bear to hear it or to

think it; for besides the question of country and right, the

ruin of the North would be disaster to Mr. Thorold and me. I

shunned at last all conversation with our English companions,

as far as I could, and bent my thoughts forward to the joyful

meeting which lay before me with father and mother and

brother. Brighter and brighter the prospect grew, as each day

brought it nearer; and I sat sometimes by the hour looking

over the waters and resting my heart in the hope of that

meeting.

"Almost in, Miss Randolph," said the doctor, coming to my side

one of those times.

I brought my eyes from the dancing sea, and answered "You are

glad."

"Very glad."

"What route will you take, when we get to land?"

"The shortest."

"You do not wish to see anything by the way?"

"I can see enough, after I get to them," I answered.

"You are at a happy time of life!" the doctor said after a

pause.

"Are you past it, Dr. Sandford?" I asked, replying, I think,

to something in the tones of his voice.

"I do not know. I think, yes. Cologne cathedral will never be

to me what it will be to you."

"What will it be to me?"

"I wish you would tell me, when you see it."

"Does it lie in our route?" I asked somewhat eagerly.

"It can - if you choose."

"But I should not want to stop to look at it," I said; "and I

could not see it without stopping, I suppose."

"I suppose not. Well, we will push forward as fast as

possible. To Lausanne, is it?"

"They _were_ at Lausanne. They were talking of going to

Lucerne."

"To stay?"

"For some time, I think. Papa was getting tired of Lausanne.

We shall know as soon as we reach our port."

"Wonderful things will crowd upon you now, Daisy," the doctor

said meditatively. "And you are as ready for them as ever."

"Don't they crowd upon everybody?" I said, remembering what

strange ones life had lately brought to me.

"Everybody does not see them - does not know it. You have this

peculiarity, that you will not fail to note every one that

comes within your knowledge. Europe will be a wonder gallery

to you. And life, perhaps."

"Oh, life is now, Dr. Sandford."

He had been looking very grave. He smiled at me then, one of

his bright, winsome smiles that the child Daisy used to get.

It made my heart sore with longing for him, and sorrow.

"Isn't it a wonder, that I live, and that I shall live for

ever?" I said. "That this world is only the portal to glory?

Isn't it a wonder, that there is a highway from these low

grounds to Heaven's court, and that the gates of brass and

bars of iron that stopped the way, are broken asunder? Isn't

it a wonder, that the Prince of Heaven came down to open the

way and to show it to us? and is there any wonder so great, as

that, after this, any mortal should refuse to walk that way?"

"Grant Sandford, to wit!" said the doctor with an odd

expression, something between pleased and displeased. "I am

afraid, Daisy, he would want an angel to go before him after

all."

I remember this little talk well, for it puzzled me and did

not seem like Dr. Sandford. I remember nothing else of any

interest till we came to Switzerland and I was near my

journey's end. We had pushed on, sometimes by night and day;

stopping only for necessary meals and refreshment. I wanted no

delay. When we reached the glories of the Swiss mountains,

even yet distant, my mood oddly changed, and I was no longer

in a hurry. My life, I knew, would take a new turn, in among

those mountains somewhere; and it might not, I had a shrewd

suspicion that it would not, be a turn for my ease and

comfort; and even while I was as eager as ever to see my

father and mother, at the same time I was willing to take the

last steps of the way more slowly, and enjoy what I had and

what I hoped for together, before reality should displace

anticipation. This is my understanding of the mood as I look

back to it; at the time I did not reason, but only was

conscious of being ready to linger and willing to lose nothing

of novelty and beauty on my way. However, lingering was not

possible. By one conveyance and another we pushed our way on,

till Lucerne, our place of destination, was reached.

I saw nothing in the town, almost literally, while we were

making our way through its streets. I was in a breathless

state; my senses could not play, or my mind could receive no

impression from them. It was disappointment and relief too,

when coming to the house where my father and mother lived, we

were told that the family were gone out of town on some

excursion and would not be back till evening. The servants

told us. This was no hotel, but a nice little private house

which my father had hired and where he and my mother were

living entirely at home.

I knew I was at home, as my feet pressed the stairs going up

to the little drawing-room. "At home." Not since we left

Melbourne had the exquisite sensation come over me. It came

now like a subtle perfume, pervading and surrounding

everything. My eyes filled with tears of great joy, as I

mounted the stairs. I would not let Dr. Sandford see them. He,

I knew, felt like anything but crying for joy. He was

certainly very honestly fond of me and of my company, and I

was grateful for it.

The servant led us to a little drawing-room, out of which

another opened; over the simple furniture of which my mother's

hand had thrown a spell of grace. And luxurious enjoyment too;

that belonged to her. A soft rug or two lay here and there; a

shawl of beautiful colour had fallen upon a chair-back;

pictures hung on the walls, - one stood on an easel in a

corner; bits of statuary, bronzes, wood-carvings, trifles of

art, mosaics, engravings, were everywhere; and my mother's

presence was felt in the harmony which subdued and united all

these in one delicious effect. My mother had almost an

Oriental eye for colour and harmony. It was like seeing a bit

of her, to be in her room. I lost my head for a moment,

standing in the middle of the floor; then I turned to Dr.

Sandford.

"Now you are happy," he said, extending his hand - "and I will

leave you."

"No, Dr. Sandford - you will sit down and be happy too."

"You could command me to sit down, undoubtedly; but I am

afraid my happiness is beyond your power."

"I wish it was not!" I said earnestly. "You have been very

good to me, Dr. Sandford."

His face flushed a little and paled, and the eyes which were

so fond of reading other people's seemed now to shun being

read. I could not understand his expression, but it troubled

me.

"Happiness is always beyond other people's power," I said; -

"but not beyond one's own."

"That's your confounded theory!" he answered, bringing the

word out very gingerly and with a little laugh. "I beg ten

thousand pardons, Daisy; but a slight expression of

indignation was an unavoidable indulgence just then. You would

make every one responsible for all the troubles that come upon

him!"

"No - only for their effect upon his happiness," I ventured,

doubtfully.

"You think the effect of troubles upon happiness is then

optional!" - he said, with a humorous expression so cool and

shrewd that I could not forbear laughing.

"I do not mean exactly that."

"Your words were well chosen to produce that impression."

"No, Dr. Sandford - yes, perhaps they were; - but the real

truth is, that we may have a happiness that is beyond the

reach of trouble. So much is optional."

"With Daisy Randolph," said the doctor. "For the rest of the

world, a brown study will never be a golden reflection." He

held out his hand as he spoke.

"But are you going?" I said; - "before my father and mother

come home?"

"I will call before I leave Lucerne."

"How soon do you expect to do that?"

"Immediately, Daisy; to-morrow. I must hasten back to my post,

you know; before there is another Bull Run, if possible. It is

very good that you are out of the way of such things," he

said, eyeing me earnestly. "The very mention of them - do you

know what it does?"

"It gives me a great feeling of pain, I know," I said, trying

to rally.

"It does that, I see. I did not know the power of imagination

was so strong in you. I thought you were rather a literalist."

"And I think I am," I answered as calmly as I could. "It does

not require much imagination. It did not, when I was in

Washington."

"It does not now," said the doctor; "for your cheeks have not

got back their colour yet. What banished it, Daisy?"

It was the old tone and look I used to meet in my childhood,

and to which I always then rendered obedience. For an instant

the spell was upon me now; then I threw it off, shook hands

with the doctor and parted from him with a bow and smile which

told him nothing. And he succumbed in his turn; made me a

profound reverence and left the room.

My first feeling was of gladness that he was gone. My next

was, the sense that I was under my natural guardians once

more. I felt it with a thrill of delight, even though I had a

full consciousness that I was going to be far less my own

mistress than for some time I had been accustomed to find

myself. Dr. Sandford rather took laws from me, in most things.

This however did not give me much concern. I went round the

rooms to quiet myself, for I was growing more and more

excited. I went studying one by one the objects in the little

home museum, for such those drawing-rooms were to me. I read,

not natural history but family history in them; here my

father's hand had been, here By mother's, leaving some token

of study, or luxury, or art, or feeling. A very handsome

meerschaum seemed to give also a hint of my brother's

presence. The home review did not quiet me; I found it would

not do; I went to the window. And there I sat down

immediately, to hear all that nature said to me; as once Miss

Cardigan's flowers.

I had expected to see the town; and it was part of the town no

doubt that stretched away before me, but it had rather the

beauty of the country. There was nothing regular in streets or

buildings, nor compact; the houses scattered away down the

hill, standing here and there, alone and in groups, with

fields or pieces of fields intermingling. Pretty houses, with

quaint dormer windows and high sloping roofs. We were on a

height, I found, from which the eye went down delightfully

over this bit of the rambling old town. A courtyard, with

grass and young trees, was the first thing next the house on

this side; which I found was not the front; then the ground

fell sharply, and most of the houses stood upon a level below

bordering the lake. A stretch of the lake lay there, smooth,

still, bearing the reflection of some houses on its opposite

edge; where softened under a misty atmosphere another little

town seemed to rest on a rising bank. And then, just behind

it, rose the mountain, looking down upon lake and towns as if

to forbid a thought of foolishness in any one who should ever

live there. So, in its beautiful gravity, Mont Pilatte seemed

to me, then and always. Are not mountains always witnesses for

God? This first time I saw it, a misty cloud had swept across

the breast of the mountain and hid part of the outline; but

the head lifted itself in sunlight just above the veiling

cloud, and looked down in unspeakable majesty upon the lower

world. Always my eyes went back to that wonderful mountain

head; then fell to the placid lake and the little town

sleeping in misty sunlight on its further border; then caught

the sharp pointed towers of a church or cathedral close by at

my left hand, just within my picture; I could not see the

whole church; then back to the soft veiled mountain. A more

picturesque combination never went into a view. I sat still in

a trance of pleasure, only my eyes moving slowly from point to

point, and my heart and soul listening to the hidden melodies

which in nature's great halls are always sounding. I do

believe, for the matter of that, they are always sounding in

nature's least chambers as well; but there is the tinkle of a

silver bell, and there is the thunder of the great organ. At

any rate I was quieted, comforted, soothed, and entirely

myself again, by the time I had listened to Mont Pilatte for a

couple of hours.

The day wore on, and the lights changed, and the cloud

deepened on the mountain. The lights had not begun to fade

yet, though it was the time of long shadows, when a little

bustle below and steps on the stairs drew me away from the

window and brought me to my feet; but I stood still. The first

one was mamma, and her first word of course broke the spell

under which I had been standing and brought me into her arms.

And that word I pondered many a time afterwards. It was

simply, "Why, Daisy!" - but the letters put together tell

nothing of what was in the expression. Pleasure and affection

there were, of course; and there was something beside, which I

could not help thinking gave token of gratified surprise. What

should have excited it I do not know, unless it were that my

appearance pleased her better than she had expected. It was

not surprise at my being there, for the servants had told of

that. My father, who was next, said exactly the same words;

but his "Why, Daisy!" had an altogether different expression.

I flung myself into his arms, and then almost broke my heart

with the thought that I had been so long out of them. My

father pressed me very close, and kept very still. I felt my

mother touch me on the shoulder, and heard her tell me not to

be so excited; but I could not mind her. And papa, sitting

down, kept me in his arms and held me fast and kissed me, and

I sobbed myself into content.

"Is that Daisy?" said mamma. I was sitting on papa's knee yet.

I looked up at her. She was standing beside us.

"Doesn't she look like it?" my father said, fondly, stroking

my hair.

"She does not act like it," said my mother.

But I hid my face in papa's neck at that, and he kissed me

again.

"Don't you mean to speak to anybody else?" said mamma, with an

amused voice.

"Nobody else has any right," said papa. I looked up however,

eagerly, and saw what I could only guess was Ransom, he had so

grown and changed. He was looking curious and pleased. I got

up to salute him.

"Why, Daisy!" said he, returning my embrace with more new than

old emotion as it seemed to me, - "you are a sister of whom a

fellow may be proud."

"Can't you say as much for him, Daisy?" said my mother.

"As far as looks go -" I answered slowly, surveying him. He

was excessively handsome, and his mother's own boy in grace of

person and manner. I could see that in the first moment.

"As far as looks go" - my mother repeated. "_That_ is like

Daisy. Is it the very same Daisy?"

I looked up at her, and they looked at me. Oddly enough, we

were all silent. Had I changed so much?

"Mamma, there is the difference between ten and seventeen," I

said. "I don't think there is much other."

"And between formed and unformed," said my brother Ransom; for

my father and mother were still silent, and I could hardly

bear to meet their eyes.

"What is formed, and what is unformed?" I asked, trying to

make it a light question.

"My opinion is not unformed," said Ransom, - "and your destiny

is - formed."

"Papa," said I, "Ransom is very quick in deciding upon my

destiny." But with that look into each other's eyes, Ransom's

words were forgotten; my father clasped me in a fresh fond

embrace and my head went down upon his shoulder again. And we

were all still. Words are nothing at such times. I think one

rather speaks light words, if any; thoughts are too deep to

come out. At last my mother remarked that our toilettes were

among the unformed things, and suggested that we should go to

our rooms for a little while before dinner. I got up from

papa's knee and followed mamma; and passing Ransom with a

smile, he suddenly clasped me in his arms and kissed me.

"I am proud of you, Daisy," he whispered.

Arrived in mamma's room, her tenderness came out after her own

fashion. She examined me; her hands touched me caressingly;

she helped me to dress, although her maid was at hand.

"You did not tell me you had such beautiful hair," she said,

when I had unbound it to put it in order.

"Mamma!" I laughed. "Why should I?"

"And there are a great many other things you have not told

me," she went on. I had to control myself to prevent a start,

though her words meant nothing.

"Of course, mamma," I answered.

"Yes; you could hardly have been expected to give me a

catalogue raisonné of your advantages. Do you know them

yourself, Daisy?"

"Mamma, - I suppose I know some of them."

"Do you know, for instance, that your skin is exquisite, in

colour and texture?"

"Mrs. Sandford used to tell me so," I said.

My mother drew the tips of her fingers over my cheek.

"And now, at my saying that, comes a little rose hue here, as

delicate as the inside of a shell. But you have lost all the

look of delicate condition, Daisy; this is the colour of

perfect health."

"Dr. Sandford has taken care of me, mamma."

"Your father trusted a great deal to Dr. Sandford. Do you

think his trust was well placed?"

"Nobody could have taken more care of me, mamma. Dr. Sandford

has been very good."

"He always was your favourite," she remarked.

"Well, mamma, he deserved all I have given him."

"Don't give anybody much, - unless I bid you," my mother said,

laughingly. "Daisy, you have matured better even than I ever

thought you would, or than your aunt Gary told me. Your figure

is as good as ever mine was."

She took up one of my hands, looked at it, kissed it, and as

she let it drop asked carelessly, -

"What has become of Preston now?"

I felt as if breakers were all around me. "He has joined the

Southern army," I said.

"When did you see him?"

"Not since a year ago."

"Where then?"

"At West Point, mamma. He only graduated this spring."

"Were you long at West Point?"

"Yes, ma'am - some weeks."

"Dr. Sandford did not show remarkable care in that."

"He thought so, mamma, for he found me not well, and took me

away immediately from school, without waiting for the term to

close. Mrs. Sandford and he, were going to West Point - and so

-"

"West Point did you good?"

"I grew well there."

"Your aunt tells me, your voice is very uncommon, Daisy. Is

she right in that?"

"Mamma - you can judge better than I. It is not so easy for me

to judge how it sounds."

"You know how it sounds to you."

"Yes, but then I am thinking of the music. I cannot tell,

mamma, how it sounds to other people."

"Well, we shall be able to judge by and by," my mother said,

in a satisfied tone. "Your speaking voice is as calm and sweet

as I ever heard."

"_Calm?_ mamma," I said, laughing.

"Yes, child. Don't you know most people's voices have a little

thread, if it is not more, of sharpness or roughness, coming

out somewhere. It is sure to come out somewhere; in one form

of speech or another; with some people it only appears in the

laugh, and they should never laugh. Your voice is like a chime

of bells." And my mother took me in her arms, half-dressed as

I was, and pressed her lips full upon mine; looking into my

face and playing with me and smiling at me; finishing with

another pressure of her mouth to mine.

"Your lips are very sweet," she said, with a half sigh. "I

wonder who else will think so!"

And if one bit of vanity or self-exaltation could have been

stirred in my thoughts, though it were by my mother's praises,

these last words banished it well. I was sobered to the depths

of my heart; so sobered, that I found it expedient to be busy

with my dressing, and not expose my face immediately to any

more observations. And even when I went down stairs, my

father's first remark was, -

"It is the same Daisy!"

"Did you doubt it, papa?" I asked, with a smile.

"No, my pet."

"Then why do you say that as soon as I make my appearance!"

"I can hardly tell - the consciousness forced itself upon me.

You are looking at life with a microscope, - as of old."

"With a microscope, papa!"

"To pick up invisible duties and find out indiscernible

dangers -"

"When one is as old as I am," I said, "there is no need of a

microscope to find out either dangers or duties."

"Ha!" said my father, folding me in his arms - "what dangers

have you discovered, Daisy?"

"I believe they are everywhere, papa," I said, kissing him.

"Not here," he said, fondly; "there shall be none here for

you."

"Mr. Randolph," said mamma, laughing, "if Daisy is to be meat

and drink as well as scenery to you, we may as well dispense

with the usual formalities; but I hope you will condescend to

look at dinner as usual."

CHAPTER VIII.

SKIRMISHING

That first dinner at home! how strange and sweet it was. So

sweet, that I could scarcely hear the note of the little

warning bell down in the bottom of my heart. But mamma had

struck it up stairs, and its vibrations would not quite be

still. Yet there was a wonderful charm in my own home circle.

The circle was made larger in the evening, by the coming in of

two of Ransom's friends, who were also, I saw, friends of my

father and mother. They were two Southern gentlemen, as I

immediately knew them to be; MM. de Saussure and Marshall,

Ransom's worthy compeers in the line of personal appearance

and manner. De Saussure especially; but I liked Marshall best.

This I found out afterward. The conversation that evening

naturally went back to America which I had just come from, and

to the time of my leaving it, and to the news then new there

and but lately arrived here. I had to hear the whole Bull Run

affair talked over from beginning to end and back again. It

was not so pleasant a subject to me as to the rest of the

company; which I suppose made the talk seem long.

"And you were there?" said Mr. de Saussure, suddenly appealing

to me.

"Not at Manasses," I said.

"No, but close by; held in durance in the capital, with

liberators so near. It seems to me very stupid of Beauregard

not to have gone in and set you free."

"Free?" said I, smiling. "I was free."

"There will be no freedom in the country, properly speaking,

until that Northern usurper is tossed out of the place he

occupies."

"That will be soon," said my mother.

"In what sense is Mr. Lincoln a usurper?" I ventured to ask.

"He was duly elected."

"Is it possible Daisy has turned politician?" exclaimed my

brother.

"He is not a usurper," said Mr. Marshall.

"He is, if being out of his place can make him so," said De

Saussure; "and the assumption of rights that nobody has given

him. By what title does he dare shut up Southern ports and

send his cut-throats upon Southern soil?"

"Well, they have met their punishment," my father remarked.

And it hurt me sorely to hear him say it with evident

pleasure.

"The work is not done yet," said Ransom. "But at Bull Run

rates - 'sixty pieces of splendid cannon' taken, as Mr. Davis

says, and how many killed and prisoners? - the mud-sills will

not be able to keep it up very long. Absurd! to think that

those Northern shopkeepers could make head against a few dozen

Southern swords."

"There were only a few dozen swords at Manasses," said De

Saussure. "Eighteen thousand, Mr. Davis puts the number in his

Richmond speech; and the Northern army had sixty thousand in

the field."

"A Richmond paper says forty thousand instead of eighteen,"

Mr. Marshall remarked.

"Mr. Russell, of the London _Times_, estimated Beauregard's

force at sixty thousand," I said.

"_He_ don't know!" said De Saussure.

"And Mr. Davis does not know," I added; "for the whole loss of

cannon on the Northern side that day amounted to but

seventeen. Mr. Davis may as well be wrong in one set of facts

as in another. He said also that provisions enough were taken

to feed an army of fifty thousand men for twelve months."

"Well, why not?" said Ransom, frowning.

"These gentlemen can tell you why not."

"Pretty heavy figures," said Mr. Marshall.

"Why are they not true, Miss Randolph?" Mr. de Saussure asked,

bending as before a most deferential look upon me.

"And look here, - in what interest are you, Daisy?" my brother

continued.

"Nothing is gained by blinking the truth anywhere, Ransom."

"No, that is true," said my father.

"Daisy has been under the disadvantage of hearing only one

side lately," my mother remarked very coolly.

"But about the provisions, Miss Randolph?" Mr. De Saussure

insisted, returning to the point with a willingness, I

thought, to have me speak.

"Mamma says, I have heard only one side," I answered. "But on

that side I have heard it remarked, that twelve thousand

wagons would have been required to carry those provisions to

the battlefield. I do not know if the calculation was

correct."

Mr. De Saussure's face clouded for an instant. My father

seemed to be pondering. Ransom's frowns grew more deep.

"What side are you on, Daisy?" he repeated.

"She is on her own side, of course," my mother said.

"I hope there is no doubt of that, Mrs. Randolph," said Mr.

Marshall. "Such an enemy would be very formidable! I should

begin to question on which side I was myself."

They went off into a long discussion about the probable

movements of the belligerent parties in America; what might be

expected from different generals; how long the conflict was

likely to last, and how its certain issue, the discomfiture of

the North and the independence of the South, would be

attained. Mingled with this discussion were laudations of

Jefferson Davis, scornful reviling of President Lincoln, and

sneers at the North generally; at their men, their officers,

their money, their way of making it and their way of spending

it. Triumphant anticipations, of shame and defeat to them and

the superb exaltation of the South, were scattered, like a

salt and pepper seasoning, through all the conversation. I

listened, with my nerves tingling sometimes, with my heart

throbbing at other times; sadly inclined to believe they might

be right in a part of their calculations; very sadly sure they

were wrong in everything else. I had to keep a constant guard

upon my face; happily my words were not called for. My eyes

now and then met papa's, with a look that gave and received

another sort of communication. When the evening was over, and

papa was folding me in his arms to bid me good-night, he

whispered, -

"You and I cannot be on two sides of anything, Daisy?"

"Papa - you know on what side of most things I am -" I replied

to this difficult question.

"Do I? No, I do not know that I do. What side is it, Daisy?"

"On the Lord's side, papa, when I can find out what that is."

"Make me sure that you have found it, and I will be on that

side too," he said, as he kissed me.

The words filled me with a great joy. For they were not spoken

in defiance of the supposed condition, but rather, as it

seemed to me, in desire and love of it. Had papa come to that?

The new joy poured like a flood over all the dry places in my

heart, which had got into a very dry state with hearing the

conversation of the evening. I went to bed tired and happy.

Nevertheless I awoke to the consciousness that I had a nice

piece of navigation before me, and plenty of rough water in

all probability. The best thing would be for me to be as

silent as possible. Could I be silent? They all wanted to hear

what I would say. Every eye had sought mine this past evening.

I was the first in the breakfast-room, and papa was the next.

We were alone. He took me tenderly in his arms and held me

fast, looking at me and kissing me by turns.

"Are you well now, papa?" I asked him. "Are you quite well

again?"

"Well enough," he answered; "not just as I was once."

"Why not, papa?"

"I have never quite got over that unlucky fall. It has left my

head a little shaky, Daisy; and my strength - Never mind! you

are my strength now, my pet. We should have gone home before

this, only for the troubles breaking out there."

I leaned my head upon his breast, and wished the troubles were

not! What a division those troubles made, unknown to him,

between his heart's happiness and mine - yes, between him and

me. Mamma came in and looked at us both.

"It is a very pretty picture," she said. And she kissed me,

while papa did not let me out of his arms. "Daisy, you are a

beauty."

"She is a great deal better than a beauty," said my father.

"But, now I look at you, Daisy - yes, you _are_ a beauty,

certainly."

They both laughed heartily at the colour which all this raised

in my face.

"Most exquisite, her skin is," said my mother, touching my

cheek. "Did you ever see anything superior to it, Mr.

Randolph? Rose leaves are not any better than that. Pshaw,

Daisy! - you must get accustomed to hear people say it."

"Nobody shall say it to me, mamma, but you."

"No," said my father. "That is my view of it, too."

"Nonsense!" said mamma - "there are a thousand ways of doing

the same thing, and you cannot stop them all. Your hair is as

fine as possible, too, Daisy, although it has not had me to

take care of it."

"But I did just as you told me with it, mamma," I said.

She kissed me again. "Did nobody ever tell you you were

beautiful?" she asked archly. "Yes, I know that you did just

as I told you. You always did, and always will. But did you

not know that you were beautiful?"

"Speak, Daisy," said papa. Said as it was with a smile, it

brought childish memories vividly back.

"Mamma," I said, "I have heard something of it - and I suppose

it may be true."

They laughed, and mamma remarked that I was human yet. "There

is a difference between the child and the woman, you will

find, Mr. Randolph."

Papa answered, that it was no very remarkable token of

humanity, to have eyes and ears.

"Daisy's eyes were always remarkable," said my mother.

"But, mamma," said I, "in other things there is no difference

between the child and the woman. My outside may have altered -

my mind is not changed at all; only grown."

"That will do," said mamma.

I was obliged to leave it to time, and hoped to make myself so

pleasant that what I could not change in me might be at least

tolerated, if it were not approved. It seemed an easy task! I

was such a manifest subject of joy, to father and mother, and

even Ransom too. A newly discovered land, full of gold, is not

more delightfully explored by its finders, than I was watched,

scrutinised, commented on, by my family.

That first day, of course, they could not let me out of their

sight. It was nothing but talk, all day long. In the evening

however our last evening's guests reappeared. The conversation

this time did not get upon American politics, so everybody

showed to better advantage; I suppose, myself included. We had

music; and the gentlemen were greatly delighted with my voice

and my singing. Mamma and papa took it very coolly until we

were left alone again; then my mother came up and kissed me.

"You have done your duty, Daisy, in improving your voice," she

said. "You are a Daisy I am perfectly satisfied with. If you

can sing as well in public as you have done to-night in

private, papa will be proud of you."

"In public, mamma?" I said.

"Yes. That does not frighten you. Nothing does frighten you."

"No, mamma, but - what do you mean by 'in public'?"

"Not on the stage," said mamma.

"But mamma, - papa," - I said, anxiously, "this is what I want

you to understand. I will do anything in the world you wish me

to do; only, I am - I must be, - you know, - a servant of

Christ."

"I said nothing against that," my mother replied. But my

father, clasping me in his arms, whispered, -

"We will be servants together, Daisy."

That word sent me to bed with a whole heartful of

thankfulness. I could bear anything now, if his words meant

what I hoped they did. And I should have security, too,

against any too great trial of my affection and duty to him

and to mamma.

An expedition had been arranged for the next day; in which my

brother and his friends were to take me upon the lake. Mamma

and papa would not go. It was a day, in one sort, of such

pleasure as I had never known till then. The beautiful water,

the magnificent shores of the lake, the wonderful lights on

the mountains, almost took me out of this world; to which they

seemed scarcely to belong. I cannot tell what a pang in the

midst of this pleasure the thought of Mr. Thorold brought with

it. The life I was living now was so very far from his life,

and so unlike; my part of the world was now so very distant

from his, - there was such an abyss between; - and yet the

Swiss hills were so glorious, and I was enjoying them. I began

to wonder, as we were sailing towards home in the end of the

day, what work I had to do in this new and strange place; why

was I here? Perhaps, to learn patience, and have faith grow

strong by trial, while all my life hopes waited upon a will

that I did not know and must trust. Perhaps, to stand up for

Christian truth and simplicity in the face of much opposition.

Perhaps, to suffer, and learn to bear suffering.

"You are fatigued, Miss Randolph?" said the soft voice of De

Saussure.

"Or beauty of scenery, so much beauty, makes you melancholy,"

said Mr. Marshall. "It always makes me so, if I let myself

think of it."

"Why should it make any one melancholy?" I asked. "I think

beauty has the contrary effect."

"A little beauty. But very great and wonderful loveliness - I

don't know why, it always moves me so. It is something too far

beyond me; it is unlike me; it seems to belong to another

stage of being, while I am held fast in this. It mocks me, -

somehow."

"It does not do so with me," I said.

"Ah, it is your world!" De Saussure said, laughing. "It could

not do so with you very well."

"But look at Mont Pilatte now," resumed Mr. Marshall, - "with

that crown of light on its brow; - does it not give you the

feeling of something inapproachable - not literally but

spiritually, - something pure, glorious, infinite - something

that shames us mortals into insignificance?"

I looked, and I thought I knew why he felt as he did; but I

did not think I could explain it to him just then.

"Have you a little of my feeling?" he said again. "Do you

understand it?"

"I understand it, I think," I said.

"And do not share it at all?"

"No, Mr. Marshall. Of course, the mountain is great, and I am

small; but the purity, and the glory, - that is not beyond

reach; and no human being ought to be insignificant, and none

need be."

"Not if his life is insignificant?"

"Nobody's life ought to be that," I answered.

"How can it be helped, in the case of many a one?"

"Yes indeed," said De Saussure; "there is a question. I should

like to hear Miss Randolph answer it."

One spoke lightly and the other earnestly. It was not easy to

answer them both.

"I should like to have you define insignificance first," I

said.

"Can there be a more significant word?" said Mr. De Saussure.

"It defines itself."

"A life of insignificance, is a life that does not signify

anything," Mr. Marshall added.

"Most people's lives signify something," I said, stupidly, my

thoughts running on far ahead of my words.

"Yes, to somebody in the corner at home," Mr. Marshall said,

"whose affection cannot make a true estimate. But do most

people's lives signify anything, except to some fond judgment

of that sort?"

"Who is estimating you, in a corner at home?" said Mr. de

Saussure.

"Nobody - and that you know. Nobody, except my old mammy."

"You are a lucky fellow, Hugh. Free as air! Now I have five or

six dear appraisers at my home; who are of opinion that an

epaulette and a commission would add to my value; or rather,

to do them justice, they are very desirous to have my life -

or my death - tell for something, in the struggle which

occupies all their, thoughts at present. I do not mean that

they have no choice, but, one or the other. And so am I

desirous; but - Lucerne is so very captivating! And really,

as, I said, one signifies so little."

"One is half of two," said Ransom - "and a hundredth part of a

hundred."

"I should like, I think, to be half of two," said De Saussure,

comically. "I don't care about being the hundredth part of

anything."

"But you are going when I go?" said Ransom.

"Mrs. Randolph says so; and I suppose she will command me.

What does Miss Randolph say?"

"Yes, to my question," said Hugh Marshall.

"I do not quite know what is either question," I replied; "and

a judge ought to understand his cause."

"Is it my duty to go and plunge into the mêlée at home,

because my mother and two aunts and three sisters are all

telling me they will renounce me if I do not? I say, what does

one signify?"

"And _I_ say, how may one escape from insignificance? - anyhow?"

"A man with your income need not ask that," said Ransom.

"What does Miss Randolph say?" De Saussure insisted.

"If you will tell me, Mr. De Saussure, what the South is

fighting for, I can better answer you."

"That speech is Daisy all over!" said Ransom impatiently. "She

never will commit herself, if she can get somebody to do it

for her."

"Fighting for freedom - for independence, of course!" Mr. De

Saussure said, opening his eyes. "Is there any question?"

"How was their freedom threatened?"

"Why," said Ransom, hotly, "what do you think of armies upon

the soil of Virginia? - invading armies, come to take what

they like? What do you think of Southern forts garrisoned by

Northern troops, and Southern cities in blockade? Is that your

idea of freedom?"

"These are not the cause, but the effect, of the position

taken by the South," I said.

"Yes, we fired the first gun, Randolph," said Mr. Marshall.

"Sumter was held against us," said Ransom.

"Not till South Carolina had seceded."

"Well, she had a _right_ to secede!" cried Ransom. "And this

right the Northern mudsills are trying to trample out. If she

has not a right to be governed as she likes, she is not free."

"But why did she secede?" I asked. "What wrong was done her?"

"You are a girl, and cannot understand such matters!" Ransom

answered, impatiently. "Just ask mamma to talk to you; - or I

will!"

"Miss Randolph's question is pertinent though," said Mr.

Marshall; "and I am ashamed to confess I am as little able to

answer it as she. What wrong had they to complain of?"

"Why, Hugh, you certainly know," his companion answered, "that

Lincoln was elected; and that if the government is to be in

the hands of those who do not think and vote with us - as this

election shows it will - we shall be pushed to the wall. The

South and her institutions will come to nothing - will be in a

contemptible minority. We do not choose that."

"Then the wrong done them was that they were out-voted?" Mr.

Marshall said.

"Put it so!" De Saussure replied, with heat; "we have a right

to say we will govern ourselves and sail our own boat."

"Yes, so I think we have," said the other. "Whether it is

worth such a war, is another question, Such a war is a serious

thing."

"It would be mean-spirited to let our rights be taken from

us," said Ransom. "It is worth anything to maintain them."

"It will not be much of a war," resumed De Saussure. "Those

poor tailors and weavers will find their workshops are a great

deal more comfortable than soldiers' tents and the battle-

ground; and they won't stand fire, depend upon it."

"Cowardly Yankees!" said Ransom.

"That is Preston's favourite word," I remarked. "But I am not

clear that you are not both mistaken."

"You have lived among Yankees, till it has hurt you," said

Ransom.

"Till I have learned to know something about them," I said.

"And is your judgment of the probable issue of the war,

different from that I have expressed, Miss Randolph?" Mr. De

Saussure asked.

"My judgment is not worth much," I said. "I have doubts."

"But you agree with us as to the right of preserving our

independence?" Mr. Marshall said.

"Does independence mean, the governing power? Does every

minority, as such, lose its independence?"

"Yes!" said De Saussure - "if it is to be permanently a

minority."

"That would be our case, you see," Mr. Marshall went on. "Are

we not justified in endeavouring to escape from such a

position?"

I was most unwilling to talk on the subject, but they were all

determined I should. I could not escape.

"It depends," I said, "the settlement of that question, upon

the other question, whether our government is one or twenty."

"It is thirty!" said Ransom.

I had thrown a ball now which they could keep up without me.

To my joy, the whole three became so much engaged in the game,

that I was forgotten. I could afford to forget too; and

quitting the fair lake and the glorious mountain that looked

down upon it, ceasing to hear the eager debate which went on

at my side, my thoughts flew over the water to a uniform and a

sword that were somewhere in that struggle of rights and

wrongs. My heart sank. So far off, and I could not reach him;

so busy against the feelings and prejudices of my friends, and

I could not reconcile them; in danger, and I could not be

near; in trouble, perhaps, and I could not help. It would not

do to think about. I brought my thoughts back, and wondered at

old Mont Pilatte which looked so steadily down on me with the

calm of the ages.

CHAPTER X.

WAITING

For weeks after this sail on the lake my life was like a fête

day. Expeditions of all sorts were planned and carried out for

my pleasure. One day we were exploring the lake shores in a

boat; the next, we went back into the country, as far as we

could go and return before evening; a third day we climbed the

mountains somewhere and got glorious new views of what the

world is. Nothing could hinder, in those days, but that my

draught of pleasure was very full. Whatever weight might lie

at my heart, when I found myself high, high up above the

ordinary region of life, resting on a mountain summit from

which I looked down upon all that surrounded me other days; a

little of that same lifting up befel the thoughts of my heart

and the views that have to do with the spirit's life. I stood

above the region of mists for a little. I saw how the

inequalities of the lower level, which perplex us there, sink

into nothing when looked upon from a higher standpoint. I saw

that rough roads led to quiet valleys; and that the blessed

sunlight was always lying on the earth, though down in one of

those depths one might lose sight of it for a time. I do not

know how it is, but getting up into a high mountain has a

little the effect of getting out of the world. One has left

perplexities and uncertainties behind; the calm and the

strength of the everlasting hills is about one; the air is not

defiled with contentions or rivalries or jealousies up there;

and the glory of creation reminds one of other glory, and

power, and wisdom and might; and one breathes hope and rest.

So I used to do. Of all our excursions, I liked best to go up

the mountains. No matter how high, or by how difficult a road.

Mamma and papa were only now and then of the party. That I was

very sorry for, but it could not be helped. Mamma had seen it

all, she said; and when I urged that she had not been to this

particular "horn," she said that one "horn" was just like

another, and that when you had seen one or two you had seen

them all. But I never found it so. Every new time was a new

revelation of glory to me. If I could have had papa with me,

my satisfaction would have been perfect; but papa shunned

fatigue, and never went where he could not go easily. I was

obliged to be content with my brother and my brother's

friends; and after I had made up my mind to that, the whole

way was a rejoicing to me, from the time I left the house till

we returned, a weary and hungry party, to claim mamma's

welcome again. Our party was always the same four. Mr. de

Saussure and Hugh Marshall were, I found, very intimately at

home with my father and mother, and naturally they were soon

on the same footing with me. As far as care went, I had three

brothers to look after me, of whom indeed Ransom was not the

most careful; and as to social qualifications, they were

extremely well-bred, well-educated, and had a great deal of

general and particular cultivation. In the evenings we had

music and conversation; which last was always very pleasant

except when it turned upon American affairs. Then I had great

twinges of heart, which I thought it wise to keep to myself as

closely as possible.

I remember well the twinge I had, when one evening early in

September De Saussure came in, the utmost glee expressed in

his eyes and manner, and announced his news thus; -

"They have had a battle at Springfield, and Lyon is killed."

"Who is Lyon?" I could not help asking, though it was

incautious.

"You should not ask," he said more gently as he sat down by

me; "you have no relish for these things. Even the cause of

liberty cannot sweeten them to you."

"Who is Lyon, De Saussure?" my father repeated.

"A Connecticut fellow." The tone of these words, in its utter

disdain, was inexpressible.

"Connecticut?" said my father. "Has the war got into New

England? That cannot be."

"No, sir, no, sir," said Ransom. "It is Springfield in

Missouri. You find a Yankee wherever you go in this world."

"Wilson's Creek is the place of the battle," Mr. De Saussure

went on. "Near Springfield, in Missouri. It was an

overwhelming defeat. Lyon killed, and the next in command

obliged to beat off."

"Who on our side?" asked my mother.

"Ben McCulloch and Price."

"How many engaged? Was it much of an affair?"

"We had twenty thousand or so. Of course, the others had

more."

"It doesn't take but one or two Southerners to whip a score of

those cowards," said Ransom.

"Why should not the war have got into New England, Mr.

Randolph?" my mother asked. "You said, 'That cannot be.' Why

should it not be?"

"There are a few thousand men in the way," said my father;

"and I think they are not all cowards."

"They will never stand before our rifles," said De Saussure.

"Our boys will mow them down like grass," said Ransom. "And in

New Orleans the fever will take care of them. How soon,

mother, will the fever be there?"

Mamma and Ransom compared notes upon the probable and usual

time for the yellow fever to make its appearance, when it

would wield, its scythe of destruction upon the fresh harvest

of life made ready for it, in the bands of the Northern

soldiers in Louisiana. My whole soul was in a stir of

opposition to the speakers. I had to be still, but pain

struggled to speak.

"You do not enjoy the prospect -" Hugh Marshall said, softly.

I only looked at him.

"Nor do I," said he, shaking his head. "A fair fight is one

thing. - It is a terrible state of affairs at home, Miss

Randolph."

I had the utmost difficulty to keep quiet and give no sign. I

could have answered him with a cry which would have startled

them all. What if Thorold were ordered down there? He might

be. He would go where he was ordered. That thought brought

help; for so would I! A soldier, in another warfare, I

remembered my ways were appointed, even as his; only more

wisely, more surely, and on no service that could by any means

be in vain. But yet the pain was very sharp, as I looked at

the group who were eagerly discussing war matters; my father,

my mother, my brother, and De Saussure, who in the interest of

the thing had left my side; how keen they were! So were others

keen at home, who had swords in their hands and pistols in

their belts. It would not do to think. I could but repeat to

myself, - "I am a soldier - I am a soldier - and just now my

duty is to stand and bear fire."

There was little chance in those days at Lucerne for me to be

alone with papa. The opportunities we had we both enjoyed

highly. Now and then mamma would be late for breakfast, or

even take hers in bed; once in a while go out to a visit from

which I begged off. Then papa and I drew together and had a

good time. One of these chances occurred a few days after the

news came of General Lyon's death. We were alone, and I was

drawing, and papa had been watching me a little while in

silence.

"Daisy," he began, "am I wrong? It seems to me that you do not

look upon matters at home with just the eye that the rest of

us have for them?"

"What matters, papa?" I said, looking up, and feeling

troubled.

"You do not like the war."

"Papa, - do you?"

"Yes. I think our countrymen are right, and of course I wish

that they should have their rights."

"Papa," said I, "don't you think it must be very strong

reasons that can justify so dreadful a thing as a war?"

"Undoubtedly; but the preservation of liberty is one of the

strongest that can be conceived."

"Papa - you know I want liberty for the blacks."

"It is like you, my dear child," my father said, after pausing

a minute; "it is like your generous nature; but Daisy, I think

those people do not want it for themselves."

"Papa, if they did not, I should think it would be one of the

strongest arguments on my side; but I am sure they do. I know

a great many of them that do."

"Did not you, perhaps, bring about that desire in them, by

your kind and possibly somewhat misjudged indulgences?"

"No indeed, papa; it was our overseer, with his wicked ways.

That Mr. Edwards is dreadful, papa!"

"All overseers are not good," said my father with a sigh. "The

people at Magnolia are as well treated, on the whole, - as

they can be anywhere, I think, - I hope."

"You do not know, papa. If they are, you have said all. And

there is our old Maria, who has nothing to do with Mr.

Edwards; she has no hope nor anticipation which does not go

beyond this world; and it is so with a great many of them.

They have that hope; but they sing, "I am bound for the

promised land!" - in a minor key; and to a plaintive air that

makes your heart ache."

"Yours, Daisy," said my father with a somewhat constrained

smile.

"Papa," I went on, trembling, but I thought it best to

venture, - "if the issue of this war could be to set all those

people free, I could almost be glad."

"That will not be the issue, Daisy," he said.

"Papa, what do you think will?"

"It can have but one issue. The Southern people cannot be put

down."

"Then, if they succeed, what will be the state of things

between them and the North?"

"It is impossible to tell how far things will go, Daisy, now

that they have actually taken up arms. But I do not think the

Southern people want anything of the North, but to be let

alone."

"How would it be, if the North succeeded, papa?"

"It cannot succeed, Daisy. You have heard a different

language, I suppose; but I know the men, - and the women, - of

the South. They will never yield. The North must, sooner or

later."

I could not carry this on, and turned the conversation. But I

had to listen to a great deal of the same sort of thing, in

which I took no part. It came up every day. I discovered that

my mother was using her influence and all her art to induce

our two young friends to return home and enter the Southern

army. She desired with equal vehemence that Ransom should take

the same course; and as they all professed to be strong in the

interests and sympathies that moved her, I was a little

puzzled to understand why they delayed so long. For they did

delay. They talked, but nothing came of it. Still we went on

fresh excursions and made new expeditions; spending days of

delight on the mountain sides, and days of enchantment in the

mountain valleys; and still our party was of the same four. It

is true that papa did not at all share mamma's eagerness to

have Ransom go; but Ransom did not greatly care for papa's

likings; and in the case of the others, I did not see what

held them.

The printed news from home we had of course, regularly; and as

far as I could without being watched, I studied them. The

papers after all were mostly Southern, and so filled with

outrageous invective and inflated boasting, that I could not

judge anything very certainly, from what they said. Nothing of

great importance seemed to be transpiring between the

belligerent parties. I supposed that it wanted but some such

occurrence or occasion to send off our three young men like a

ball from a rifle, straight to the seat of war. Meanwhile we

enjoyed ourselves. Others did, and I did also, whenever I

could put down fear and lift up hope; and I was young, and

that happened to me sometimes. So the weeks ran on.

"I really don't see why I should be in a hurry to plunge

myself into that angry confusion of things at home," Hugh

Marshall said one day. "It seems to me, they can get through

it without my help."

"Well, you are not in a hurry." I answered.

We were out as usual for a day's pleasure among the mountains,

and Hugh and I were resting on a sunny bank waiting for the

others to come up. We had distanced them.

"What do you think about it?" he said, suddenly drawing

himself up from the grass and looking in my face.

"Men do not rule their course by what women think," - I

answered.

"No, you are wrong; they do! Sometimes they do," - he said. "I

have no mother nor sister to counsel me; only Mrs. Randolph

bids me go home and be a soldier; but I would as lieve take

advice from you. What would you tell me to do - if I were your

brother?"

"I do not tell Ransom anything."

"He is under his mother's tutelage; but I am not. Tell me what

to do, Miss Randolph. I am sure your counsel would be good. Do

you wish me to go and fight the North, as your mother says I

ought?"

"I wish people would not fight at all," I said, with my heart

straitened.

"Of course; but here we are in it, or they are; and it is the

same thing. Don't you think they can get through it without

me? or do you say as your mother, - 'Every one go!' "

He looked at me more earnestly than was pleasant, and I was

greatly at a loss what to answer. It was wisest for me not to

commit myself to a course opposed to my mother's; and yet,

truth is wisest of all. I looked to see Ransom and Mr. De

Saussure, but they were not in sight.

"You are not speaking in jest," I said; "and I have no

business to speak in earnest."

"You never speak any other way," he rejoined. "Tell me your

mind. You are never violent; do you feel as Mrs. Randolph does

about it? Would you like me better if I went heart and soul

into the fray at home?"

"That would depend upon the-views and motives with which you

went into it."

"Well - if I did it for love of you?" he said smiling.

"I cannot imagine that anybody should do such a thing for love

of me. Nothing but the strongest and purest convictions of

duty can justify such a thing as fighting."

"I suppose I know what that means," he said somewhat gloomily.

"No," said I hastily, "I don't think you do."

"What does it mean, then?" he asked.

"Permit me to ask first, Are your convictions strong and

clear, that it is your duty to go home and enter the war for

the South?"

"That's a searching question," he said laughing. "To say yes,

would be to condemn myself at once. To say no, - what would

that do for me with Mrs. Randolph?"

"You are not speaking to Mrs. Randolph," I said, half under my

breath.

He looked up eagerly in my face. "You do not think as she

does!" he said. "You do not believe in fighting, under any

circumstances?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. Marshall," I said; and I felt myself colour.

"I do believe in fighting, when it is to relieve the

oppressed, to deliver those who are trampled upon, or to save

ourselves or others from worse than death."

"Our friends at the South can hardly be said to be in such

extremity," he said, looking rather perplexed; "unless you

believe all that the papers say about Yankee invaders; and I

for one am not ready to do that."

"Nor I," I said; "I know them too well."

"Then who is so bitterly oppressed just now, Miss Randolph?"

"If you do not know of anybody, I would not fight, Mr.

Marshall."

"Really?" said he. "Perhaps I ought to go home and take care

of my twelve hundred people at Vincennes. Is that your

thought?"

"Are they in need of care?" I asked.

" 'Pon my word, I don't know. Perhaps it would be nearer right

to say, take care of myself; for if the war should come the

way of Vicksburg, and Yankee arms have a little success, there

might be the mischief to pay at Vincennes. On reflection, I

don't see how I could take care of myself, either. Then you do

not bid me go?" he asked again.

"You remember our words one day about insignificant lives?"

"Yes!" he cried eagerly; "and I have been longing ever since

to ask you to explain more fully what interested me so much. I

never could get a chance. I assure you, I have felt to the

bottom of my heart what it is to have one's existence really

worth nothing, to anybody. How may it be better? My life has

to do with nothing but insignificant things."

"But you must define insignificance," I said.

"Is it needful?"

"I think so. What makes things insignificant? Not their being

small, - or common?"

"What then, Miss Randolph?"

"Small things, and common things, are often to the last degree

important, you know, Mr. Marshall."

"Yes; but however small and common, I cannot feel that I am

important, in any degree," he said, half laughing.

"We were talking of lives, and things."

"Yes. Excuse me. Well?"

"I think I see the crowns of two hats, down below, which

belong to some people that we know."

"Is it they?" he exclaimed; - "and I wish they were farther

off. Finish what you were going to say, Miss Daisy! Do not

leave me in ignorance now, after bringing me so far."

"I can only tell you what I think," I said.

"And that is precisely what I want to hear," he answered

earnestly.

"You will not agree to it, though, and I do not know that you

will even understand me. Mr. Marshall, I think that nothing is

insignificant which is done for God; and that everything which

is not done for Him, directly or indirectly, is insignificant

or worse."

"I do _not_ understand -" he said thoughtfully. "In what sense

can a thing be 'done for God?' Unless it is building a church

or founding a hospital."

"Very few churches have been built for God," I said. "At

least I think so."

"Why, the old monks -" Mr. Marshall began. But just then our

missing companions came up, and he stopped. They had been

lured aside from the way by the sight of some game. We had no

more private talk; but Hugh Marshall was sober and thoughtful

all the rest of the day.

He sought such talks with me now whenever he could; and seemed

to enter into them like a man, with an earnest purpose to know

the truth and to do his work in the world if he could find it.

I grew, in a way, very fond of him. He was gentle, well-bred,

happy-tempered, extremely careful of my welfare and pleasure,

and regardful of my opinions, which I suppose flattered my

vanity; well-read and sensible; and it seemed to me that he

grew more agreeable every day.

The accounts from the seat of war in America were not very

stirring just then; nothing great was done or expected; and

the question of our young men's return to take part in what

was going on, was suffered for a time to fall out of sight.

Meanwhile we left Lucerne and went to Geneva. There was more

society, in a quiet way; and there was a fresh harvest of

pleasure to be reaped by me and for me in the domains of

nature.

CHAPTER XI.

A VICTORY

"Daisy, - you are very happy!" my father said one day when I

was sitting with him. We were looking out upon the lake, which

our windows commanded; but I found papa's look had come back

from the window to me.

"You are very happy!" he said.

"Yes, papa, - pretty happy."

"Pretty happy?" said he, putting his hand under my chin and

turning my face again round to him, and then kissing me.

"Pretty _and_ happy, you mean."

"No, papa," I said laughing; - "I don't mean that."

"It is true, though," said he. "There was a bit of a smile

upon your mouth just now - before I spoke; - what were you

thinking of?"

"Papa, it is so glorious, - the lake and its shores in this

sunlight."

"That was all?"

"No, not quite all, papa."

"I thought not. What was the rest of it, Daisy?"

"Papa, I was thinking with joy, that I belong to the wonderful

One who made all that; and so, that the riches of his power

and glory are in a certain sense mine; - just as everything

good in you is mine, papa."

He folded me in his arms and kissed me again, very fondly.

"There is not much good in me, Daisy."

"Yes, papa, - for me."

"But there is a great deal in you, - for somebody."

"For you, papa."

"Nobody else, Daisy?"

He was holding me close in his arms and looking down into my

face. I believe the colour must have come into my cheeks.

"Ah, I thought so!" he said. "Even so soon, Daisy, you are

leaving me for somebody else."

"Papa!" I exclaimed, hiding my face in his neck, - "I will

never leave you, till you say so."

"Till I say so? I will not be over selfish, my dear child. I

do not mean that."

"Who is it to be, Daisy?" my mother's voice said behind us.

I started up in absolute terror. What had I said? and what did

she mean? I looked at her, speechless.

"Well?" she said laughing, "what is the matter? You need not

turn white about it. Is your father the only one to be in your

confidence? I will withdraw then."

"Stop! - Mamma!" I cried; "what are you saying? There is no

confidence. What are you talking about?"

"I only asked, who it was to be, Daisy? I thought you were

talking of leaving us, and naturally concluded it was to be

with somebody."

"Mamma - oh, mamma, I was speaking only in the abstract."

Mamma laughed. "In the abstract! Well, you will have to come

from generals to particulars, Daisy. Abstractions will not

satisfy anybody long."

I was in great difficulty and great confusion. Papa drew me

into his arms again and kissed my lips and cheeks and eyes, as

if he would have hid my blushes.

"You shall be as abstract as you like," he said; "and as long

as you like. I give you leave."

"That's nonsense, though, Mr. Randolph," said my mother,

standing at the back of his chair. "Daisy cannot live in

abstractions for ever. She must choose, and let her choice be

known; and the sooner the better. Nobody can guess it now. She

has been abstract enough."

I was in the greatest perplexity at this speech, which

conveyed to me no meaning whatever. Let my choice be known?

Did mamma know about Mr. Thorold? I knew she could not; but

then, what did she mean?

"There is no hurry, Felicia," said papa.

"I will not have Daisy marry any but an American, Mr.

Randolph."

"Agreed. There is no present likelihood that she will."

"But when we get to Florence, Mr. Randolph, and she is seen in

the great world, things may not absolutely be within your

control - or mine."

Mamma stood tapping her fingers upon the back of my father's

chair, and I thought her very odd indeed. Her last sentence,

however, had a word that I could answer. I stood up and faced

her.

"Mamma," I said, "I am going to say something that you will

not like."

"Then do not say it, Daisy."

"I would not, if I could help it. But you know, mamma, I am a

servant of God - I have not changed, - and I and the 'great

world' have nothing in common."

"Well? -" said mamma calmly.

"I do not belong to it. I have no place in it."

"No, of course. You are just out of school. A few months more

will change all that."

"No, mamma, - please!"

"Yes, Daisy, - please!" she said, tapping my cheek with her

finger, and then leaning forward to kiss me with smiling lips.

"You do not know what you are talking about, my love. You are

made for the great world, Daisy. There is no danger of turning

your head; so I have no objection to explain to you that you

are magnificent."

"Mamma, what difference can that possibly make?"

They both laughed at me, and mamma said I would soon see.

"But, mamma," I urged, "that world and I have nothing in

common. I should be out of my place in it, and it would find

me something strange."

"It is quite time to have that altered then," she said. "You

may be a nun if you choose afterward; but you shall know what

the great world is, before you give it up; and it shall know

you. You may spend your odd minutes in considering what dress

you will wear for your first appearance, Daisy. Don't ask me

for a white cambric and an apron with pockets."

I stood in much perplexity, not resolved what I ought to say

next. Papa took my hand.

"It is not much, to show yourself," he said kindly. "What is

the difficulty, Daisy?"

"You mean, show myself in a fine dress and in a fine assembly,

papa?"

"I don't care about the dress," he answered.

"Yes, but you do, Mr. Randolph," said my mother. "Daisy would

not wear a print, for instance, to the Grand Duke's ball. Your

complexion, Daisy, will take any sort of colour; but rubies

will look especially well on this skin, and pearls." She

touched my face caressingly as she spoke, pushing back the

hair from my temple and then bringing her hand down to take

hold of my chin. "Little fool!" said she laughing - "does it

dismay you?"

"Yes, mamma, - the thought of crossing your pleasure."

"You shall not do that. Good children always obey their

mothers, I am not going to have you settled down on a

plantation at home, east or west, without at least letting the

world see you first."

"Daisy does not want jewels," said my father. "She is too

young."

"One day she will," said mamma; "and an occasion might make it

proper, even now. I hope so; for I want to see the effect."

Mamma went away, with that; and I sat down again by papa's

side. Not to dream over the sunlight on the lake any more; I

was busy with cloudy realities. "Children, obey your parents

_in the Lord_." Oh, why did duty bid me go contrary to the

pleasure of mine! I would have so gladly pleased them to the

utmost limits of my power. Papa was watching me, though I did

not know it, and presently said very gently, -

"What is it, Daisy?"

"Papa, I want to please you and mamma so much!"

"And cannot you?"

"Not in this, papa."

"Why? Explain to me. I do not understand your position,

Daisy."

"Papa, I am a servant of Christ; and a servant is bound to do

his Master's will."

"But you are begging the question."

"If you will have patience, papa, I will try to tell you how

it is. You know the Lord said, 'If any man serve me, let him

follow me.' You know how He lived and what He lived for.

Should I be following in his footsteps, when I was dressing

and dancing and talking nonsense or nothings and getting so

tired that I could do nothing but sleep all the next day? And

papa, that is not all. It is so difficult, when one is dressed

to look well and others are dressed in like manner, or for the

same object, I mean, - it is very difficult not to wish to

look well, and to wish to look better than other people, and

to be glad if one does; and then comes the desire for

admiration, and a feeling of pride, and perhaps, emulation of

somebody else; and one comes home with one's head filled with

poor thoughts, and the next day one is fit for nothing. And is

that, following Christ? who went about doing good, who sought

not His own, who was separate from sinners. And He said to His

people, 'Ye are not of the world, even as I am not of the

world.' "

"Why, Daisy," said my father, passing over the last part of my

speech, "how do you know all this? Have you been out into the

great world already?"

"No, papa; but if the little world has such effects what must

the great one do?"

"Pray, what little world have you seen?"

"The little world of West Point, papa. And something of the

world of Washington."

"_That_ is not much like a European court," said my father. "How

did you like West Point?"

"Very much indeed."

"Did you go to balls there?"

"Oh, no, sir! only little hops, that the cadets have in the

evenings."

"Was Preston there then?"

"He was entering upon his last year at the Academy."

"Had he improved?"

"Papa. - I thought he had _not_."

My father smiled. "Which of these young friends of ours do you

like the best, Daisy?"

"Mr. Marshall and Mr. De Saussure, do you mean?"

"I mean them."