In spite of the burden that lay on Daisy's heart, she and Capt. Drummond
had a good time the next morning over the Saxon Heptarchy. They went
down to the shore for it, at Daisy's desire, where they would be
undisturbed; and the morning was hardly long enough. The Captain had
provided himself with a shallow tray filled with modelling clay; which
he had got from an artist friend living a few miles further up the
river. On this the plan of England was nicely marked out, and by the
help of one or two maps which he cut up for the occasion, the Captain
divided off the seven kingdoms greatly to Daisy's satisfaction and
enlightenment. Then, how they went on with the history! introduced
Christianity, enthroned Egbert, and defeated the Danes under Alfred.
They read from, the book, and fought it all out on the clay plan, as
they went along. At Alfred they stopped a good while, to consider the
state of the world in the little island of Britain at that time. The
good king's care for his people, his love for study and encouragement of
learning; his writing fables for the people; his wax candles to mark
time; his building with brick and stone; his founding the English navy,
and victories with the same; no less than his valour and endurance in
every time of trial; all these things Capt. Drummond whose father had
been an Englishman, duly enlarged upon, and Daisy heard them with greedy
ears. Truth to tell, the Captain had read up a little for the occasion,
being a good deal moved with sympathy for his little friend, who he saw
was going through a time of some trial. Nothing was to be seen of that
just now, indeed, other than the peculiarly soft and grave expression
which Daisy's face had worn all this week; and which kept reminding the
Captain to be sorry for her.
They got through with Alfred at last--by the way, the Captain had
effaced the dividing lines of the seven kingdoms and brought all to one
in Egbert's time--and now they went on with Alfred's successors. A place
was found on the sand for Denmark and Norway to shew themselves; and
Sweyn and Canute came over; and there was no bating to the interest with
which the game of human life went on. In short, Daisy and the Captain
having tucked themselves away in a nook of the beach and the tenth and
eleventh centuries, were lost to all the rest of the world and to the
present time; till a servant at last found them with the information
that the luncheon bell had rung, and Mrs. Randolph was ready to go out
with the Captain. And William the Conqueror had just landed at Hastings!
"Never mind, Daisy," said the Captain; "we'll go on with it, the next
chance we get."
Daisy thanked him earnestly, but the thought that Sunday must come and
go first, threw a shadow over her thanks. The Captain saw it; and walked
home thinking curiously about the "field of battle"--not Hastings.
Daisy did not go in to luncheon. She did not like meeting all the people
who felt so gay, while she felt so much trouble. Nor did she like being
with her mother, whose manner all the week had constantly reminded Daisy
of what Daisy never forgot. The rest of Saturday passed soberly away.
There was a cloud in the air.
And the cloud was high and dark Sunday morning, though it was as fair a
summer day as might be seen. Some tears escaped stealthily from Daisy's
eyes, as she knelt in the little church beside her mother; but the
prayers were deep and sweet and strong to her, very much. Sadly sorry
was Daisy when they were ended. The rest of the service was little to
her. Mr. Pyne did not preach like Mr. Dinwiddie; and she left the church
with a downcast heart, thinking that so much of the morning was past.
The rest of the day Daisy kept by herself, in her own room; trying to
get some comfort in reading and praying. For the dread of the evening
was strong upon her; every movement of her mother spoke displeasure and
determination. Daisy felt her heart beating gradually quicker and
quicker, as the hours of the day wore on.
"Ye ain't well, Miss Daisy,"--said June, who had come in as usual
without being heard.
"Yes I am, June," said Daisy. But she had started when the woman spoke,
and June saw that now a tear sprang.
"Did you eat a good lunch, Miss Daisy?"
"I don't know, June. I guess I didn't eat much."
"Let me bring you something!"--said the woman coaxingly--"some
strawberries, with some good cream to 'em."
"No--I can't, June--I don't want them. What o'clock is it?"
"It is just on to five, Miss Daisy."
Five! Daisy suddenly recollected her scholar, whom she had directed to
come to her at this hour. Jumping up she seized her hat and rushed off
down stairs and through the shrubbery, leaving June lost in wonder and
concern.
At a Belvidere, some distance from the house and nearer the gate, Daisy
had chosen to meet her pupil; and she had given orders at the Lodge to
have her guided thither when she should come. And there she was; Daisy
could see the red head of hair before she got to the place herself.
Hephzibah looked very much as she did on weekdays; her dress partially
covered with a little shawl; her bonnet she had thrown off; and if the
hair had been coaxed into any state of smoothness before leaving home,
it was all gone now.
[Illustration: THE BELVIDERE.]
"How do you do, Hephzibah?" said Daisy. "I am glad to see you."
Hephzibah smiled, but unless that meant a civil answer, she gave none.
Daisy sat down beside her.
"Do you know how to read, Hephzibah?"
The child first shook her shaggy head--then nodded it. What that meant,
Daisy was somewhat at a loss.
"Do you know your letters?"
Hephzibah nodded.
"What is that letter?"
Daisy had not forgotten to bring a reading book, and now put Hephzibah
through the alphabet, which she seemed to know perfectly, calling each
letter by its right name. Daisy then asked if she could read words; and
getting an assenting nod again, she tried her in that. But here
Hephzibah's education was defective; she could read indeed, after a
fashion; but it was a slow and stumbling fashion; and Daisy and she were
a good while getting through a page. Daisy shut the book up.
"Now Hephzibah," said she, "do you know anything about what is in the
Bible?"
Hephzibah shook her head in a manner the reverse of encouraging.
"Did you never read the Bible, nor have any one read it to you?"
Another shake.
Daisy thereupon began to tell her little neighbour the grand story which
concerned them both so nearly, making it as clear and simple as she
could. Hephzibah's eyes were fixed on her intently all the while; and
Daisy, greatly interested herself, wondered if any of the interest had
reached Hephzibah's heart, and made the gaze of her eyes so unwavering.
They expressed nothing. Daisy hoped, and went on, till at a pause
Hephzibah gave utterance to the first words (of her own) that she had
spoken during the interview. They came out very suddenly, like an
unexpected jet of water from an unused fountain.
"Mother says, you're the fus'ratest little girl she ever see!"
Daisy was extremely confounded. The thread of her discourse was so
thoroughly broken indeed, that she could not directly begin it again;
and in the minute of waiting she saw how low the sun was. She dismissed
Hephzibah. telling her to be at the Belvidere the same hour next
Sunday.
As the shaggy little red head moved away through the bushes, Daisy
watched it, wondering whether she had done the least bit of good. Then
another thought made her heart beat, and she turned again to see how low
the sun was. Instead of the sun she saw Gary McFarlane.
"Who is that, Daisy?" said he, looking after the disappearing red head.
"A poor little girl--" said Daisy.
"So I should think,--very poor!--looks so indeed! How came she here?"
"She came by my orders, Mr. McFarlane."
"By your orders! What have you got there, Daisy? Let's see! As sure as
I'm alive!--a spelling book. Keeping school, Daisy? Don't say no!"
Daisy did not say no, nor anything. She had taken care not to let Gary
get hold of her Bible; the rest she must manage as she could.
"This _is_ benevolence!" went on the young man. "Teaching a spelling
lesson in a Belvidere with the thermometer at 90° in the shade? What
sinners all the rest of us are! I declare, Daisy, you make me feel bad."
"I should not think it, Mr. McFarlane."
"Daisy, you have _à plomb_ enough for a princess, and gravity enough for
a Puritan! I should like to see you when you are grown up,--only then I
shall be an old man, and it will be of no consequence. What _do_ you
expect to do with that little red head?--now do tell me."
"She don't know anything, Mr. McFarlane."
"No more don't I! Come Daisy--have pity on me. You never saw anybody
more ignorant than I am. There are half a dozen things at this moment
which I don't know--and which you can tell me. Come, will you?"
"I must go in, Mr. McFarlane."
"But tell me first. Come, Daisy! I want to know why _is_ it so much
more wicked to sing a song than to make somebody else singsong?--for
that's the way they all do the spelling book, _I_ know. Hey, Daisy?"
"How did you know anything about it, Mr. McFarlane?"
"Come, Daisy,--explain. I am all in a fog--or else you are. This
spelling book seems to me a very wicked thing on Sunday."
"I will take it, if you please, Mr. McFarlane."
"Not if I know it! I want my ignorance instructed, Daisy. I am persuaded
you are the best person to enlighten me--but if not, I shall try this
spelling book on Mrs. Randolph. I regard it as a great curiosity, and an
important question in metaphysics."
Poor Daisy! She did not know what to do; conscious that Gary was
laughing at her all the while, and most unwilling that the story of the
spelling book should get to Mrs. Randolph's ears. She stood hesitating
and troubled, when her eye caught sight of Preston near. Springing to
him she cried, "O Preston, get my little book from Mr. McFarlane--he
won't give it to me."
There began then a race of the most uproarious sort between the two
young men--springing, turning, darting round among the trees and bushes,
shouting to and laughing at each other. Daisy another time would have
been amused; now she was almost frightened, lest all this boisterous
work should draw attention. At last, however, Preston got the spelling
book, or Gary let himself be overtaken and gave it up.
"It's mischief, Preston!" he said;--"deep mischief--occult mischief. I
give you warning."
"What is it, Daisy?" said Preston. "What is it all about?"
"Never mind. Oh Preston! don't ask anything, but let me have it!"
"There it is then; but Daisy," he said affectionately, catching her in
his arms,--"you are going to sing to-night, aren't you?"
"Don't Preston--don't! let me go," cried Daisy struggling to escape from
him; and she ran away as soon as he let her, hardly able to keep back
her tears. She felt it very hard. Preston and Gary, and her mother and
her father,--all against her in different ways. Daisy kneeled down by
her window-sill in her own room, to try to get comfort and strength;
though she was in too great tumult to pray connectedly. Her little heart
was beating sadly. But there was no doubt at all in Daisy's mind as to
what she should do.--"If a man love me, he will keep my words." She
never questioned now about doing that.
The dreaded tea bell rang, and she went down; but utterly unable to eat
or drink through agitation. Nobody seemed to notice her particularly,
and she wandered out upon the verandah; and waited there. There
presently her father's arms came round her before she was aware.
"What are you going to do, Daisy?"
"Nothing, papa," she whispered.
"Are you not going to sing?"
"Papa, I can't!" cried Daisy dropping her face against his arm. Her
father raised it again and drawing her opposite one of the windows,
looked into the dark-ringed eyes and white face.
"You are not well," said he. "You are not fit to be up; and my orders to
you, Daisy, are to go immediately to bed. I'll send you some medicine by
and by. Good night!"
He kissed her, and Daisy needed no second bidding. She sprang away,
getting into the house by another door; and lost no time. Her fear was
that her mother might send for her before she could get undressed. But
no summons came; June was speedy, thinking and saying it was a very good
thing for Daisy to do; and then she went off and left her alone with the
moonlight. Daisy was in no hurry then. She knelt by her beloved window,
where the scent of the honeysuckle was strong in the dewy air; and with
a less throbbing heart prayed her prayer. But she was not at ease yet;
it was very uncertain in her mind how her mother would take this order
of her father's; and what would come after, if she was willing to let it
pass. So Daisy could not go to sleep, but lay wide awake and fearing in
the moonlight, and listening to every sound in the house that came to
her ears.
The moonlight shone in peacefully, and Daisy lying there and growing
gradually calmer, began to wonder in herself that there should be so
much difficulty made about anybody's doing right. If she had been set on
some wrong thing, it would have made but a very little disturbance--if
any; but now, when she was only trying to do right, the whole house was
roused to prevent her. Was it so in those strange old times that the
eleventh chapter of Hebrews told of?--when men, and women, were stoned,
and sawn asunder, and slain with the sword, and wandered like wild
animals in sheepskins and goatskins and in dens and caves of the earth?
all for the name of Jesus. But if they suffered once, they were happy
now. Better anything, at all events, than to deny that name!
The evening seemed excessively long to Daisy, lying there on her bed
awake, and listening with strained ears for any sound near her room. She
heard none; the hours passed, though so very slowly, as they do when all
the minutes are watched; and Daisy heard nothing but dim distant noises,
and grew pretty quiet. She had heard nothing else, when turning her head
from the moonlight window she caught the sight of a white figure at her
bedside; and by the noble form and stately proportions Daisy knew
instantly whose figure it was. Those soft flowing draperies had been
before her eyes all day. A pang shot through the child, that seemed to
go from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.
"Are you awake, Daisy?"
"Yes, mamma," she said feebly.
"Get up. I want to speak to you."
Daisy got off the bed, and the white figure in the little night dress
stood opposite the other white figure, robed in muslin and laces that
fell around it like a cloud.
"Why did you come to bed?"
"Papa--papa ordered me."
"It's all the same. If you had not come to bed, Daisy if you had been
well,--would you have sung when I ordered you to-night?"
Daisy hesitated, and then said in a whisper:
"No, mamma--not that."
"Think before you answer me, for I shall not ask twice. Will you promise
to sing the gypsy song, because I command you, next Sunday in the
evening? Answer, Daisy."
Very low it was, for Daisy trembled so that she did not know how she
could speak at all, but the answer came,--
"I can't, mamma."
Mrs. Randolph stepped to the bell and rang it. Almost at the same
instant June entered, bearing a cup in her hand.
"What is that?" said Mrs. Randolph.
"Master sent Miss Daisy some medicine."
"Set it down. I have got some here better for her. June, take Daisy's
hands."
"Oh mamma, no!" exclaimed Daisy. "Oh please send June away!"
The slight gesture of command to June which answered this, was as
imperious as it was slight. It was characteristically like Mrs.
Randolph; graceful and absolute. June obeyed it, as old instinct told
her to do; though sorely against her will. She had held hands before,
though not Daisy's; and she knew very well the look of the little whip
with which her mistress stepped back into the room, having gone to her
own for it. In a Southern home that whip had been wont to live in Mrs.
Randolph's pocket. June's heart groaned within her.
The whip was small but it had been made for use, not for play; and there
was no play in Mrs. Randolph's use of it. This was not like her father's
ferule, which Daisy could bear in silence, if tears would come; her
mother's handling forced cries from her; though smothered and kept under
in a way that shewed the child's self-command.
"What have you to say to me?" Mrs. Randolph responded, without waiting
for the answer. But Daisy had none to give. At length her mother paused.
"Will you do what I bid you?"
Daisy was unable to speak for tears--and perhaps for fear. The wrinkles
on June's brow were strangely folded together with agitation; but nobody
saw them.
"Will you sing for me next Sunday?" repeated Mrs. Randolph.
There was a struggle in the child's heart, as great almost as a child's
heart can bear. The answer came, when it came, tremblingly--
"I can't, mamma."
"You cannot?" said Mrs. Randolph.
"I can't, mamma."
The chastisement which followed was so severe, that June was moved out
of all the habits of her life, to interfere in another's cause. The
white skinned race were no mark for trouble in June's mind; least of
them all, her little charge. And if white skin was no more delicate in
reality than dark skin, it answered to the lash much more speakingly.
"Missus, you'll kill her!" June said, using in her agitation a carefully
disused form of speech; for June was a freedwoman. A slight turn of the
whip brought the lash sharply across her wrist, with the equally sharp
words, "Mind your own business!"
A thrill went through the woman, like an electric spark firing a whole
life-train of feeling and memory; but the lines of her face never moved,
and not the stirring of a muscle told what the touch had reached,
besides a few nerves. She had done her charge no good by her
officiousness, as June presently saw with grief. It was not till Mrs.
Randolph had thoroughly satisfied her displeasure at being thwarted, and
not until Daisy was utterly exhausted, that Mrs. Randolph stayed her
hand.
"I will see what you will say to me next Sunday!" she remarked calmly.
And she left the room.
It was not that Mrs. Randolph did not love her daughter, in her way; for
in her way she was fond of Daisy; but the habit of bearing no opposition
to her authority was life-strong, and probably intensified in the
present instance by perceiving that her husband was disposed to shield
the offender. The only person in whose favour the rule ever relaxed, was
Ransom.
June was left with a divided mind, between the dumb indignation which
had never known speech, and an almost equally speechless concern. Daisy
as soon as she was free had made her way to the window; there the child
was, on her knees, her head on her window sill, and weeping as if her
very heart were melting and flowing away drop by drop. And June stood
like a dark statue, looking at her; the wrinkles in her forehead scarce
testifying to the work going on under it. She wanted first of all to see
Daisy in bed; but it seemed hopeless to speak to her; and there the
little round head lay on the window-sill, and the moonbeams poured in
lovingly over it. June stood still and never stirred.
It was a long while before Daisy's sobs began to grow fainter, and June
ventured to put in her word and got Daisy to lay herself on the bed
again. Then June went off after another sort of medicine of her own
devising, despising the drops which Mr. Randolph had given her. Without
making a confidant of the housekeeper, she contrived to get from her
the materials to make Daisy a cup of arrowroot with wine and spices.
June knew well how to be a cook when she pleased; and what she brought
to Daisy was, she knew, as good as a cook could make it. She found the
child lying white and still on the bed, and not asleep, nor dead, which
June had almost feared at first sight of her. She didn't want the
arrowroot; she said.
"Miss Daisy, s'pose you take it?" said June. "It won't do you no
hurt--maybe it'll put you to sleep."
Daisy was perhaps too weak to resist. She rose half up and eat the
arrowroot, slowly, and without a word. It did put a little strength into
her, as June had said. But when she gave back the cup and let herself
fall again upon her pillow, Daisy said,
"June, I'd like to die."
"O why, Miss Daisy?" said June.
"Jesus knows that I love him now; and I'd like--" said the child
steadying her voice--"I'd like--to be in heaven!"
"O no, Miss Daisy--not yet; you've got a great deal to do in the world
first."
"Jesus knows I love him--" repeated the child.
"Miss Daisy, he knowed it before--he's the Lord."
"Yes, but--he wants people to _shew_ they love him, June."
"Do, don't! Miss Daisy," said June half crying. "Can't ye go to sleep?
Do, now!"
It was but three minutes more, and Daisy had complied with her request.
June watched and saw that the sleep was real; went about the room on her
noiseless feet; came back to Daisy's bed, and finally went off for her
own pillow, with which she lay down on the matting at the foot of the
bed, and there passed the remainder of the night.