Daisy in the Field - BestLightNovel.com
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"And what did you see?"
"I saw that you were hiding something, from everybody but me.
Tell it now."
"Christian, it was not anything good."
"Confess your faults one to another, then," said he. "What is the use of having friends?"
"You would not be pleased to hear of my faults."
I could see, even in the dim light, the flash of his eye as it looked into mine.
"How many, Daisy?"
"Anger," I said; - "and resentment; and - self-will."
"What raised the anger?" said he; a different tone coming into his own voice.
"Preston. His way of talking."
"About me?"
"Yes. I cannot get over it."
And I thought I should have broken down at that minute. My fan-play ceased. Christian held my hand very fast, and after a few minutes began again -
"Does he know you are angry, Daisy?"
"Yes, he does; for I told him as much."
"Did you tell him sharply?"
"No. I told him coldly."
"Go over and say that you have forgiven him."
"But I have not forgiven him."
"You know you must."
"I cannot, just yet, Christian. To-morrow, perhaps I can."
"You must do it to-night, Daisy. You do not know what else you may have to do before to-morrow, that you will want the spirit of love for."
I was silent a little, for I knew that was true.
"Well? -" said he.
"What can I do?" I said. "I suppose it will wear out; but just now I have great displeasure against Preston. I cannot tell him I forgive him. I have not forgiven him."
"And do not want to forgive him?"
I was again silent, for the answer would have had to be an affirmative.
"If I could reach you, I would kiss that away," said Thorold.
"Daisy, must _I_ tell _you_, that there is One who can look it away? You need not wait."
I knew he spoke truth again; and I had forgotten it. Truth that once by experience I so well knew. I stood silent and self-condemned.
"Christian, I do not very often get angry; but when I do, I am afraid the feeling is very obstinate."
"The case isn't desperate - unless you are obstinate too," he said, with a look which conquered me. I fanned him a little while longer; not long. For I was able very soon to go across to Preston.
"Are you going to desert me for that fellow?" he growled.
"I must desert you, for whoever wants me more than you do; and you must be willing that I should."
"If it wasn't for confounded Yankees!" he said.
"Yankees are pretty good to you, Preston, I think, just now.
What if they were to desert you? Where is your generosity?"
"Shot away. Come, Daisy, I had no business to speak as I did.
I'll confess it. Forgive me, won't you?"
"Entirely," I said. "But you gave me great pain, Preston."
"You are like the thinnest description of gla.s.s manufacture,"
said Preston. "What wouldn't scratch something else, makes a confounded fracture in your feelings. I'll try and remember what brittle ware I am dealing with."
So that was over, and I gave him his tea; and then went round to do the same by others. I had to take them in turn; and when I got to Mr. Thorold at last, there was no more time then for talking, which I longed for. After the surgeon's round, when all was quiet again in the room, I sat at the foot of Mr.
Thorold's bed with a kind of cry in my heart, to which I could give no expression. I could not kneel there, to pray; I could not leave my post; I could not speak nor listen where I wanted a full interchange of heart with heart; the oppression almost choked me. Then I remembered I could sing. And I sang that hour, if I never did before. My sorrow, and my joy, and my cry of heart, I put them all into the notes and poured them forth in my song. I was never so glad I could sing as these days. I knew, all the time, it was medicine and anodynes and strength - and maybe teaching - to many that heard; for me, it was the cry of prayer, and the pleading of faith, and the confession of utmost need. How strong "Rock of Ages" seemed to me again that night; the hymn, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds,"
was to me a very schedule of treasure; my soul mounted on the words, like the angels on Jacob's ladder; the top of the ladder was in heaven, if the foot of it was on a very rough spot of earth. That night I sang hymns, in the high-wrought state of my feelings, which the next day I could not have sung. I remember that one of them was "What are these in bright array," with the chorus, "They have clean robes, white robes." "When I can read my t.i.tle clear," was another.
Sometimes a hymn starts up to me now, with a thrill of knowledge that I sang it that night, which yet at other times I cannot recall. I sang till the hour, and past it, when I must go to my room and give place to the night watchers. I longed to stay, but it was impossible; so I went and bade Preston good-night, who said to me never a word this time; spoke to one or two others; and then went to Mr. Thorold. I laid my hand on his. He grasped it immediately and looked up at me with a clear, sweet, bright look, which did me untold good; pulling me gently down. I bent over him, thinking he wished to speak; then I knew what he wished, and obeying the impulse and the request, our lips met. I don't know if anybody saw it; and I did not care. That kiss sent me to sleep.
The next day I was myself again. Not relieved from the impression which had seized me when I first saw Mr. Thorold; but quietly able to bear it; in a sort raised above it. To do the moment's duty; to gather, and to give, every stray crumb of relief or pleasure that might be possible for either of us; better than that, to do the Lord's will and to bear it, were all I sought for. All at least, of which I was fairly conscious that I sought it; the heart has a way of carrying on underground trains of feeling and action of its own, and so did mine now. As I found afterwards. But I was perfectly able for all my work. When next I had an opportunity for private talk with Mr. Thorold, he asked me with a smile, if the resentment was all gone? I told him, "Oh, yes."
"What was the 'self-will' about, Daisy?"
"You remember too well," I said.
"What?"
"Me and my words."
"Why?"
"It is not easy to say why, just in this instance."