"What is that?" said he, laughing more gayly, and raising my face a little.

"You know what our property is."

"No, I do not."

"You know - I mean, you know, my father's and mother's property is in Southern lands mostly, and in those that cultivate them."

"Yes. I believe I have understood that."

"Well, I will never be the owner of those people - the people that cultivate those lands; and so I suppose I shall not be worth a sixpence; for the land is not much without the people."

"You will not be the owner of them?"

"No."

"Why do you tell me that?" said Mr. Thorold gravely.

"I wanted you to know -" I said, hesitating and beginning very much to wish my words unsaid.

"And the question is, what I will do in the supposed circ.u.mstances? Was that it?"

"I said that," - I a.s.sented.

"What shall I do?" said Mr. Thorold. "I don't know. If I am in camp, I will pitch a tent for my wife; it shall have soft carpets and damask cushions; as many servants as she likes, and one in especial who will take care that the others do her bidding; scanty accommodations, perhaps, but the air full of welcome. She will like it. If I am stationed in town somewhere, I will fill her house with things to please her. If I am at the old farm, I will make her confess, in a little while, that it is the pleasantest place she ever saw in her life. I don't know what I will do! I will do something to make her ashamed she ever asked me such a question."

"Oh, don't!" said I, with my cheeks burning. "I am very much ashamed now."

"Do you acknowledge that?" he said, laughing and taking his revenge. "So you ought."

But then he made me sit down on the gra.s.s again and threw himself at my feet, and began to talk of other things. He would not let me go back to the former subjects. He kept me in a state of amus.e.m.e.nt, making me talk too about what he would; and with the light of that last subject I had unluckily started, shining all over his face and sparkling in his eye and smile, until my face was in a condition of permanent colour. I had given him an advantage, and he took it and played with it. I resolved I would never give him another. He had gone back apparently to the mood of that evening at Miss Cardigan's; and was full of life and spirits and mischief. I could do nothing but fall in with his mood and be happy; although I remembered I had not gained my point yet; and I half suspected he had a mind I should not gain it. It was a very bright, short half hour; and then I reminded him it was growing late.

"Moonlight -" he said. "There is a good large moon, Daisy."

"But Mrs. Sandford -" I said.

"She knows you are your own mistress."

"She _thinks_ I am," I said. "You know better."

"You are mine," said Mr. Thorold, with gentle gravity, immediately. "You shall command me. Do you say go, Daisy?"

"May I influence you in something else?" I said putting my hand in his to enforce my words.

"Eh?" said he, clasping the hand. "What, Daisy?"

"Christian, I want you not to write to my father and mother until I give you leave." I thought I would let go arguing and try persuasion.

He looked away, and then looked at me; - a look full of affection, but I saw I had not moved him.

"I do not see how we can settle that, Daisy."

"But you said - you said -"

"What?"

"You said just now, you intimated, that my wishes would have weight with you."

He laughed a little, a moved laugh, and kissed me. But it was not a kiss which carried any compromise.

"Weight with me? Yes, a little. But with me, Daisy. They must not change me into somebody not myself."

"Would that? -"

"If I could be content to have your faith in secret, or to wait to know if I might have it at all? I must be somebody not myself, Daisy."

I pondered and felt very grave. Was it true, that Mr. Thorold, though no Christian, was following a rule of action more n.o.ble and good than I, who made such professions? It was n.o.ble, I felt that. Had my wish been cowardly and political? Must not open truth be the best way always? Yet with my father and mother old experience had long ago taught me to hold my tongue and not speak till the time came. Which was right? I felt that his rule of action crossed all my _inner_ nature, if it were not indeed the habit which had become second nature. Mr. Thorold watched me.

"What is it, Daisy? - my Daisy?" he asked with a tender inquisitiveness, though looking amused at me.

"I was thinking -" I answered, - "whether you are a great deal better than I am."

"Think it by all means," he said laughing. "I am certainly a good deal braver. But what else, Daisy? there was something else."

"That," said I. "I was thinking of my habit, all my life long, of keeping things back from my father and mother till I thought it was safe to show them."

"Are you going to let that habit live? What lessons you will have to learn, my little Daisy! I could never bear to have my wife afraid of me."

"Of you!" I said. "I never should." - But there I stopped in some confusion, which I knew my neighbour enjoyed. I broke up the enjoyment by standing up and declaring that it was now time to go.

We had a pretty ride home. My mind was disburthened of its various subjects of care which I had had to communicate to Mr.

Thorold; and although I had not been able entirely to prevail with him, yet I had done all I could, and my conscience was clear. I let myself enjoy, and the ride was good. Mr. Thorold said we must have another; but I did not believe that feasible.

However, it fell out so. Dr. Sandford lingered on in the same disabled state; his sister-in-law was devoted to her attendance on him; I was left to myself. And it did come to pa.s.s, that not only Mr. Thorold and I had walks continually together; but also we had one more good ride. I did not try moving him again on the point of my father and mother. I had read my man and knew that I could not. And I suppose I liked him the better for it. Weakness is the last thing, I think, that a woman forgives in men, who ought to be strong.

Christian was not weak; all the more he was gentle and tender and thoughtful for those who were. Certainly for me. Those days, those walks, - what music of thought and manner there was in them! The sort of protecting care and affection I had from him then, I never had from any other at any time. Care that seemed to, make my life his own; affection that made it something much before his own; but all this told, not in words, which could not have been, but in indescribable little things of manner and tone; graces too fine to count and measure. Once I had fancied I ought to put more reserve into my manner, or manage more distance in his; that thought fled from me after the first afternoon's ride and never came back.

I did not take care for myself; he took care for me. The affection that held me as a part of himself, held me also as a delicate charge more precious than himself; and while he protected me as one who had a right to do it, he guarded me also as one whose own rights were more valuable than his. He never flattered, nor praised, nor complimented me; or with rare exceptions; but he showed me that he lived for me, and sometimes that he knew I lived for him.

What days and walks! The extreme and impending gravity of the time and the interests at work, lent only a keen and keener perception of their preciousness and sweetness. Any day our opportunities might suddenly come to an end; every day they were welcomed as a special fresh gift. Every evening, as soon as Mr. Thorold's engagements allowed it, he met me on the avenue, and we walked until the evening was as far spent as we durst spend it so. I basked in a sunshine of care and affection which surrounded me, which watched me, which catered to my pleasure, and knew my thoughts before they were spoken.

We were both grown suddenly older than our years, Mr. Thorold and I; the coming changes and chances in our lives brought us to life's reality at once.

One ride besides we had; that was all. Except one other experience; which was afterwards precious to me beyond price.

As it became known that Dr. Sandford's illness was persistent and not dangerous, and that I was in consequence leading a (supposed) bitterly dull life; it naturally happened that our acquaintances began to come round us again; and invitations to this or that entertainment came pouring upon me. I generally refused; but once thought it, best, as a blind to Mrs.

Sandford, to accept an invitation to ride. Mrs. Sandford as before demurred, but would not object.

"Who is it this time, Daisy?" she asked.

I named Major Fairbairn; luckily also an officer whom I had known the last summer at West Point.