"Oh, yes, of course, that is not the question. I do not want to hear both sides to decide that. But I mean lesser questions; movements, probabilities, dangers; the truth of actual events. _Those_ I want to know about."

"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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 Sat.u.r.day. I have tried to recollect, and I cannot. I am not sure whether it was not Thursday. But I know it was Sat.u.r.day 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 canva.s.s-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 n.o.body 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?"