"It is unpaid labour," I said. "It is hands that ought to work for themselves; and men and women that ought to belong to themselves."

"Slaves," said Miss Cardigan. "But, Daisy, what do you mean?

It's all true; but what can you do?"

"I can have nothing to do with it. And I will have nothing. I would rather be poor, as poor as old Darry and Maria, than take what belongs to them. Miss Cardigan, so would you."

She settled herself back in her chair, like a person who has got a new thought. "My dear child!" she said. And then she said nothing more. I did not wish she should. I wanted no counsel, nor to hear any talk about it. I had only spoken so much, as thinking she had a right to hear it. I went back into my own meditations.

"Daisy, my child," she said suddenly after a while, - "there is only one thing to be said; and the word is not mine. 'If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you."

"Why, Miss Cardigan," said I, smiling, "do you think the, world will hate me for such a thing?"

"It hates all those who pretend to tell it is wrong."

"I do not pretend to tell it anything," I said.

"There is no preaching like that of the life. Daisy, have you well considered this matter?"

"For years."

"Then I'll know how to pray for you," she said. And there our conversation ended. It had laid on my heart a grave burden of well-defined care, which went with me thenceforth. I could never ignore it nor doubt it was there. Not but I knew well enough each several point in our discussion, before it had come up in words between Miss Cardigan and me; but having so come up, and taken form, each was a tangible thing for ever after. It is odd, how much we can bear unspoken, to which words give an unendurable weight and power. However, these troubles, in their present form, were not unendurable. I only felt them constantly from that time.

My visits to Miss Cardigan now were what they had always been; only perhaps she was a little more tenderly affectionate and careful of me. We did not go back to the discussions of that day, nor to any other regarding my affairs; but she and I scanned the papers well, and talked to each other of the items that seemed now to touch Thorold's and my future as well as the future of the country. We talked, - I could not help it; and yet often I would as lief not; the subjects were not quieting.

The first thing, was the going to Washington of Christian and his cla.s.s. He wrote to me about it. They went in haste and zeal; waiting for nothing; losing not a train; going by night.

Some in civilian's dress; some in cadet clothes, with the black stripe torn off the leg; all eager for their work. What work? It was peaceful enough work just at first. Thorold and others were set to drill the new citizen soldiers who had come in, answering to the President's proclamation, and who knew simply nothing of the business they were to be wanted for, if wanted at all. It was likely they would have something to do!

Already a second proclamation from the President had called for a second supply of men, to serve for three years, if the war was not sooner ended. Seamen for the navy also, in like manner.

For three years or the war! It went to my heart, that requisition. It looked so terribly in earnest. And so unhopeful. I wondered, those days, how people could live that did not know how to pray; when every one had, or might have, a treasure at stake in this fierce game that was playing. I have often since felt the same wonder.

I do not know how studies and the usual forms of school recitations went on; but they did go on; smoothly, I suppose.

I even recollect that mine went on successfully. With my double or treble motive for desiring success, I had also a reason for prizing and remembering the attainment. But my head was on graver matters, all the time. Would the rebels attack, Washington? it was constantly threatened. Would fighting actually become the common news of the land? The answer to this second query began to be sounded audibly. It was before May was over, that Ellsworth's soldiers took possession of Alexandria, and he was killed. That stirred people at the time; it looks a very little thing now. Alexandria! how I remembered driving through it one grey morning, on one of my Southern journeys; the dull little place, that looked as if it had fallen asleep some hundred or two years ago and never waked up. Now it was waked up with rifle shots; but its slave pen was emptied. I was glad of that. And Thorold was safe in Washington, drilling raw soldiers, in the saddle all day, and very happy, he wrote me. I had begun to be uneasy about his writing to me. It was without leave from my father and mother, and the leave I knew could not be obtained; it would follow that the indulgence must be given up. I knew it must. I looked that necessity in the face. A correspondence, such a correspondence, carried on without their knowing of it, must be an impossibility for me. I intended to tell Christian so, and stop the letters, before I should go abroad. My difficulties were becoming daily more and more clear, and looking more and more unmanageable. I wondered sometimes whither I was drifting; for guide or choose my course I could not. I had got into the current by no agency and with no fault of my own. To get out of the current - perhaps that might not be till life and I should go out together. So I was a somewhat sober and diligent student those closing weeks of the term; and yet, very happy, for Christian loved me. It was a new, sweet, strange, elixir of life.

The term was almost out, when I was called to the parlour one day to see Mrs. Sandford. All winter I had not seen her; she had not been in New York. I think she was unaffectedly glad to see me; somehow my presence was pleasant to her.

"Out of school!" she exclaimed, after a few greetings had pa.s.sed. "Almost out of school. A woman, Daisy. My dear, I never see you but I am struck with the change in you. Don't change any more! you are just right."

I laughed and asked her, what was the change in me? I had not grown taller.

"No -" said Mrs. Sandford - "I don't know that you have; but your figure is improved, and you have the air of being taller, Daisy. I never saw you looking so well. My dear, what work you are going to do now! now that you are out of the 'elements.'

And by the by - what _are_ you going to do, when school closes and you are set free?"

I said I could not tell; I had received no directions. I was waiting for letters from somewhere, to tell me what I must do.

"Suppose you go with me to Washington."

"Washington!" - I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and therewith the power of speech left me.

"Yes. You are not afraid, Daisy, that you look at me so? Some people are afraid, I know, and think Washington is going to be stormed by the Southern army; but that is all nonsense, Grant says; and I always trust Grant. He knows. He wants me to come.

He says Washington is a novel sight just now, and I may never have such another chance; and I think I shall do as he says and go. Washington is full of soldiers, and no ladies in it.

You are not _afraid?_"

"Oh, no. But - Dr. Sandford has not written to me to come."

"Yes, he has; or something very like it. He asked me to come and see you as I pa.s.sed through the city - I was not likely to need his admonition, Daisy, my dear, for it always does me good to see you; - and he added that I might suggest to you that I was coming, and ask you if your curiosity inclined you to take the trouble of the journey. He said _he_ thought it worth while, - and that we would both find it so."

I was dumb. Dr. Sandford little knew to what he was inviting me; and I - and Thorold - What a strange chance.

"Well, what are you pondering?" Mrs. Sandford cried gaily.

"Dresses? You don't care for dresses; besides, we can have them made in two minutes. Don't you want to go, Daisy? I am sure you do; and I am sure Grant will take famous good care of us, and you specially, and show us the camps and everything.

And don't you want to see the President?"

"I have seen him."

"When, and where?"

"In the street - when he went through, on his way to Washington."

"Well, I don't care much for Presidents; but this one they say so many different things about, that it makes me curious.

Don't you want to see him again?"

"Yes - I would like it."

"Then you'll come with me - I see it; and I'll have everything in readiness. Thursday, does your school-work end? then we will go Sat.u.r.day. You will want one day perhaps, besides, they say Friday is unlucky. I never go a journey on Friday."

"I would as lieve go Friday as any day," I said.

"Oh, well - Sat.u.r.day will be soon enough; and now good-bye, my dear; you to your work and I to mine. You are beautiful, my dear Daisy!" she added, kissing me.

I wondered if it was true. If it was, I was glad, for Thorold's sake. I knew it would be a pleasure to him. And to my father and mother also; but that brought other thoughts, and I went off to my studies.

CHAPTER II.

AT THE RENDEZVOUS.

The examination was over and school ended for me, before I had one half hour to spare to go to see Miss Cardigan. The examination had pa.s.sed as I could have wished it might; all had gone well; and I could afford to put by that whole train of thought, even as I put up my school-books and stowed them away; being things that I should not immediately want again.

Some time would pa.s.s, it was likely, before I would need to refresh my memory with mathematics or philosophy. My music was another matter, and I kept that out.

I put my books hastily as well as securely away; and then took my hat and rushed over to Miss Cardigan's. It was a very warm June day. I remember now the cool feeling of her marble hall.

Miss Cardigan sat in her matted parlour, busy as always, looking quiet and comfortable in a white muslin wrapper, and neat as a pin; also an invariable thing. Something in the peaceful, settled, calm air of the place impressed me, I suppose, with a feeling of contrast; of an uninvaded, undisturbed domain, which changes were not threatening. I had gone over the street hurriedly; I walked into the room with a slow step.

"Daisy! my dear child!" Miss Cardigan exclaimed, - "is it you?

and is all over? I see it is. Just sit down, and you shall have some strawberries; you look tired, my love."

I sat still, and waited, and eat my strawberries.

"Miss Cardigan," I said at length, "what is Christian's address in Washington?"