"Let him die!" he cried. "What is that to you? You are Daisy Randolph. Do you remember whose daughter you are? _You_ making a spectacle of yourself, for a hundred to look at!"

But this shot quite overreached its mark. Preston saw it had not touched me.

"You did not use to be so bold," he began again. "You were delicate to an exquisite fault. I would never have believed that _you_ would have done anything unwomanly. What has taken possession of you?"

"I should like to take possession of you just now, Preston, and keep you quiet," I said. "Look here, - your tea is coming.

Suppose you wait till you understand things a little better; and now - let me give you this. I am sure Dr. Sandford would bid you be quiet; and in his name, I do."

Preston fumed; but I managed to stop his mouth; and then I left him, to attend to other people. But when all was done, and the ward was quiet, I stood at the foot of the dying man's bed, thinking, what could I do more for him? His face looked weary and anxious; his eye rested, I saw, on me, but without comfort in it. What could I say, that I had not said? or how could I reach him? Then, I do not know how the thought struck me, but I knew what to do.

"My dear," said Miss Yates, touching my shoulder, "hadn't you better give up for to-night? You are a young hand; you ain't seasoned to it yet; you'll give out if you don't look sharp.

Suppose you quit for to- night."

"O no!" I said hastily - "Oh no, I cannot. I cannot."

"Well, sit down, any way, before you can't stand. It is just as cheap sittin' as standin'."

I sat down; she pa.s.sed on her way; the place was quiet; only there were uneasy breaths that came and went near me. Then I opened my mouth and sang -

"There is a fountain filled with blood, "Drawn from Immanuel's veins; "And sinners plunged beneath that flood, "Lose all their guilty stains."

"The dying thief rejoiced to see "That fountain in his day; "And there may I, as vile as he, "Wash all my sins away."

I sang it to a sweet simple air, in which the last lines are repeated and repeated and drawn out in all their sweetness.

The ward was as still as death. I never felt such joy that I could sing; for I knew the words went to the furthest corner and distinctly, though I was not raising my voice beyond a very soft pitch. The stillness lasted after I stopped; then some one near spoke out -

"Oh, go on!"

And I thought the silence asked me. But what to sing? that was the difficulty. It had need be something so very simple in the wording, so very comprehensive in the sense; something to tell the truth, and to tell it quick, and the whole truth; what should it be? Hymns came up to me, loved and sweet, but too partial in their application, or presupposing too much knowledge of religious things. My mind wandered; and then of a sudden floated to me the refrain that I had heard and learned when a child, long ago, from the lips of Mr. Dinwiddie, in the little chapel at Melbourne; and with all the tenderness of the old time and the new it sprung from my heart and lips now -

"In evil long I took delight, "Unawed by shame or fear; "Till a new object struck my sight, "And stopped my wild career."

"O the Lamb - the loving Lamb!

"The Lamb on Calvary "The Lamb that was slain, but lives again, "To intercede for me."

How grand it was! But for the grandeur and the sweetness of the message I was bringing, I should have broken down a score of times.

As it was, I poured my tears into my song, and wept them into the melody. But other tears, I knew, were not so contained; in intervals I heard low sobbing in more than one part of the room. I had no time to sing another hymn before Dr. Sandford came in. I was very glad he had not been five minutes earlier.

I followed him round the ward, seeking to acquaint myself as fast as possible with whatever might help to make me useful there. Dr. Sandford attended only to business and not to me, till the whole round was gone through. Then he said, -

"You will let me take you home now, I hope."

"I am at home," I answered.

"Even so," said he smiling. "You will let me take you _from_ home then, to the place my sister dwells in."

"No, Dr. Sandford; and you do not expect it."

"I have some reason to know what to expect, by this time. Will you not do it at my earnest request? not for your sake, but for mine? There is presumption for you!"

"No, Dr. Sandford; it is not presumption, and I thank you; but I cannot. I cannot, Dr. Sandford. I am wanted here."

"Yes, so you will be to-morrow."

"I will be here to-morrow."

"But, Daisy, this is unaccustomed work; and you cannot bear it, no one can, without intermission. Let me take you to the hotel to-night. You shall come again in the morning."

"I cannot. There is some one here who wants me."

"Your cousin, do you mean?"

"Oh no. Not he at all. There is one who is, I am afraid, dying."

"Morton," said the doctor. "Yes. You can do nothing for him."

But I thought of my hymn, and the tears rose to my eyes.

"I will do what I can, Dr. Sandford. I cannot leave him."

"There is a night nurse who will take charge. You must not watch. You must not do that, Daisy. I command here."

"All but me," I said, putting my hand on his arm. "Trust me. I will try to do just the right thing."

There must have been more persuasion in my look than I knew; for Dr. Sandford quitted me without another word, and left me to my own will. I went softly down the room to the poor friend I was watching over. I found his eyes watching me; but for talk there was no time just then; some services were called for in another part of the ward that drew me away from him; and when I came back he seemed to be asleep. I sat down at the bed foot and thought my hymn all over, then the war, my own life, and lastly the world. Miss Yates came to me and bent down.

"Are you tired out, dear?"

"Not at all," I said. "Not at all - tired."

"They'd give their eyes if you'd sing again. It's better than doctors and anodynes; and it's the first bit of anything unearthly we've had in this place. Will you try?"

I was only too glad. I sang, "Jesus, lover of my soul" - "Rock of Ages" - and then, -

"Just as I am, without one plea, "But that Thy blood was shed for me, "And that Thou bidst me come to Thee, "O Lamb of G.o.d, I come."

And stillness, deep and peaceful seeming, brooded over all the place in the pauses between the singing. There were restless and weary and suffering people around me; patient indeed too, and uncomplaining, in the worst of times; but now even sighs seemed to be hushed. I looked at the man who was said to be dying. His wide open eyes were intently fixed upon me; very intently; and I thought, less ruefully than a while ago. Then I sang, -