"And to pray -" I said half under my breath.

"Daisy, I haven't a schedule of the cases here; and if I told you, you might forget, among so many, which was which. Anyhow, I have not the schedule."

"No, but you could do this for me. To-night, Dr. Sandford, when you go round, you could indicate to me what I want to know, and n.o.body else be the wiser. When we come to any case that is serious, but with hope, take hold of your chin, so; if any is serious without hope, just pa.s.s your hand through your hair. You do that often."

"Not when I am going my rounds, Daisy," said the doctor, looking amused.

"Only this time, for me," I pleaded.

"You would not sing as well."

"I should - or I might - know better how to sing."

"Or you might not be able to sing at all. Though your nerves are good," the doctor admitted. "Women's nerves are made of a material altogether differently selected, or tempered, from that of masculine nerves; pure metal, of some ethereal sort."

"Are there such things as masculine nerves?" I asked.

"Do you doubt it?" said the doctor, turning a half reproachful look upon me.

"Dr. Sandford, I do not doubt it. And so, you will, for once, and as an extraordinary kindness, do this thing for me that I have asked you."

"The use of it is hidden from me," said the doctor; "but to admit my ignorance is a thing I have often done before, where you are concerned."

"Then I will take care to be with you as soon as you come in this evening," I said, "so as to get all you will tell me."

"If I do not forget it," said the doctor.

But I knew there was no danger of his forgetting. There was no taking Dr. Sandford off his guard. In all matters that concerned his professional duties, he was like steel; for strength and truth and temper. Nothing that Dr. Sandford did not see; nothing that he did not remember; nothing that was too much for his skill and energies and executive faculty.

n.o.body disobeyed Dr. Sandford - unless it were I, now and then.

I walked through the rest of that day in a smothered fever.

How I had found courage to make my proposition to the doctor, I do not know; it was the courage of desperate suspense which could bear itself no longer. After the promise had been obtained that I sought, my courage failed. My joints trembled under me, as I went about the ward; my very hands trembled as I ministered to the men. The certainty that I had coveted, I dreaded now. Yet Mr. Thorold looked so well and seemed to suffer so little, I could not but quarrel with myself for folly, in being so fearful. Also I was ready to question myself, whether I had done right in seeking more knowledge of the future than might come to me day by day in the slow course of events. But I had done it; and Dr. Sandford was coming in the evening.

"What is the matter with you, Daisy?" Mr. Thorold said.

"Is anything the matter?" I replied.

"Yes. What is it?"

"How can you see it, Christian?"

"I?" - said he. "I see right through your eyes, back into the thought that looks out of them."

"Yet you ask me for the thought?"

"The root of it. Yes. I see that you are preoccupied, and troubled; - and trembling. _You_, my Daisy?

"Can I quite help it, Christian?"

"Can you quite trust the Lord?"

"But, - not that He will always save me from what I fear."

"No; not that. Let Him save you from the _fear_."

"How have you learned so much about it, so much more than I?"

- and my lips were trembling then, I know.

"I have had time," he said gently. "All those months and months, when you were at an unimaginable distance from me, actually and morally, - and prospectively, - do you think I had no chance to exercise myself in the lesson of submission?

I fought out that problem, Daisy."

"Were you in Washington the winter of '61?" I asked, changing the subject; for I could not bear it.

"Part of that winter," he said, with a somewhat surprised look at me.

"Did you meet in society here that winter a Miss St. Clair, who used to be once a schoolmate of mine? - very handsome."

"I think I remember her. I knew nothing about her having been at school with you, or I think I should have sought her acquaintance."

"She was said to have yours."

"A pa.s.sing, society acquaintance, she had."

"Nothing more?"

"More?" said he. "No. Nothing more."

"How came the report that you were her dearest friend?"

"From the father of lies," said Mr. Thorold; "if there ever was such a report; which I should doubt."

"It came to me in Paris."

"Did you believe it?"

"I could not; but papa did. It came from Miss St. Clair's own particular friend, and she told mamma, I think, that you were engaged to her."

"I think particular friends are a nuisance!" said Mr. Thorold.

"Why, she was said _here_, to be engaged to somebody, - Major - Major Somebody, - I forget. Major Fairbairn."

"Major Fairbairn!"

"Yes. Why?"

"That explains it," I exclaimed.

"Explains what?" said Mr. Thorold. And such a shower of fire as came from his eyes then, fun and intelligence and affection, never came from anybody's eyes beside. I had to tell him all I was thinking about; and then hurry away to my duties.

But at tea time I could touch nothing. The trembling had reached my very heart.