"What raised the anger?" said he; a different tone coming into
his own voice.
"Preston. His way of talking."
"About me?"
"Yes. I cannot get over it."
And I thought I should have broken down at that minute. My
fan-play ceased. Christian held my hand very fast, and after a
few minutes began again "Does he know you are angry, Daisy?"
"Yes, he does; for I told him as much."
"Did you tell him sharply?"
"No. I told him coldly."
"Go over and say that you have forgiven him."
"But I have not forgiven him."
"You know you must."
"I cannot, just yet, Christian. To-morrow, perhaps I can."
"You must do it to-night, Daisy. You do not know what else you
may have to do before to-morrow, that you will want the spirit
of love for."
I was silent a little, for I knew that was true.
"Well? -" said he.
"What can I do?" I said. "I suppose it will wear out; but just
now I have great displeasure against Preston. I cannot tell
him I forgive him. I have not forgiven him."
"And do not want to forgive him?"
I was again silent, for the answer would have had to be an
affirmative.
"If I could reach you, I would kiss that away," said Thorold.
"Daisy, must I tell you, that there is One who can look it
away? You need not wait."
I knew he spoke truth again; and I had forgotten it. Truth
that once by experience I so well knew. I stood silent and
self-condemned.
"Christian, I do not very often get angry; but when I do, I am
afraid the feeling is very obstinate."
"The case isn't desperate - unless you are obstinate too," he
said, with a look which conquered me. I fanned him a little
while longer; not long. For I was able very soon to go across
to Preston.
"Are you going to desert me for that fellow?" he growled.
"I must desert you, for whoever wants me more than you do; and
you must be willing that I should."
"If it wasn't for confounded Yankees!" he said.
"Yankees are pretty good to you, Preston, I think, just now.
What if they were to desert you? Where is your generosity?"
"Shot away. Come, Daisy, I had no business to speak as I did.
I'll confess it. Forgive me, won't you?"
"Entirely," I said. "But you gave me great pain, Preston."
"You are like the thinnest description of glass manufacture,"
said Preston. "What wouldn't scratch something else, makes a
confounded fracture in your feelings. I'll try and remember
what brittle ware I am dealing with."
So that was over, and I gave him his tea; and then went round
to do the same by others. I had to take them in turn; and when
I got to Mr. Thorold at last, there was no more time then for
talking, which I longed for. After the surgeon's round, when
all was quiet again in the room, I sat at the foot of Mr.
Thorold's bed with a kind of cry in my heart, to which I could
give no expression. I could not kneel there, to pray; I could
not leave my post; I could not speak nor listen where I wanted
a full interchange of heart with heart; the oppression almost
choked me. Then I remembered I could sing. And I sang that
hour, if I never did before. My sorrow, and my joy, and my cry
of heart, I put them all into the notes and poured them forth
in my song. I was never so glad I could sing as these days. I
knew, all the time, it was medicine and anodynes and strength
- and maybe teaching - to many that heard; for me, it was the
cry of prayer, and the pleading of faith, and the confession
of utmost need. How strong "Rock of Ages" seemed to me again
that night; the hymn, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds,"
was to me a very schedule of treasure; my soul mounted on the
words, like the angels on Jacob's ladder; the top of the
ladder was in heaven, if the foot of it was on a very rough
spot of earth. That night I sang hymns, in the high-wrought
state of my feelings, which the next day I could not have
sung. I remember that one of them was "What are these in
bright array," with the chorus, "They have clean robes, white
robes." "When I can read my title clear," was another.
Sometimes a hymn starts up to me now, with a thrill of
knowledge that I sang it that night, which yet at other times
I cannot recall. I sang till the hour, and past it, when I
must go to my room and give place to the night watchers. I
longed to stay, but it was impossible; so I went and bade
Preston good-night, who said to me never a word this time;
spoke to one or two others; and then went to Mr. Thorold. I
laid my hand on his. He grasped it immediately and looked up
at me with a clear, sweet, bright look, which did me untold
good; pulling me gently down. I bent over him, thinking he
wished to speak; then I knew what he wished, and obeying the
impulse and the request, our lips met. I don't know if anybody
saw it; and I did not care. That kiss sent me to sleep.