"He would think he had," I answered, feeling the difficulties
in my way.
"Aren't you my Daisy?" he said, looking down into my face with
his flashing eyes, all alight with fire and pleasure.
"But that -" I began.
"No evasions, Daisy. Answer. Aren't you mine?"
I said "yes" meekly. But what other words I had purposed to
add were simply taken off my lips. I looked round, in scared
fashion, to see who was near; but Thorold laughed softly
again.
"It is too dark for people to make minute investigations,
Daisy."
"Dark!" said I. "Oh, Christian, I must go home. I shall be
missed, and Mrs. Sandford will be frightened."
"Will the doctor come after you?"
"Oh, no, he is sick; but Christian, I must go home."
He turned and went with me, changing his tone, and making a
variety of tender inquiries about my situation and my doings.
They were something new; they were so tender of me, so
thoughtful of my welfare, so protecting in their inquisitive
care; and moreover they were the inquiries of one who had a
right to know all about me. Something entirely new to my
experience; my mother's care was never so sympathetic; my
father's never so fond; even my guardian's was never so
strict. Dr. Sandford to be sure had no right to make his care
like this. I did not know that Mr. Thorold had; but I found it
was indisputable. And in proportion it was delightful. We had
a slow, very busy walk and talk until within a few doors of my
Washington home; there we parted, with a long hand clasp, and
the promise on my part that Mr. Thorold should find me at the
same hour and place as to-day on the next evening.
Nobody was looking for me, and I gained my room in safety. I
was very happy, yet not all happy; for the first use I made of
my solitude, after getting rid of my bonnet and mantilla, was
to sit down and cry. I asked myself the reason, for I did not
like to be in the dark about my own feelings; this time they
were in a good deal of confusion.
As I look back, I think the uppermost thing was my happiness;
this new, delicate, strange joy which had come into my life
and which I had never tasted so fully or known the flavour of
it so intimately as this evening. Looks and tones, and little
nameless things of manner telling almost more yet, came back
to me in a small crowd and overwhelmed me with their
testimony. Affection, and tenderness, and pleasure; and
something apart from these, an inexplicable assuming of me and
delight in me as so assumed; they found me or made me very
weak to-night. What was the matter? I believe it was, first,
this happiness; and next, the doubt that rested over it and
the certainty that I must leave it. Certainly my weeping was
hearty enough to answer to all three causes. It was a very
unaccustomed indulgence to me; or not an indulgence at all,
for I was not fond of tears; but it did act as a relief. I
washed away some of my trouble in my tears; the happiness
sprung to the surface; and then I could almost weep for joy
and thankfulness that I was so happy. Even if the grounds of
my happiness were precarious, I had trusted God all my life
with all I cared for; could I not trust Him still? My tears
stopped; and I believe one or two smiles could not be checked
as I remembered some look or word of Mr. Thorold's.