Daisy In The Field

I thought mamma would have broken my heart. I rose up in

despair.

"To-day, Daisy," mamma repeated. "It must be done to-day."

What could I say? I did not know.

"Mamma, it is not as you think. I do not care for Hugh

Marshall."

"Is it De Saussure, then?" she asked, turning quickly upon me.

"No, mamma."

"Is it Preston Gary?" she asked, with a change in her voice.

"No, Oh, no, mamma!"

"Then it is one of these. Daisy, I protest I have not skill

enough to find out which of them; but you know, and that is

sufficient. And they must know too; there can be no more of

this three-cornered game. It is time to put an end to it. I

have read you, if you have not read yourself; and now, my

child, you must be content to let the rose blossom, that you

keep so carefully folded up in its green leaves. One of these

gentlemen will leave us presently; and the other, whichever it

is, I shall consider and treat as your acknowledged suitor;

and so must you, Daisy. He will be going home to the war, he

too, in a short time more; and he must go with the distinct

understanding that when the war is over, you will reward him

as he wants to be rewarded. Not; till then, child. You will

have time enough to think about it."

My mother had shut my lips. I was afraid to say anything good

or bad. She had read me; yes, I felt that she had, when she

looked into my face and touched my cheeks and kissed my lips,

which I knew well enough were trembling, as she had said. She

had read me, all but the name in my heart. What if she had

read that? The least movement now on my part might bring it to

the light; what if it came? I did not know what then, and I

was greatly afraid. An old awe of my mother and sense of her

power, as well as knowledge of her invincible determination,

filled me with doubt and fear. She might write to Mr. Thorold

at once and forbid him ever to think of me; she might send him

word that I was engaged to Mr. De Saussure. And indeed I might

also possibly clear my own action to Mr. Thorold; but change

hers, never. My faith failed, I believe. I was like Abraham

when he went into Egypt and feared somebody would kill him to

get possession of his wife. I did not, like him, resort to a

fiction for my safety; but neither did I trust God and dare

tell the truth.

My own will was as good as mamma's. I was not afraid of weakly

yielding some time or other; I was only afraid of her outside

measures.