"Who's that over yonder," he grumbled.
"One newly come in - wounded," I replied.
"Isn't it somebody you know?"
"It is one I used to know."
"Then you know him yet, I suppose. It is that fellow Thorold,
isn't it?"
"Yes."
"What has brought him here?"
"He is wounded," I whispered.
"I am glad of it!" said Preston, savagely. "Why shouldn't he
be wounded, when his betters are? Is he badly off?"
I simply could not answer at the minute.
"How's he wounded?"
"I do not know."
"You don't know! when you were attending to him. Then he
hasn't lost a leg or an arm, I suppose? You would know that."
"No."
"D-n him!" said Preston. "That he should be whole and sound
and only half of me left!"
I was dumb, for want of the power to speak. I think such a
passion of indignation and displeasure never found place in my
heart, before or since. But I did not wish to say anything
angrily, and yet my heart was full of violent feeling that
could find but violent words. I fed Preston in silence till
his dinner was done, and left him. Then as I passed near him
again soon after, I stopped.
"You are so far from sound, Preston," I said, "that I shall
keep out of the way of your words. You must excuse me - but I
cannot hear or allow them; and as you have no control over
yourself, my only resource is to keep at a distance."
I waited for no answer but moved away; and busied myself with
all the ward rather than him. It was a hard, hard, afternoon's
work; my heart divided between the temptation to violent anger
and violent tears. I kept away from Mr. Thorold too, partly
from policy, and partly because I could not command myself, I
was afraid, in his presence. But towards evening I found
myself by his side, and in the dusk our hands met; while I
used a fan with the other hand, by way of seeming to do
something for him.
"What is the matter?" he whispered.
"Matter?" I repeated.
"Yes."
"There is enough the matter here always, Christian."
"Yes. And what more than usual this afternoon?"
"What makes you ask?"
"I have been looking at you."
"And what did you see?"
"I saw that you were hiding something, from everybody but me.
Tell it now."
"Christian, it was not anything good."
"Confess your faults one to another, then," said he. "What is
the use of having friends?"
"You would not be pleased to hear of my faults."
I could see, even in the dim light, the flash of his eye as it
looked into mine.
"How many, Daisy?"
"Anger," I said; - "and resentment; and - self-will."