It was yet but a day or two after the tableaux1, when something happened to disturb her plans. Mr. Randolph was out riding with her, one fine October morning, when his horse became unruly in consequence of a stone hitting him; a chance stone thrown from a careless hand. The animal was restive2, took the stone very much in dudgeon, ran, and carrying his rider under a tree, Mr. Randolph's forehead was struck by a low-lying limb and he was thrown off. The blow was severe; he was stunned3; and had not yet recovered his senses when they brought him back to Melbourne. Mrs. Randolph was in a state almost as much beyond self-management. Daisy was out of the house. Mrs. Gary had left Melbourne; and till the doctor arrived Mrs. Randolph was nearly distracted.
He came; and though his fine face took no gloom upon it and his blue eye was as usual impenetrable, the eyes that anxiously watched him were not satisfied. Dr. Sandford said nothing; and Mrs. Randolph had self-control sufficient not to question him, while he made his examinations and applied4 his remedies. But the remedies, though severe, were a good while in bringing back any token of consciousness. It came at last, faintly. The doctor summoned Mrs. Randolph out of the room then and ordered that his patient should be kept in the most absolute and profound quiet. No disturbance5 or excitement must be permitted to come near him.
"How long, doctor?"
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Randolph?—"
"How long will it be before he is better?"
"I cannot say that. Any excitement or disturbance would much delay it. Let him hear nothing and see nothing—except you, and some attendant that he is accustomed to."
"O doctor, can't you stay till he is better?"
"I will return again very soon, Mrs. Randolph. There is nothing to be done at present for which I am needed."
"But you will come back as soon as you can?"
"Certainly!"
"And O, Dr. Sandford, cannot you take Daisy away?"
"Where is she?"
"I don't know—she is not come home. Do take her away!"
The doctor went thoughtfully down stairs, and checking his first movement to go out of the front door, turned to the library. Nobody was there; but he heard voices, and passed out upon the piazza6. Daisy's pony7 chaise stood at the foot of the steps; she herself had just alighted. Preston was there too, and it was his voice the doctor had first heard, in anxious entreaty8.
"Come, Daisy!—it's capital down at the river; and I want to shew you something."
"I think I am tired now, Preston. I'll go another time," said Daisy.
"Daisy, I want you now. Come! come!—I want you to go now, this minute."
"But I do not feel like a walk, Preston. I can't go till I have had my dinner."
Preston looked imploringly9 at the doctor, towards whom Daisy was now mounting the steps. It is safe to say that the doctor would willingly have been spared his present task.
"Where have you been now, Daisy?" he said.
Daisy's face brightened into its usual smile at sight of him. "I have been to Crum Elbow, Dr. Sandford."
"Suppose you go a little further and have luncheon10 with Mrs. Sandford and me? It will not take us long to get to it."
"Does mamma say so, Dr. Sandford?"
"Yes."
"Then I will be ready in a moment."
"Where are you going?" said her friend stopping her.
"Only up stairs for a minute. I will be ready in two minutes, Dr.
Sandford."
"Stop," said the doctor, still detaining her. "I would rather not have you go up stairs. Your father is not quite well, and I want him kept quiet."
What a shadow came over Daisy's sunshine.
"Papa not well! What is the matter?"
"He does not feel quite like himself, and I wish him left in perfect repose12."
"What is the matter with him, Dr. Sandford?"
Daisy's words were quiet, but the doctor saw the gathering13 woe14 on her cheek; the roused suspicion. This would not do to go on.
"He has had a little accident, Daisy; nothing that you need distress15 yourself about; but I wish him to be quite quiet for a little."
Daisy said nothing now, but the speech of her silent face was so eloquent16 that the doctor found it expedient17 to go on.
"He was riding this morning; his horse took him under the low bough18 of a tree, and his head got a severe blow. That is all the matter."
"Was papa thrown?" said Daisy under her breath.
"I believe he was. Any horseman might be unseated by such a thing."
Daisy again was mute, and again the doctor found himself obliged to answer the agony of her eyes.
"I do not think he is in much, if any, pain, Daisy; but I want him to be still for a while. I think that is good for him; and it would not be good that you should disturb him. Your mother is there, and that is enough."
Daisy stood quite still for a few minutes. Then making an effort to withdraw herself from the doctor's arm she said,
"I will not go into the room—I will not make any noise."
"Stop! Daisy, you must not go up stairs. Not this morning."
She stood still again, grew white and trembled.
"As soon as I think it will do him good to see you, I will let you into his room. Now, shall we send June up for anything you want?"
"I think, Dr. Sandford," said Daisy struggling for steadiness, "I will not go away from home."
Her words were inexpressibly tender and sorrowful. The doctor was unrelenting.
"Your mother desired it."
"Did mamma——?"
"Yes; she wished me to carry you home with me. Come, Daisy! It is hard, but it is less hard after all than it would be for you to wander about here; and much better."
Daisy in her extremity20 sunk her head on the doctor's shoulder, and so remained, motionless, for more minutes than he had to spare. Yet he was still too, and waited. Then he spoke21 to her again.
"I will go," said Daisy.
"You wanted something first?"
"I did not want anything but to change my gloves. It is no matter."
Very glad to have gained his point, the doctor went off with his charge; drove her very fast to his own home, and there left her in Mrs. Sandford's care; while he drove off furiously again to see another patient before he returned to Melbourne.
It was a long day after that to Daisy; and so it was to Mrs. Sandford. Nora Dinwiddie was no longer with her; there was nobody to be a distraction22 or a pleasure to the grave little child who went about with such a weird23 stillness or sat motionless with such unchildlike quiet. Mrs. Sandford did not know what to do; but indeed nothing could be done with Daisy. She could not be amused or happy; she did not wish Nora were there; she could only keep patient and wait, and wait, with a sore, straining heart, while the hours passed and Dr. Sandford did not come and she had no tidings. Was she patient? It seemed to Daisy that her heart would burst with impatience24; or rather with its eager longing25 to know how things were at home and to get some relief. The hours of the day went by, and no relief came. Dr. Sandford did not return. Daisy took it as no good omen11.
It was hard to sit at the dinner-table and have Mr. and Mrs. Sandford shewing her kindness, while her heart was breaking. It was hard to be quiet and still and answer politely and make no trouble for her entertainers. It was hard; but Daisy did it. It was hard to eat too; and that Daisy could not do. It was impossible.
"Mustn't be cast down," said Mr. Sandford. He was one of the people who look as if they never could be. Black whiskers and a round face sometimes have that kind of look. "Mustn't be cast down! No need. Everybody gets a tumble from horseback once or twice in his life. I've had it seven times. Not pleasant; but it don't hurt you much, nine times in ten."
"Hush26, Mr. Sandford," said his wife. "Daisy cannot feel about it just as you do."
"Never been thrown yet herself, eh! Give her one of those peaches, my dear—she will like that better than meats to-day. Eat one of my red-cheeked peaches, Daisy; and tell me whether you have any so good at Melbourne. I don't believe it."
Daisy peeled her peach. It was all she could bear to do. She peeled it carefully and slowly; there never was a peach so long in paring; for it was hardly more than finished when they rose from table. She had tried to taste it too; that was all; the taste never reached her consciousness. Mrs. Sandford knew better than her husband, and let her alone.
Daisy could think of nothing now but to watch for the doctor; and to do it with the most comfort and the best chance she placed herself on the steps of the piazza, sitting down on the uppermost step. It was a fair evening; warm and mild; and Mrs. Sandford sitting in her drawing-room with the windows open was but a few feet from Daisy and could observe her. She did so very often, with a sorrowful eye. Daisy's attitude bespoke27 her intentness; the child's heart was wound up to such a pitch of expectation that eye and ear were for nothing else. She sat bending both upon the road by which she looked for the doctor to come; her little figure did not stir; her head rested slightly on her hand with a droop28 that spoke of weariness or of weakness. So she sat looking down the road, and the sweet October light was all over her and all around her. Mrs. Sandford watched her, till the light lost its brightness and grew fair and faint, and then began to grow dim. Daisy sat still, and Mrs. Sandford looked at her, till a step within the room drew her attention on that side.
"Why there you are!" said the lady—"come the other way. What news?"
"I have no news."
"Yes, but how is Mr. Randolph?" The lady had dropped her voice very low.
"He is sensible."
"Sensible!" Mrs. Sandford said with a startled look; but then drawing the doctor silently to her side she pointed29 to the watching, anxious little figure there on the steps. It did not need that Dr. Sandford should speak her name. Daisy had perfectly30 well heard and understood the words that had passed; and now she rose up slowly and came towards the doctor who stepped out to meet her.
"Well, Daisy—have you been looking for me?" he said. But something in the little upturned face admonished31 him that no light words could be borne. He sat down and took her hand.
"Your father looks better than he did this morning; but he feels badly yet after his fall."
Daisy looked at him and was silent a moment.
"Will they send for me home?"
"Not to-night, I think. Mrs. Randolph thought better that you should stay here. Can't you do it contentedly32?"
Daisy made no audible answer; her lip quivered a very little; it did not belie19 the singular patience which sat upon her brow. Her hand lay yet in the doctor's; he held it a little closer and drew the child affectionately to his side, keeping her there while he talked with Mrs. Sandford upon other subjects; for he said no more about Melbourne. Still while he talked he kept his arm round Daisy, and when tea was brought he hardly let her go. But tea was not much more to Daisy than dinner had been; and when Mrs. Sandford offered to shew her to her room if she desired it, Daisy accepted the offer at once.
Mrs. Sandford herself wished to supply the place of June, and would have done everything for her little guest if she could have been permitted. Daisy negatived all such proposals. She could do everything for herself, she said; she wanted no help. A bag of things had been packed for her by June and brought in the doctor's gig. Daisy was somehow sorry to see them; they looked like preparations for staying.
"We will send for June to-morrow, Daisy, if your mamma will leave you still with me."
"O, I shall go home to-morrow—I hope," said Daisy. "I hope—" she repeated humbly33.
"Yes, I hope so," said Mrs. Sandford. She kissed Daisy and went away. It was all Daisy wanted, to be alone. The October night was mild; she went to the window; one of the windows, which looked out upon the grass and trees of the courtyard, now lighted by a faint moon. Daisy sunk down on her knees there; the sky and the stars were more homelike than anything else; and she felt so strange, so miserable34, as her little heart had never known anything like before. She knew well enough what it all meant, her mother's sending her away from home, her father's not being able to bear any disturbance. Speak as lightly, look as calmly as they would, she knew what was the meaning underneath35 people's faces and voices. Her father had been very much hurt; quite well Daisy was assured of that. He was too ill to see her, or too ill for her mother to like her to see him. Daisy knelt down; she remembered she had a Father in heaven, but it seemed at first as if she was too broken hearted to pray. Yet down there through the still moonlight she remembered his eye could see her and she knew he had not forgotten his little child. Daisy never heard her door open; but it did once, and some time after it did again.
"I do not know what to do—" said Mrs. Sandford down stairs. There the lamps made a second bright day; and the two gentlemen were busy over the table with newspapers and books. Both of them looked up, at the sound of her perplexed36 voice.
"That child,—" said Mrs. Sandford. "She is not in bed yet."
The lady stood by the table; she had just come from Daisy's room.
"What is she doing?" her husband asked.
"I don't know. She is kneeling by the open window. She was there an hour ago, and she is there yet. She has not moved since."
"She has fallen asleep—" suggested Mr. Sandford. "I should say, wake her up."
"She is too wide awake now. She is lifting her little face to the sky, in a way that breaks my heart. And there she has been, this hour and more."
"Have some supper directly, and call her down,—" was the second suggestion of the master of the house. "It will be supper-time soon. Here—it's some time after nine."
"Grant, what is the matter with Mr. Randolph? Is it very serious?"
"Mrs. Randolph thinks so, I believe. Have you spoken to Daisy?"
"No, and I cannot. Unless I had good news to carry to her."
"Where is she?" said the doctor getting up.
"In the room next to yours."
So Mrs. Sandford sat down and the doctor went up stairs. The next thing he stood behind Daisy at her window. She was not gazing into the sky now; the little round head lay on her arms on the window-sill.
"What is going on here?" said a soft voice behind her.
"O! Dr. Sandford—" said the child jumping up. She turned and faced her friend, with a face so wistful and searching, so patient, yet so strained with its self-restraint and fear, that the doctor felt it was something serious with which he had to do. He did not attempt a light tone before that little face; he felt that it would not pass.
"I came up to see you" he said. "I have nothing new to tell, Daisy.
What are you about?"
"Dr. Sandford," said the child, "won't you tell me a little?"
The inquiry37 was piteous. For some reason or other, the doctor did not answer it with a put-off, nor with flattering words, as doctors are so apt to do. Perhaps it was not his habit, but certainly in other respects he was not too good a man to do it. He sat down and let the moonlight show Daisy his face.
"Daisy," he said, "your father was stunned by his blow, and needs to be kept in perfect quiet for a time, until he is quite over it. People after such a fall often do; but I do not know that any other consequences whatever will follow."
"He was stunned—" repeated Daisy.
"Yes."
The child did not say any more, yet her eyes of searching eagerness plainly asked for fuller information. They were not content nor at rest.
"Can't you have patience and hope for other tidings to-morrow?"
"May I?—" said Daisy.
"May you? Certainly. It was your mother's wish to send you here—not mine. It was not needful; though if you could be content, I think it would be well."
She looked a little relieved; very little.
"Now what are you doing? Am I to have two patients on my hand in your family?"
"No, sir."
"What are you doing then, up so late? Watching the stars?"
"No, sir."
"I am your physician—you know you must tell me everything. What were you about, Daisy?"
"Dr. Sandford," said Daisy, in difficulty how to speak,—"I was seeking comfort."
And with the word, somehow, Daisy's self-restraint failed; her head went down on the doctor's shoulder; and when she lifted it up there were two or three tears that needed to be brushed away. No more; but the doctor felt the slight little frame tremble.
"Did you find comfort, Daisy?" he said kindly38. "I ask as your physician; because if you are using wrong measures for that end I shall forbid them. What were you doing to get comfort?"
"I did not want to go to sleep, sir."
"Daisy, I am going to carry you down to have some supper."
"O, I do not want any, Dr. Sandford!"
"Are you ready to go down?"
"No sir—in a minute,—I only want to brush my hair."
"Brush it, then."
Which Daisy did; then coming to her friend with a face as smoothly39 in order as the little round head, she repeated humbly,
"I do not want anything, Dr. Sandford."
"Shall I carry you down?"
"O no, sir."
"Come then. One way or the other. And Daisy, when we are down stairs, and when you come up again, you must obey my orders."
The supper-table was laid. Mrs. Sandford expressed delight at seeing Daisy come in, but it would maybe have been of little avail had her kindness been the only force at work. It was not. The doctor prescribed peaches and bread, and gave Daisy grapes and a little bit of cold chicken; and was very kind and very imperative40 too; and Daisy did not dare nor like to disobey him. She eat the supper, which tasted good when he made her eat it; and then was dismissed up stairs to bed, with orders to go straight to sleep. And Daisy did as she was told.
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1
tableaux
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| n.舞台造型，（由活人扮演的）静态画面、场面；人构成的画面或场景( tableau的名词复数 )；舞台造型；戏剧性的场面；绚丽的场景 | |
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2
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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3
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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4
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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5
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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6
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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7
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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8
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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10
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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11
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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12
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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13
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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14
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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15
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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16
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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17
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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18
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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19
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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20
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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21
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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22
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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23
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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24
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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25
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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27
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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28
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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29
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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30
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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31
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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32
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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33
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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34
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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35
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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36
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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37
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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38
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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39
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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40
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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