and enter the war forthe South?"
"That's a searching question," he said laughing. "To say yes,would be to condemn myself at once. To say no, - what wouldthat do for me with Mrs. Randolph?"
"You are not speaking to Mrs. Randolph," I said, half under mybreath.
He looked up eagerly in my face. "You do not think as shedoes!" he said. "You do not believe in fighting, under anycircumstances?"
"Yes, I do, Mr. Marshall," I said; and I felt myself colour."I do believe in fighting, when it is to relieve theoppressed, to deliver those who are trampled upon, or to saveourselves or others from worse than death."
"Our friends at the South can hardly be said to be in suchextremity," he said, looking rather perplexed; "unless youbelieve all that the papers say about Yankee invaders; and Ifor one am not ready to do that."
"Nor I," I said; "I know them too well."
"Then who is so bitterly oppressed just now, Miss Randolph?"
"If you do not know of anybody, I would not fight, Mr.Marshall."
"Really?" said he. "Perhaps I ought to go home and take careof my twelve hundred people at Vincennes. Is that yourthought?"
"Are they in need of care?" I asked.
" 'Pon my word, I don't know. Perhaps it would be nearer rightto say, take care of myself; for if the war should come theway of Vicksburg, and Yankee arms have a little success, theremight be the mischief to pay at Vincennes. On reflection, Idon't see how I could take care of myself, either. Then you donot bid me go?" he asked again.
"You remember our words one day about insignificant lives?"
"Yes!" he cried eagerly; "and I have been longing ever sinceto ask you to explain more fully what interested me so much. Inever could get a chance. I assure you, I have felt to thebottom of my heart what it is to have one's existence reallyworth nothing, to anybody. How may it be better? My life hasto do with nothing but insignificant things."
"But you must define insignificance," I said.
"Is it needful?"
"I think so. What makes things insignificant? Not their beingsmall, - or common?"
"What then, Miss Randolph?"
"Small things, and common things, are often to the last degreeimportant, you know, Mr. Marshall."
"Yes; but however small and common, I cannot feel that I amimportant, in any degree," he said, half laughing.
"We were talking of lives, and things."
"Yes. Excuse me. Well?"
"I think I see the crowns of two hats, down below, whichbelong to some people that we know."
"Is it they?" he exclaimed; - "and I wish they were fartheroff. Finish what you were going to say, Miss Daisy! Do notleave me in ignorance now, after bringing me so far."
"I can only tell you what I think," I said.
"And that is precisely what I want to hear," he answeredearnestly.
"You will not agree to it, though, and I do not know that youwill even understand me. Mr. Marshall, I think that nothing isinsignificant which is done for God; and that everything whichis not done for Him, directly or indirectly, is insignificantor worse."
"I do _not_ understand -" he said thoughtfully. "In what sensecan a thing be 'done for God?' Unless it is building a churchor founding a hospital."
"Very few churches have been built for God," I said. "Atleast I think so."
"Why, the old monks -" Mr. Marshall began. But just then ourmissing companions came up, and he stopped. They had beenlured aside from the way by the sight of some game. We had nomore private talk; but Hugh Marshall was sober and thoughtfulall the rest of the day.
He sought such talks with me now whenever he could; and seemedto enter into them like a man, with an earnest purpose to knowthe truth and to do his work in the world if he could find it.I grew, in a way, very fond of him. He was gentle, well-bred,happy-tempered, extremely careful of my welfare and pleasure,and regardful of my opinions, which I suppose flattered myvanity; well-read and sensible; and it seemed to me that hegrew more agreeable every day.
The accounts from the seat of war in America were not verystirring just then; nothing great was done or expected; andthe question of our young men's return to take part in whatwas going on, was suffered for a time to fall out of sight.Meanwhile we left Lucerne and went to Geneva. There was moresociety, in a quiet way; and there was a fresh harvest ofpleasure to be reaped by me and for me in the domains ofnature.
CHAPTER XI.
A VICTORY
"Daisy, - you are very happy!" my father said one day when Iwas sitting with him. We were looking out upon the lake, whichour windows commanded; but I found papa's look had come backfrom the window to me.
"You are very happy!" he said.
"Yes, papa, - pretty happy."
"Pretty happy?" said he, putting his hand under my chin andturning my face again round to him, and then kissing me."Pretty _and_ happy, you mean."
"No, papa," I said laughing; - "I don't mean that."
"It is true, though," said he. "There was a bit of a smileupon your mouth just now - before I spoke; - what were youthinking of?"
"Papa, it is so glorious, - the lake and its shores in thissunlight."
"That was all?"
"No, not quite all, papa."
"I thought not. What was the rest of it, Daisy?"
"Papa, I was thinking with joy, that I belong to the wonderfulOne who made all that; and so, that the riches of his powerand glory are in a certain sense mine; - just as everythinggood in you is mine, papa."
He folded me in his arms and kissed me again, very fondly.
"There is not much good in me, Daisy."
"Yes, papa, - for me."
"But there is a great deal in you, - for somebody."
"For you, papa."
"Nobody else, Daisy?"
He was holding me close in his arms and looking down into myface. I believe the colour must have come into my cheeks.
"Ah, I thought so!" he said. "Even so soon, Daisy, you areleaving me for somebody else."
"Papa!" I exclaimed, hiding my face in his neck, - "I willnever leave you, till you say so."
"Till I say so? I will not be over selfish, my dear child. Ido not mean that."
"Who is it to be, Daisy?" my mother's voice said behind us.
I started up in absolute terror. What had I said? and what didshe mean? I looked at her, speechless.
"Well?" she said laughing, "what is the matter? You need notturn white about it. Is your father the only one to be in yourconfidence? I will withdraw then."
"Stop! - Mamma!" I cried; "what are you saying? There is noconfidence. What are you talking about?"
"I only asked, who it was to be, Daisy? I thought you weretalking of leaving us, and naturally concluded it was to bewith somebody."
"Mamma - oh, mamma, I was speaking only in the abstract."
Mamma laughed. "In the abstract! Well, you will have to comefrom generals to particulars, Daisy. Abstractions will notsatisfy anybody long."
I was in great difficulty and great confusion. Papa drew meinto his arms again and kissed my lips and cheeks and eyes, asif he would have hid my blushes.
"You shall be as abstract as you like," he said; "and as longas you like. I give you leave."
"That's nonsense, though, Mr. Randolph," said my mother,standing at the back of his chair. "Daisy cannot live inabstractions for ever. She must choose, and let her choice beknown; and the sooner the better. Nobody can guess it now. Shehas been abstract enough."
I was in the greatest perplexity at this speech, whichconveyed to me no meaning whatever. Let my choice be known?Did mamma know about Mr. Thorold? I knew she could not; butthen, what did she mean?
"There is no hurry, Felicia," said papa.
"I will not have Daisy marry any but an American, Mr.Randolph."
"Agreed. There is no present likelihood that she will."
"But when we get to Florence, Mr. Randolph, and she is seen inthe great world, things may not absolutely be within yourcontrol - or mine."
Mamma stood ta
pping her fingers upon the back of my father'schair, and I thought her very odd indeed. Her last sentence,however, had a word that I could answer. I stood up and facedher.
"Mamma," I said, "I am going to say something that you willnot like."
"Then do not say it, Daisy."
"I would not, if I could help it. But you know, mamma, I am aservant of God - I have not changed, - and I and the 'greatworld' have nothing in common."
"Well? -" said mamma