"Why does it trouble you, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph soothingly, feeling
the quiver of the child's frame.
"Papa," said Daisy with intense expression,--"they do not love
Jesus!"--And her head went down again to be hid on her father's
shoulder.
Mr. Randolph did nothing to bring it up again; and Daisy lay quite
still, while the storm raged in full fury, and the screams and
ejaculations of the ladies were joined now and then by a word of
impatience from one of the gentlemen, or a "Hech, sirs!" in Logan's
smothered Scotch brogue. Once Mr. Randolph felt Daisy's lips pressed
against his face, and then her other arm came round his neck and
nestling there closely she was after that as still as a mouse. The storm
lasted a long time. The lightning and thunder at last removed their
violence some distance off; then the wind and the rain did their part,
which they had not fully done before. And all the while the poor party
of pleasure sat or stood as thick as bees in a hive, in the miserable
shelter of the cottage. Miserable yet welcome. Very tired and impatient
the people became as they grew less frightened. Daisy had long been fast
asleep. The day waned and drew near its ending. When sunset was, nobody
could tell by the light; but that night was at hand was at last evident
from the darkness.
"Your arms must be weary, Mr. Randolph," said Dr. Sandford. "Let me
relieve you of your burden."
"I cannot let you do that."
"I will," said the doctor. "Daisy being my charge as well as yours,
gives me a right.
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