Randolph was better, he said;
but his tone of voice was not very encouraging, and Daisy drove off to
Juanita's cottage. There was one person, she knew, who could feel with
her; and she went with a sort of eagerness up the grassy pathway from
the road to the cottage door, to get that sympathy.
Juanita was within, busy at some ironing. The work fell from her hands
and the iron was set down with an expression of pleasure as she saw
Daisy come in. The next minute her tone changed and her look.
"What ails my love?"
"Juanita--" said Daisy standing still and pale by the ironing table,
"--haven't you heard? Papa--"
"What, Miss Daisy?"
"Papa--he was knocked off his horse yesterday--_and they won't let me
see him!_"
So far Daisy's power of composure went, and no further. With that last
word her voice failed. She threw her arms around Juanita, and hiding her
face in her gown, burst into such tears as Daisy rarely shed at all;
very rarely under any one's observation. Juanita, very much startled,
sat down and drew the child into her arms, so far as she could; for
Daisy had sunk on her knees, and with her face in Juanita's lap was
weeping all her heart out. Mrs. Benoit hardly knew how to ask questions.
"Why must not Miss Daisy see her papa?"
"I don't know!--I suppose--he's not well enough."
Juanita breathed more freely.
"Let us pray for him, Miss Daisy."
"O yes, Juanita, do!--"
There was an intensity of meaning in these words and in Daisy's hurried
assuming of another place and posture to leave Juanita free to kneel
too, that almost took away the black woman's power of speech.
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