"Can't you stand?" inquired Isaac, in a tone of dismay.
"No," Daisy answered. "My legs are so heavy, father, I can't move them."
"Couldn't you if I was to help you up?" asked Isaac, suiting action to word. Daisy shrank from his outstretched hands.
"No, father, I couldn't. Please don't touch me,—oh, please!"
"Mr. Meads, you'll please to go!" said Mary indignantly. "The doctor said you weren't to be here at all. Why, you'll just kill Miss Daisy outright, if you go on like this."
"I'm not a-going if I don't choose. Old Meadow is my house if it's anybody's," grumbled Isaac. "If I've a mind to stay with Daisy, who's to hinder?"
Mary was alarmed at Daisy's shortened breath and dilated eyes. She went close to the bed, laying a protecting hand on her, and the movement seemed to excite the old man's ire.
"Get away with you, woman," he cried wrathfully, shaking his stick. "'Tisn't the first time. Yes, yes, I know you now; always a-meddling in somebody's concerns. If I didn't remember you at first, I do now. Get away with you, and leave Daisy to them as have a right over her. If I tell her to get up, she's got to get up, and she shall too."
Despite a quick movement on Mary's part, the old man seized Daisy's arm, and made a feint of pulling her to a sitting posture. Perhaps it was more of pretence than reality, but it was enough. Daisy uttered a low cry, and became unconscious.
"Are you crazy, Mr. Meads?" asked Mary, hardly able to contain herself. "Are you quite crazy? Do you want to kill your only child, your poor little Daisy? See what you have done,—yes, look—look at her. How will you feel if she never comes to again?"