He stood still, watching her. Daisy looked up at him with a loving face; a wise little face it always was; it was gravely considerate now.
"Papa, I am afraid you will be uncomfortable."
"Can nobody bear that but you?" said Mr. Randolph, stooping down to kiss her.
"I am very happy, papa," said the child, placidly; while a slight tension of her forehead witnessed to the shooting pains with which the whole wounded limb seemed to be filled.
"If Mr. Randolph pleases," said the voice of Juanita, "the doctor recommended quiet, sir."
Off went Mr. Randolph at that, as if he knew it very well, and had forgotten himself. He took a chair, and set it in the open doorway, using the door-post as a rest for his head; and then the cottage was silent. The wind breathed more gently; the stars shone out; the air was soft after the storm; the moonlight made a bright flicker of light and shade over all the outer world. Now and then a grasshopper chirruped, or a little bird murmured a few twittering notes at being disturbed in its sleep; and then came a soft sigh from Daisy.
On noiseless foot the black woman stole to the couch. Daisy was weeping; her tears were pouring out and making a great wet spot on her pillow.
"Is my love in pain?" whispered the black woman.
"It's nothing I can't help it," said Daisy.
"Where is it in the foot?"