“What are you going to do to-night, papa?” she said when the orange was finished and he stood looking at her.

“Stay here with you.”

“But papa, how can you sleep?”

“I can do without sleeping, if it is necessary.  I will take a chair here in the doorway, and be near if you want anything.”

“O shall not want anything, papa, except what Juanita can give me.”

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?”

“It’s all over, I think; in my head and everywhere.  Hush, Juanita; never mind.”

Mrs. Benoit, however, tried the soothing effect of a long gentle brushing of Daisy’s head.  This lasted till Daisy said she could bear it no longer.  She was restless.

“Will my love hear a hymn?”

“It will wake papa.”

Mrs. Benoit cared nothing for that.  Her care was her poor little charge.  She began immediately one of the hymns that were always ready on her tongue, and which were wonderfully soothing to Daisy.  Juanita was old, but her voice was sweet yet and clear; and she sang with a deal of quiet spirit.

  “’A few more days or years at most,
    My troubles will be o’er;
  I hope to join the heavenly host
    On Canaan’s happy shore. 
  My raptured soul shall drink and feast
    In love’s unbounded sea;
  The glorious hope of endless rest
    Is ravishing to me.’”

Mr. Randolph raised his head from leaning against the door-post, and turned it to listen; with a look of lowering impatience.  The screen of the hanging curtain was between him and the couch, and the look did nobody any harm.