It was a long day after that to Daisy; and so it was to Mrs. Sandford.  Nora Dinwiddie was no longer with her; there was nobody to be a distraction or a pleasure to the grave little child who went about with such a weird stillness or sat motionless with such unchildlike quiet.  Mrs. Sandford did not know what to do; but indeed nothing could be done with Daisy.  She could not be amused or happy; she did not wish Nora were there; she could only keep patient and wait, and wait, with a sore, straining heart, while the hours passed and Dr. Sandford did not come and she had no tidings.  Was she patient?  It seemed to Daisy that her heart would burst with impatience; or rather with its eager longing to know how things were at home and to get some relief.  The hours of the day went by, and no relief came.  Dr. Sandford did not return.  Daisy took it as no good omen.

It was hard to sit at the dinner-table and have Mr. and Mrs. Sandford shewing her kindness, while her heart was breaking.  It was hard to be quiet and still and answer politely and make no trouble for her entertainers.  It was hard; but Daisy did it.  It was hard to eat too; and that Daisy could not do.  It was impossible.

“Mustn’t be cast down,” said Mr. Sandford.  He was one of the people who look as if they never could be.  Black whiskers and a round face sometimes have that kind of look.  “Mustn’t be cast down!  No need.  Everybody gets a tumble from horseback once or twice in his life.  I’ve had it seven times.  Not pleasant; but it don’t hurt you much, nine times in ten.”

“Hush, Mr. Sandford,” said his wife.  “Daisy cannot feel about it just as you do.”

“Never been thrown yet herself, eh!  Give her one of those peaches, my dear—­she will like that better than meats to-day.  Eat one of my red-cheeked peaches, Daisy; and tell me whether you have any so good at Melbourne.  I don’t believe it.”

Daisy peeled her peach.  It was all she could bear to do.  She peeled it carefully and slowly; there never was a peach so long in paring; for it was hardly more than finished when they rose from table.  She had tried to taste it too; that was all; the taste never reached her consciousness.  Mrs. Sandford knew better than her husband, and let her alone.

Daisy could think of nothing now but to watch for the doctor; and to do it with the most comfort and the best chance she placed herself on the steps of the piazza, sitting down on the uppermost step.  It was a fair evening; warm and mild; and Mrs. Sandford sitting in her drawing-room with the windows open was but a few feet from Daisy and could observe her.  She did so very often, with a sorrowful eye.  Daisy’s attitude bespoke her intentness; the child’s heart was wound up to such a pitch of expectation that eye and ear were for nothing else.  She sat bending both upon the road by which she looked for the doctor to come; her little figure did not stir; her head rested slightly on her hand with a droop that spoke of weariness or of weakness.  So she sat looking down the road, and the sweet October light was all over her and all around her.  Mrs. Sandford watched her, till the light lost its brightness and grew fair and faint, and then began to grow dim.  Daisy sat still, and Mrs. Sandford looked at her, till a step within the room drew her attention on that side.