“Not now—­I cannot, Preston!  I have got something to do first.”

“What?”

“Something which will take me an hour or two.  After that I could go.”

“Scarcely, this afternoon.  Daisy, it is a long drive to the Fish’s.  And they have beautiful things there, which you would like to see, I know you would.  Come! go with me—­that’s my own little Daisy.”

Preston was on horseback, and looked very much in earnest.  He looked very gay and handsome too, for he was well mounted and knew how to manage himself and his horse.  He wanted to manage Daisy too; and that was difficult.  Daisy would have been tempted, and would have gone with him at the first asking; but the thought of Molly and her forlornness, and the words warm at her heart—­“Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you”—­and a further sense that her visitations of Molly were an extraordinary thing and very likely to be hindered on short notice, kept her firm as a rock.  She had an opportunity now in hand; she would not throw it away; not for any self-gratification.  And to tell the truth, no sort of self-gratification could balance for a moment in Daisy’s mind the thought of Molly’s wearing a crown of gold in heaven.  That crown of gold was before Daisy’s eyes; nothing else was worth a thought in comparison.

“Are you going to see that wretched old being?” said Preston at last.

“Yes.”

“Daisy—­dear Daisy—­I do not know what to do with you.  Do you like, is it possible that you can like, dirt and vulgarity?”

“I don’t think I do,” Daisy said gently; “but Preston, I like the poor people.”

“You do!” said Preston.  “Then it is manifest that you cannot like me.”  And he dashed spurs into his horse and sprung away, with a grace and life that kept Daisy looking after him in admiration, and a plain mood of displeasure which cast its shadow all over her spirit.

“Here is the trowel, Miss Daisy.”

Her messenger had come back, and Daisy recalled to the business in hand took up her reins again and drove on; but she felt deeply grieved.  Now and then her gauntleted hand even went up to her face to brush away a tear that had gathered.  It was not exactly a new thing, nor was Daisy entirely surprised at the attempt to divert her from her purpose.  She was wise enough to guess that Preston’s object had been more than the pleasure of her company; and she knew that all at home, unless possibly her father might be excepted, neither liked nor favoured her kindness to Molly and would rejoice to interrupt the tokens of it.  All were against her; and Daisy’s hand, went up again and again.  “It is good I am weak and not very well,” she thought; “as soon as I grow strong mamma will not let me do this any more.  I must do all I can now.”

So she came to the cripple’s gate; and by that time the tears were all gone.

Nobody was in the little courtyard; Daisy went in first to see how the rose looked.  It was all safe and doing well.  While she stood there before it, the cottage door opened and the poor inmate came out.  She crawled down the walk on hands and knees till she got near Daisy, and then sat back to look at her.