"
But Daisy did not move; she stood there, with her two hands
clasped on her breast.
"Do you mean that you will not?" said Mr. Randolph.
"If it wasn't Sunday, papa —" came from Daisy's parted lips.
"Sunday?" said Mr. Randolph — "is that it? Now we know where
we are. Daisy — do you hear me? — turn about and sing your
song. Do not give me another refusal!"
But Daisy stood, growing paler and paler, till the whiteness
reached her lips, and her father saw that in another minute
she would fall. He snatched her from the floor, and placed her
upon his knee with his arm round her; but though conscious
that she was held against his breast, Daisy was conscious too
that there was no relenting in it; she knew her father; and
her deadly paleness continued. Mr. Randolph saw that there
would be no singing that night, and that the conflict between
Daisy and him must be put off to another day. Making excuse to
those near, that she was not well, he took his little daughter
in his arms, and carried her up stairs to her own room. There
he laid her on the bed and rang for June, and staid by her
till he saw her colour returning. Then without a word he left
her.
Meanwhile Captain Drummond, downstairs, had taken a quiet seat
in a corner; his talking mood having deserted him.
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