"Is your heart almost broken?" said Mr. Randolph, softly, as
he felt rather than heard the heavy sobs so close to him. But
to speak was an impossibility, and so he knew, and did not
repeat his question; only he held Daisy fast, and it was in
his arms that she wept out the first overcharged fulness of
her heart.
It was a long time before she could quiet those heavy sobs;
and Mr. Randolph sat quite still holding her.
"Is your heart quite broken?" he whispered again, when he
judged that she could speak. Daisy did not speak, however. She
turned, and rising upon her knees, threw her arms round her
father's neck, and hid her soft little head there. If tears
came Mr. Randolph could not tell; he thought his neck was wet
with them. He let her alone for a little while.
"Daisy —"
"Papa."
"Can you talk to me?"
Daisy sank back into her former position. Her father put his
lips down to hers for a long kiss.
"That account is settled," said he; "do you understand? Now
Daisy, tell me what was the matter last night."
"Papa, it was Sunday night."
"Yes. Well?"
"And that song — that mamma wanted me to sing" — Daisy spoke
very low, — "was out of an opera; and it was good for any
other day, but not for Sunday.
Pages:
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192