She knew all her hands could do was not much. All the
remainder of that day, Daisy never forgot her note in the box
of shaving soap. She knew it was extremely unlikely that the
box would be opened sooner than the next morning;
nevertheless, whenever Mr. Randolph came near where she was,
Daisy looked up with something like a start. There was nothing
in his face to alarm her; and so night came, and Daisy kissed
him twice for good night, wondering to herself whether he
would feel like kissing her when they met again. Never mind,
the message must be delivered, cost what it might. Yes, this
was soldier's service. Daisy was going into the enemy's
country.
Mr. Randolph had felt the lingering touch of Daisy's lips, and
the thought of it came to him more than once in the course of
the evening — "like the wind that breathes upon a bank of
violets" — with a breath of sweetness in the remembrance.
Nevertheless, he had pretty well forgotten it, when he pulled
off the cover of his box of shaving soap the next morning. He
was belated, and in something of a hurry. If ever a man
suddenly forgot his hurry, Mr. Randolph did, that morning. He
knew the unformed, rather irregular and stiff handwriting in a
moment; and concluded that Daisy had some request to make on
her own account which she was too timid to speak out in words.
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