Here, however, at her own room-window,
and alone, there was no bar to thanksgivings; and Daisy had
them in her heart, as well as prayers for the people who had
them not. She was too tired to pray at last; she only knelt at
the window with her arms on the sill, — Daisy was raised up on
an ottoman — and looked out at the moonlight, feeling as if
she was going into a dream.
"Miss Daisy!" — said the smothered voice of June behind her —
"are you there, Miss Daisy?"
June's accent was doubtful and startled. Daisy turned round.
"Miss Daisy! — I thought you was in the supper-room."
"No, June — I'm here."
"Will you go to bed, Miss Daisy?"
"I wish, June, you would get me something to eat, first," said
Daisy, languidly.
"Didn't you get your supper, Miss Daisy?"
"No, and I'm hungry. I haven't had anything since the dinner
at the lake. I wish you'd make haste, June."
June knew from Daisy's way of speaking, as well as from the
facts of the case, that there was some trouble on foot. She
went off to get supper, and as she went along the passages the
mulatto woman's hand was clenched upon itself, though her face
showed only its usual wrinkles.
Small delay was there before she was back again, and with her
June had brought a supply of very nearly everything there had
been on the supper-table.
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