Then she went before him, yet even then she
went with a moderated step, and stood by her father's couch at
last, silent and breathless. Breathless with the very effort
she made to keep silent and quiet. With excitement too; for
Mr. Randolph was looking feeble and pale, more than Daisy had
ever seen him, and it frightened her. He was not in bed, but
on a sofa; and as Daisy came to his side he put out his arm
and drew his little daughter close to him. Without a word at
first and Daisy stooped her lips to his, and then stood hiding
her face on his shoulder; perfectly quiet, though trembling
with contained emotion, and not daring to say anything, lest
she should say too much.
"Daisy," said her father, — "Daisy, — do you know I have been
ill?"
There was a little, little tone of surprise or disappointment
in the voice. Daisy felt it, knew it, but what could she do?
She was afraid to speak, to say anything. She turned her face
a little to Dr. Sandford; he saw an agony struggling in the
eye that appealed to him. This was not what he wanted.
"She knows it almost too well," he said, coming to the rescue;
"I have been her gaoler all these days; — a severe one."
"Are you glad to see me, Daisy?" said Mr.
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