saw a sparkle again. Wilful and manly as he could be; but he
did not know my father and mother. Yet that last word of his
might be true; what if it were? The end of the war! When might
that be? and how? If all the Northern army were Thorolds, -
but I knew they were not. I felt as if my magazine of words
was exhausted. I suppose then my face spoke for me. He
loosened his hold of one hand to put his arm round me and draw
me to him, with a fine tenderness, both reverent and
masterful.

"My Daisy" - he said, - "what do you want of me?"

And I could not tell him then. As little could I pretend to be
dignified. Pain was too sharp. We drew very close to each
other, and were very silent for those minutes. I would command
myself, and did, hard work as it was, and though my face lay
on his shoulder. I do not know how his face looked; when he
spoke again the tone was of the gravest tenderness.

"What do you want of me, Daisy?"

"I think, this," I said, raising my head and laying my hand on
his shoulder instead. "Suppose, Christian, you leave the
question undecided - the question of letters, I mean, - until
I get there, - to Switzerland, - and see my father and mother.
Perhaps I can judge then what will be safe to do; and if I can
write, you know I will write immediately."

"And if you cannot?"