d tender in his manner with her, more
than ever, Daisy thought; she felt that the love between them was
growing strong and deep even beyond what it used to be. And while he
knew nothing of the joy that filled her own heart, and while he refused
obedience to the laws that she knew were binding on him as well as on
her, he must be also, she knew, without the favour and blessing of God.
He had no part in it; nothing to do with it; and Daisy's heart swelled
with childish sorrow and longing. She had thought a great deal about it,
and concluded that she must bear "the message," even plainly in words,
to her father, before she could feel satisfied. Little hands might take
the message, Juanita had said; so humbly Daisy's took it; and then she
prayed that it might not be for nothing. 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. That was what he expected when
he opened the paper; but Eve could not have been much more surprised
when the serpent spoke to her in the garden of Eden, than was Mr.
Randolph at finding that his little lamb of a child had dared to open
her mouth to him in this fashion.

"Mr. Randolph, you will be late," said the lady who owned that name,
coming t