Melbourne House Part 32

"No, ? how? She has a child's voice."

"But not a child's taste or ear," said Gary. "I heard her the other day warbling the gypsy song in 'The Camp in Silesia,'

and she did it to captivation. Do, Mrs. Randolph, ask her to sing it. I was astonished."

"Do!" said Captain Drummond; and the request spread and became general.

"Daisy ?" said Mrs. Randolph. Daisy did not hear; but the call being repeated, she came from her window, and after speaking to the strangers, whom she knew, she turned to her mother. The room was all light and bright and full of gay talkers.

"Daisy," said her mother, "I want you to sing that gypsy song from the 'Camp in Silesia.' Gary says you know it ? so he is responsible. Can you sing it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then sing it. Never mind whether you succeed or not; that is of no consequence."

"Mamma," began Daisy.

"Well, what?"

Daisy was in great confusion. What to say to her mother she did not know.

"No matter how you get along with it," repeated Mrs. Randolph.

"That is nothing."

"It isn't that, mamma, ? but ?"

"Then sing. No more words, Daisy; sing."

"Mamma, please don't ask me!"

"I _have_ asked you. Come Daisy ? don't be silly."

"Mamma," whispered Daisy, trembling, "I will sing it any other night but to night!"

"To-night? what's to-night?"

"To-night is Sunday."

"And is that the reason?"

Daisy stood silent, very much agitated.

"I'll have no nonsense of the kind, Daisy. Sing immediately!"

But Daisy stood still.

"Do you refuse me?"

"Mamma ?" said Daisy, pleadingly.

"Go and fetch me a card from the table."

Daisy obeyed. Mrs. Randolph rapidly wrote a word or two on it with a pencil.

"But where is the gypsy?" cried Gary McFarlane.

"She has not found her voice yet. Take that to your father, Daisy."

Daisy's knees literally shook under her as she moved across the room to obey this order. Mr. Randolph was sitting at some distance talking with one of the gentlemen. He broke off when Daisy came up with the card.

"What is it your mother wishes you to sing?" he inquired, looking from the writing to the little bearer. Daisy answered very low.

"A gypsy-song from an opera."

"Can you sing it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do so at once, Daisy."

The tone was quiet but imperative. Daisy stood with eyes cast down, the blood all leaving her face to reinforce some attacked region. She grew white from second to second.

"It is the charge of the Light Brigade," said Captain Drummond to himself. He had heard and watched the whole proceeding, and had the key to it. He thought good-naturedly to suggest to Daisy an escape from her difficulty, by subst.i.tuting for the opera song something else that she _could_ sing. Rising and walking slowly up and down the room, he hummed near enough for her to hear and catch it, the air of "Die in the field of battle." Daisy heard and caught it, but not his suggestion. It was the thought of the _words_ that went to her heart, ? not the thought of the tune. She stood as before, only clasped her little hands close upon her breast. Captain Drummond watched her. So did her father, who could make nothing of her.

"Do you understand me, Daisy?"

"Papa ?"

"Obey me first, and then talk about it."

Daisy was in no condition to talk; she could hardly breathe that one word. She knew the tone of great displeasure in her father's voice. He saw her condition.

"You are not able to sing at this minute," said he. "Go to your room ? I will give you ten minutes to recover yourself.

Then, Daisy, come here and sing ? if you like to be at peace with me."

But Daisy did not move; she stood there, with her two hands clasped on her breast.

"Do you mean that you will not?" said Mr. Randolph.

"If it wasn't Sunday, papa ?" came from Daisy's parted lips.

"Sunday?" said Mr. Randolph ? "is that it? Now we know where we are. Daisy ? do you hear me? ? turn about and sing your song. Do not give me another refusal!"

But Daisy stood, growing paler and paler, till the whiteness reached her lips, and her father saw that in another minute she would fall. He s.n.a.t.c.hed her from the floor, and placed her upon his knee with his arm round her; but though conscious that she was held against his breast, Daisy was conscious too that there was no relenting in it; she knew her father; and her deadly paleness continued. Mr. Randolph saw that there would be no singing that night, and that the conflict between Daisy and him must be put off to another day. Making excuse to those near, that she was not well, he took his little daughter in his arms, and carried her up stairs to her own room. There he laid her on the bed and rang for June, and staid by her till he saw her colour returning. Then without a word he left her.

Meanwhile Captain Drummond, downstairs, had taken a quiet seat in a corner; his talking mood having deserted him.

"Did I ever walk up to the cannon's mouth like that?" he said to himself.