by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XLVI.
DELIVERED FROM THE OGRE.
"Here's the money, Primrose--here's all the money," said little Daisy,in a weak, weak voice, when her sister came up to her bedside, andbent over her. "It was lost and the Prince brought it back; you won'task me any questions about it, will you, Primrose?"
"No," exclaimed Primrose, in her very quiet and matter-of-factvoice--the kind of voice which was most soothing to the excitable andnervous child at the present moment.
"I'm glad to have it back, Daisy, dear, for I have missed it; but ofcourse, I shan't ask you any questions about it. I shall just put itinto my purse, and you shall see what a nice fat purse I have got oncemore."
Then Primrose held her little sister's hand, and shook up her pillows,and tended her as only she knew how, but all that night Daisy grewmore and more restless. The drowsy state in which she had hithertobeen had changed to one of wakefulness. All through the long nightthe little creature's bright eyes remained open, and her anxious facehad a question on it which yet she never spoke. At last, as the brightsummer's morning broke, she turned to Primrose and said eagerly--
"Kneel down, Primrose, and ask God what a very ignorant, very unhappylittle girl ought to do. Oh, Primrose, it's all about a promise--apromise that was most faithfully given. What shall I do about it?"
"Do you want to keep it, or to break it?" asked Primrose.
"It seems to me I ought to keep it, Primrose, because a promise,faithfully given, ought always to be kept; but Mr. Noel says I oughtto break this promise; oh, I don't know what to do!"
"Your heart won't be at rest, Daisy, and you won't really get better,until you do know what to do," answered Primrose. "Of course, I willkneel down and ask God to tell you."
Then the elder sister prayed aloud a very few earnest words, and thelittle one joined her in whispered sentences. The prayer was not long,but in Daisy's case it was quickly answered. When the morning quitebroke, and the real working-day had begun, Primrose sent a message toNoel to come at once to see the child. Daisy received him with atouching little smile.
"Was the little girl me?" she asked. "And was the wicked, wicked ogre,Mr. Dove?"
"It is clever of you to guess that much, Daisy," answered Noel.
"Am I the little girl?" continued Daisy, "who made a promise which sheought now to break? Will God forgive me for breaking a promise which Imade so very, very faithfully? Mr. Noel, I will tell you something.That promise has nearly killed me. The old Daisy went away when thatpromise was made, and such a poor, cowardly, wretched Daisy came inher place. She'd have been selfish, too, but for you; but you taughther a little bit about the Palace Beautiful, and she was trying to begood in spite of the dreadful promise. Then the ogre came again, andthe second time he was so dreadful that she even became very selfishto get rid of him. Oh, Mr. Noel, is it right for me--will God think itreally right for me--to break that dreadful promise?"
"He will, Daisy. The promise ought never to have been made. Only aninnocent and ignorant little child would have made it; yes, Daisy,dear, yours is one of the rare cases of a promise better broken thankept. See, I am the Prince, and I'm going to take the spell of theogre from you. The wicked ogre is locked up in a dungeon instead ofyou, and the Prince commands the poor little captive to tell himeverything."
Then Daisy, with some broken sobs, and with a piteous light in herblue eyes, told Noel the whole cruel story. He listened without onceinterrupting the little narrator. When she had finished, he kissedher, and told her that she now had nothing to fear, and then, biddingher sleep away all her troubles, he left her to Primrose's care. Bythe next train he himself went to London in full time to attend Dove'strial.
That worthy was at first inclined to brazen matters out, but whenNoel, primed with Daisy's confession, appeared on the scene, his faceunderwent a remarkable change. Its rubicund tints quite deserted it,an alarming pallor spreading over every feature. Tommy Dove, who mighthave been seen in a foremost position amongst the crowd of spectators,was heard audibly to exclaim--
"Law, I guess there ain't no leg for my respected pa to stand on now!"
This, although not expressed aloud, seemed also to be Dove's opinion,for he then and there made a full confession of his wicked practices,and of the cruel threats he had employed to terrify Daisy. He receivedhis sentence, which was a severe one, with much stoicism, and, as hewas led away from his place in the prisoner's dock, addressed aparting word to his affectionate and hysterical spouse--
"Never mind, Mrs. Dove, my only love, even fourteen years comes to anend somehow, and when we meets again we'll make a rule for there beingno attic lodgers."
"To the very end his was a poetic turn," his wife afterwards remarkedto her favorite cronies.