"Excuse me, Sir," impatiently interrupted Cornelius, "but the coach will soon pass by; is there anything that can be done for the child?"
"Yes, Sir," drily answered Mr. Wood, "there are several things to be done for the young lady; the first is to put her to bed directly."
"To bed?" uneasily said Cornelius.
"Directly. The second, to administer a sedative draught, that will make her spend the night in a state of deep repose."
"Then we must actually sleep here?"
"Of deep repose. The third is not to attempt moving her for the next twelve hours."
"Remember, Sir, you said it was only feverishness."
"It is nothing more _now_," replied the inexorable Mr. Wood, in a tone threatening anything from scarlatina to typhus if his directions were disregarded. Cornelius sighed, submitted, asked for the sedative draught, and consigned me to the care of the grim landlady.
I allowed her to undress me and put me to bed in a dull little room upstairs; but when she attempted to make me take the sedative, duly sent round by Mr. Wood, I buried my face in the pillow. Though she said "Miss!" in a most threatening accent, she could not conquer my mute obstinacy. She departed in great indignation.
Soon after she had left, the door opened, and Cornelius entered. He looked grave. I prepared for a lecture, but he only sat down by me and said very gently, "Margaret, why will you not drink the sedative?"
I did not answer. He tasted the beverage, then said earnestly, "It is not unpleasant; try."
He wanted to approach the cup to my lips, but I turned away, and said with some emotion, "I don't want to sleep."
"Why so, child?"
"Because I shall not wake up in time; you will go away and leave me."
"Margaret, why should I leave you?"
"Because you don't like me as Papa did; you do not care about me," I replied, a little excitedly; for I was now quite conscious that the affection was all on my side.
He looked surprised at the reproach and all it implied, and to my mortification he also looked amused. I turned my face to the wall; he bent over me and saw that my eyes were full of tears.
"Crying!" he said chidingly.
"You laugh at me," I replied indignantly.
"Which is a shame," he answered, vainly striving to repress a smile; "but whether or not, Margaret, you must oblige me by drinking this."
He spoke authoritatively. I yielded, and took the cup from him; but in so doing I gave him a look which must have been rather appealing, for he said with some warmth, "On my word, child, I shall not leave you behind.
Why, I would as soon give up a pet lamb to the butcher as let you go back to Thornton House,--or turn out a poor unfledged bird from the nest as forsake a helpless little creature like you."
I drank at once. To reward my obedience, Cornelius said he would stay with me until I had fallen asleep. I tried to delay the moment as long as I could, but, conquered by a power mightier than my will, I was gradually compelled to yield. I remember the amused smile of the young man at my unavailing efforts to keep my eyes open and fixed on his face; then follows a sudden blank and darkness, into which even he has vanished.
I awoke the next morning cool, well, and free from fever. The landlady dressed me in surly silence, then led me down to the little parlour, where I found Cornelius reading the newspaper by the breakfast table. He seemed much pleased to find that the fever had left me, and observed with a smile, "Well, Margaret, did I run away?"
I hung down my head ashamed.
"Why, my poor child," he added, drawing me towards him, "I should be a perfect savage to dream of such a thing; besides, how ungallant to go and desert a lady in distress! Never more could Cornelius O'Reilly--a disgrace to his name and country--show his face after so dark a deed."
He was laughing at me again; I did not mind it now; but as the grim landlady, who had lingered by, looked mystified, Cornelius amused himself by treating me with the most attentive and fastidious politeness during the whole of breakfast-time. To complete her satisfaction, and to make up for the missing carpet-bag, she was edified by the arrival of Miss Burns's luggage from Thornton House.
We left early. We rode outside the stage-coach. It was a fine autumn day, and the journey was pleasant until evening came on; Cornelius then drew me closer to him, and shared with me the folds of his ample cloak. The unusual warmth and motion soon sent me to sleep. Once or twice I woke to the momentary consciousness of a starlight night, and trees and houses rapidly passing before me; but after this all was darkness; the cloak had shrouded me completely. I merely opened my eyes to close them again and fall asleep, with my head resting against Cornelius, and his arm passed around me to save me from falling.
I have a vague remembrance of reaching a large and noisy city, of leaving the stage-coach to enter a cab, where I again fell fast to sleep, and at length of awaking with a start, as Cornelius said, "Margaret, we are at home."
The cab had stopped; Cornelius had got out; he lifted me down even as he spoke, and the cab rolled away along the lonely lane in which we stood.
CHAPTER VI.
I felt a little bewildered. The night and the spot were both dark; all I could see was a low garden-wall, half lost in the shadow of a few tall trees, and a narrow wooden door. The gleam of light that appeared through the chinks, and the sound of a quick step on the gravel within, spared Cornelius the trouble of ringing. The door opened of its own accord, and on the threshold appeared a lady in black, holding a low lamp in her right hand. We entered; she closed the door upon us, and, almost immediately, flung the arm that was free around the neck of Cornelius.
"God bless you!" she exclaimed eagerly, and speaking in a warm ardent tone, that sounded like a gentle echo of his; "God bless you! I have been so wretched!"
"Did you not get my letter?"
"Yes, but I had such a dream!"
"A dream! Oh Kate!" he spoke with jesting reproach, but pausing in the path, he stooped and kissed his sister several times, each time more tenderly.
"How is the child? Where is she?" asked Miss O'Reilly.
"She is here, and well. By the bye, I have left her little property outside."
"Deborah shall fetch it. Take her in."
We were entering the house, which stood at the end of the garden.
"This way, Margaret," said Cornelius, leading me into a small, but comfortable and elegant-looking parlour, which took my fancy at once. The furniture, though simple, was both good and handsome; the walls were adorned with a few pictures and engravings in gilt frames; a well-filled book-case faced the rosewood piano; a large table, covered with books, occupied the centre of the room, and a stand of splendid flowers stood in the deep bow-window.
"Well!" carelessly said Miss O'Reilly, who had followed us in almost immediately, "where is that little Sassenach girl?"
"Here she is, Kate," replied Cornelius, leading me to his sister; he stood behind me, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder, and looking at her, I felt sure, for, in the stoic sadness of her gaze, there was something of a glance returned. She lowered the light, gave me a cursory look, put by the lamp, and sat down on a low chair by the fire, on which she kept her eyes intently fixed.
Miss O'Reilly was very like her brother, and almost as good-looking, though at least ten or twelve years older. She was fresh as a rose, and had the dark hair, finely arched eyebrows, clear hazel eyes, and handsome features of Cornelius; but the expression of countenance was different.
It was as decided, but more calm; as kind, but scarcely as good-humoured.
She was very simply attired in black; her glossy and luxuriant hair was braided, and fastened at the back of her head with jet pins; jet bracelets clasped her wrists. As she sat leaning back in her chair, her hands clasped on her knees, even that simple attire and careless attitude could not disguise the elegant symmetry of her figure; her hands were small and perfect.
"Well!" said Cornelius in a low tone.
"Well!" replied his sister, smiling at the fire with sorrowful triumph in her clear eyes; "she is like her father; she has his eyes; pity she has not his hair, instead of those pale and sickly flaxen locks. Come here, little thing," she added, looking up at me, and holding out her hand.
I hesitated.
"She is very shy, Kate," said Cornelius.