"Would you?" he answered, his thoughts evidently elsewhere.
"Why, how could I help it?" I asked, astonished at the question.
He started like one whose secret thought has received some sudden sting.
"Ay," he said, "one cannot help it; to wish to leave off, and wish in vain; there is the torment, there is the misery."
"But I don't wish to leave off," I exclaimed, almost indignantly, and clinging to him, I added, a little passionately perhaps, "I could not if I would, and if I could I would not, Cornelius."
There was a pause; as I looked at him, something like a question debated and solved seemed to pass across his face. Then he pressed me to his heart with some emotion, as he said, rather feverishly--
"Daisy, you are wiser than those who sit down and write books or preach sermons on self-subjection, as if it were not the very hardest thing in this world. Let them!" he added, a little defiantly, "the very children rebuke them and know better."
If children reflect little and imperfectly, their faculty for observation is marvellous. It suddenly occurred to me that I had been unconsciously pleading for one whom I had little cause to love; the thought was both sweet and bitter. I looked at Medora, then at Cornelius, and said in a low tone--
"Why did she vex you, Cornelius?"
He gave mc a distrustful look, and putting me away--
"The room is cold," he observed, "go down, child."
I would rather have stayed and learned more; but his tone, though kind, exacted obedience.
When Cornelius came down to tea, his sister asked how his head felt; he said first, "Much worse," then immediately added, "Much better." His movements, like his words, were irresolute; he rose, he sat down; he stood by the table; he went to the hearth; suddenly he went to the door.
"And your headache!" observed Kate, seeing he was going out.
"Never mind the headache, Kate!" he replied impetuously: he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
Kate laid down her work with an astonished air.
He came in as I was going up to bed. I stood on the first steps of the staircase and turned round to look at him: his face was flushed; his eyes sparkled; he looked excited--more excited, I thought, than joyous or happy. In passing by me he took me so suddenly in his arms that he nearly made me fall, then begged my pardon, and finally kissed me two or three times so tenderly that Kate, who saw us from the parlour, looked quite jealous, and uttered an emphatic "Nonsense!"
"Can't a man kiss his own child?" asked Cornelius, putting me down with a gay short laugh.
"Cornelius," said Kate, "your headache was a quarrel with Miriam--confess it."
He reddened and looked disconcerted.
"I knew it," she observed triumphantly.
"No, Kate," he replied quietly, "you did not know it; you mistook; I can give you my word that I have never had the slightest difference with Miriam; by the bye, she sends her love to you."
With this he entered the parlour and closed the door. I thought it odd, and yet I knew not how to disbelieve Cornelius. At the end of the same week Miriam again came to sit for Medora. If there was a change in his manner to her, it was that he seemed to be more enamoured than ever.
Cornelius had not attached sufficient importance to our tacit quarrel to alter in the least after our tacit reconciliation. A young man of twenty- two, passionately in love with a beautiful woman of twenty-six, was not likely to care much whether a little girl of twelve sulked and would not kiss him. I liked to think the contrary--that he had been angry with me, and that I should show my penitence. This proved a most unfortunate mistake. Since she had wholly superseded me, Miriam had allowed me to remain in peace; but when I endeavoured to render myself useful or agreeable to Cornelius, she resented it as an insolent attempt to divert even a fragment of his attention from herself. She was sitting to him as usual one afternoon, when he suddenly exclaimed--
"How provoking! I cannot find it; I can scarcely get on without it."
"It will give you time to rest," quietly said Miriam.
A little reluctantly he sat down by her, but said he must return to his work at three.
It was a sketch, which he wanted for the foreground of Medora, that Cornelius could not find. We had vainly looked for it the whole morning.
I thought I would have another search. A deep shelf, well stored with art-rubbish, ran round the room. Unperceived by Cornelius, I got up on the table, reached down an old portfolio, opened it, and found at once the missing sketch. Overjoyed at my success, I stepped down too hastily; my foot slipped, I fell; in no time Cornelius had picked me up.
"Are you hurt?" he cried, in great alarm.
I was too much stunned to reply at first; when I could speak, my first words were--
"Here it is, Cornelius!"
I picked up the sketch from where it had fallen, showed it to him, and enjoyed his surprise.
"Oh! you naughty child!" he said, with kind reproof. He sat down again on the couch, made me sit by him, and tenderly pressed his lips on my brow.
"I should suggest brown paper and vinegar for a bruise," observed the chilling voice of Miriam.
"Are you bruised, my darling?" anxiously asked Cornelius.
I laughed, and kissed him. He turned towards Miriam, smiled, and with the generous and imprudent candour of his character, he said--
"I am very fond of that little girl, Miriam."
And lest she should doubt it, again he caressed me. She sat at the other angle of the couch with drooping eyelids; I know not if she looked at us, but as the church clock struck three, she said, sweetly--
"Yes, I consider your affection for that child a touching trait in your character, Cornelius."
She had never in my presence called him by his name; as she ottered it, I saw his hand seeking hers, which she drew not away.
"Cornelius," I said quietly, "it is three o'clock."
"I had forgotten all about it," he cried, starting up, and relinquishing the hand of Miriam, who darted at me a covert irritated glance of her green eyes.
He went back to his easel; I returned to my books.
"Daisy," he said, "you must not study after such a fall."
"Let me finish my lessons," I replied eagerly; "you know you have half promised to examine me this evening."
"Poor little thing!" kindly said Miriam, "I dare say it is too much study has lately made her look so much more sallow than usual."
I felt my face glow. I was sallow; but was I to be ever reminded of it?
"Or perhaps it is biliousness," she continued: "her face and hair are almost of the same hue; true that is light, nearly straw-coloured. Be careful, Mr. O'Reilly, do not let her work so much."
"Daisy, put by your books," anxiously said Cornelius.