"How unfortunate I am to make mischief when I meant a kindness!"
"Do not mention it," replied Cornelius, in a tone of sincere distress, "it is inexpressibly bitter to me to trace such feelings in Daisy."
I stood by the sun-dial, with my back turned to them, and still trembling from head to foot with the intensity of those feelings which Cornelius deplored, but which--I felt he might have known that--sprang from the sincerity of my love for him. But it was destined that she should ever be in the right, and I in the wrong. I attempted no useless justification, and heard them going in, without so much as looking round.
Domestic quarrels are an endless progeny: each has a distinct existence; but as it dies it gives birth to a successor, and so on for ever. Even for this day, this was not enough. When Miriam returned in the afternoon, she had scarcely sat an hour to Cornelius before she said to me--
"Daisy, I never thanked you for your beautiful snowdrops; you must forgive me the omission."
"Forgive!" echoed Cornelius, who was now sitting by her for a few minutes, and who probably thought this much too condescending.
"Why not? It is the very least I can do to thank the poor child for her flowers; I also want to give her something: what would please you, my dear?"
She was again addressing me, and she spoke very sweetly: she always did speak so to me. There was the misery and the snare: she knew well enough I could never speak so to her; that, though I dare not say much on account of Cornelius, my very voice changed when I had to address or answer her. I now felt what a mockery it was for her, who had robbed me of everything I cared for, to talk of making me a present, yet I compelled myself to reply--
"Anything you like, thank you."
"Anything means nothing, my dear," she said, very gently.
I did not answer; she resumed--
"Would you like a book? you are fond of reading."
"Yes. I like books, thank you."
"Or a new frock; you do not dislike dress?"
"Oh no, I do not dislike it, thank you."
"But I want to know what you prefer," she insisted.
"I prefer nothing, thank you."
Cornelius knit his brow.
"Daisy," he said sharply, "tell Miss Russell directly what you would like."
Tell her what I should like! be indebted to her for a pleasure! no, not even his authority could make me do that. Cornelius insisted, I remained obstinate; he became angry, I did not yield; I was getting hardened; all I would say was that I preferred nothing; and so far as her gifts were concerned this was true, they all seemed equally hateful.
"Disobedient, obstinate girl!" began Cornelius, in great wrath.
"Daisy shall not be scolded on my account," interrupted Miriam, laying her beautiful fingers on his lips, "and she shall have her present too; we must subdue her by kindness," she added in a whisper that reached me.
Cornelius looked at her with mingled love and admiration, and then at me with sorrowful reproach.
I had my present, too, the very next morning; it came in with Miss Russell's kind love: a beautiful green silk frock, that made me look as yellow as saffron. It exasperated me to try it on, but Cornelius, who admired it greatly, insisted that I should do so. I was obliged to comply. I just looked at the glass and saw that the benevolent intention of the donor was fulfilled.
"How kind of Miriam!" said Cornelius, as I stood before him. "It is very pretty. Kate, is it not?"
"An odd colour for Daisy," she replied, drily.
"Saint Patrick's Day was last week," he answered, smiling.
"And Daisy's dress is green in honour of Saint Patrick, of course,"
rather ironically said Kate; "well, it is a great deal too 'fine for everyday wear, so just come up-stairs and take it off, child."
"Oh, Kate!" I began, as soon as we were alone.
"No," she interrupted, "that is quite an idea of yours, Daisy."
She seemed so positive that what I had not said must be "quite an idea of mine," that I abstained from saying it. She helped me to take off the dress, then looked at it a little scornfully, said it was pretty, but that she fancied me a great deal better with my old everyday merino, which did not make me look quite so much like a bunch of primroses in its leaves. I made no such picturesque comment, but I resolved that though I had not been able to refuse this dress, nothing save force should make me wear it. But my troubles with regard to this unlucky present were not over. When Miriam came in, Cornelius thanked her very warmly; was grateful for her kindness, and praised her taste. I sat by the table apparently absorbed in my books, and secretly hoping it might pass off thus; but it did not.
"Daisy," said Cornelius.
I looked up; there was no mistaking his gentle, admonishing glance, but as I did not seem to have understood it, he added--
"You have not thanked Miss Russell."
If the dress had been a becoming one, if I could have fancied that there was anything like kindness in the gift, I might have subdued my pride so far as to comply. But to thank Miriam for that which I had refused and which she had forced upon me; to thank her for that which I believed destined to make me look plainer than nature had made me, in the sight of Cornelius, and which, as I knew but too well, accomplished the desired object, was more than I could do.
"You have not thanked Miss Russell," again said Cornelius.
I did not answer; I hung down my head and locked myself up in mute obstinacy. Several times Cornelius said to me, in a voice that boded rising anger--
"Daisy, will you thank Miss Russell?"
I did not say I would not, but then I did not do it; and yet I felt sick and faint at the thought of his coming wrath and indignation. Well I might! Cornelius had the fiery blood of his race; but his temper was so easy and pleasant, that you could spend weeks with him and never suspect--save perhaps for too sudden a light in his eyes--that he could be roused to violent passion. Provoked beyond endurance by my obstinacy, he now turned pale with anger; he left by his work to stride up to me; I quailed before his look and shrank back. Miriam rose, swiftly stepped in between us, and placed me behind her, as if for protection.
"Mr. O'Reilly!" she exclaimed, "command yourself."
She spoke with a look of reproof and authority. Cornelius gazed at her with wonder, then coloured to the very temples.
"Oh! Miriam," he said, drawing back from her with a glance of the keenest reproach, "how could you imagine such a thing?"
He looked as if he could not even name it; then perceiving me as I still stood behind Miriam, he took me by the hand, and, sitting down on the sofa, he held me from him, looking me intently in the face as he slowly said--
"And did you too think I meant, I will not say to hurt, but so much as touch you?"
I looked at him; I thought of all his past kindness,--my heart swelled, the tears which had not flowed at his anger, gushed forth with the question; I threw my arms around his neck.
"Oh no, no!" I cried, "I never did think that, Cornelius, and I never could."
"Never?" he echoed; "are you sure, Daisy?"
"Never," I replied almost passionately, "never, Cornelius; if I angered you ever so much; if I saw your very hand raised against me, I should not fear one moment--for I know it never would come down."
His lips trembled slightly, the only sign of emotion he betrayed. He looked at me; our eyes met, and I felt that there was in his something which answered to all the love and faith of my heart.