He put me down, rose, brought me the portfolios, and emptied their contents for me. I began my task; I had the spirit of order in details which most women possess; I had often before been of use to Cornelius in such matters, and I found a sorrowful pleasure in being of use to him again, in leaving him this last token of my presence. I could not cease loving him because he chose to banish me; the less I received and the more I gave; it seemed as if what he withdrew, I should make up, that the sum of love between us might never grow less.
Whilst I was busy with my task, Cornelius worked. Every now and then I ventured to disturb him: either it was a drawing I wanted him to look at, or I begged of him to notice the system of my arrangement.
"Because, you know," I once observed, "I shall not be here to tell you."
"Very true," he replied, rather ruefully.
I believe he was not prepared for so entire and resigned a submission. He forgot that it was only in the presence of Miriam he could not master me.
My docility seemed to affect him more than might have done my tears, had I shed any. His kind face became quite sorrowful; once he left by his work to come and look over my task, and seeing a little drawing in which he had represented himself at his easel with me looking on, and which we had christened "The Artist's Studio," he told me to leave it out, for that he should hang it up.
"Will you indeed?" I said.
I was kneeling on the floor, with the drawings scattered around me; he sat half behind me; I turned round and looked up into his face, smiling with mingled pleasure and sadness. He took my head in both his hands, and looked at me intently; there seemed a charm that kept my eyes on his.
"Ah!" he said at length, "if I dare! but I should only repent it the next five minutes--so it must not be."
With this he rose, and came not again near me. My task occupied me for the whole of that day; it served to divert me. I did not however grieve so very much; there was a sort of incredulousness in my heart which I could not conquer. Kate and Cornelius were much sadder than I was; they knew that it was to be, and I felt as if it were, though decreed, impossible. But when I came down to breakfast on the following morning, when I saw the sorrowful face of Kate, and met the troubled glance of Cornelius, I suddenly awoke to the dread reality. I sat down to table as usual, but I could not eat. Cornelius pressed me, uselessly; even to please him I could touch nothing. It was a beautiful Spring morning, and I was not to go for another hour.
"Shall I give you a walk in the lanes?" suddenly asked Cornelius, turning to me.
"Thank you," I replied, in a low tone, "I prefer the garden."
He took me by the hand and led me out; I liked that little garden, where I had spent so many happy hours, and from which I was now going to part.
I looked at the shrubs, trees, and flowers, at the very grass and earth on which I trod, with lingering love and tenderness; but I said nothing.
Cornelius looked down at me, laid his hand on my shoulder, and said abruptly--
"Daisy, will you promise not to be jealous?"
An eager and joyful "Yes" rose to my lips--a most bitter thought checked it.
"I cannot," I exclaimed, desperately, "I cannot, Cornelius."
"You will not promise?" he said.
"I cannot."
He looked at me very fixedly, but uttered not a word of praise or blame.
"Daisy," called the sad voice of Kate from the house, "come and get ready, child."
I was obeying; Cornelius detained me to observe--
"Ask me for something before we part."
"I have nothing to ask for, Cornelius."
But he insisted--I yielded:
"If when the time comes you will write to tell me whether your picture is exhibited or not, I shall like it, Cornelius."
"Have you nothing else to ask for?"
"Nothing else," I replied, looking up at him.
Love is proud: he was banishing me--what could I want with his gifts? He said nothing, and allowed me to go in.
At length came the moment of our separation. I was ready and in the parlour again; the cab was waiting in the lane. Miss O'Reilly, who was to take me, said abruptly--
"Go and bid Cornelius good-bye."
I went up to him trembling from head to foot. He sat by the table reading the newspaper: he laid it down, looked at me, then took me in his arms.
All my fortitude forsook me on finding myself once more clasped in the embrace from which I should so soon be severed. I wept and sobbed passionately on his shoulder. I felt as if I could and would not go--as if it were impossible; a thing to be spoken of, never carried into effect. Cornelius pressed me to his heart, and tried to hush away my grief, but ineffectually. At length he said, very ruefully--
"Oh, Daisy!"
Looking up, I saw that his eyes were dim. I grew silent at once, ashamed to have moved him so much.
"Well!" said Kate.
"Yes," replied her brother. He gave me a kiss, put me down; Kate hurried me away, and it was over.
We passed through the garden and entered the cab, which rolled down the lane. I remembered how tenderly Cornelius had once cared for me during the whole of a long journey; how he had carried me when I could not walk, and brought me, wrapped up in his cloak and sleeping in his arms, to the home whence he now banished me. And remembering these things, I cried as if my heart would break.
CHAPTER XVI.
"Nonsense," said Kate, "I am not going to stand that, you know."
She spoke in the oddest of her many odd ways. I looked up--her bright eyes were glittering--she passed her arm around me, made me lay my head on her shoulder, and kissed me with unusual tenderness.
"Poor little thing!" she said, gently, "your troubles begin early, and yet, take my word for it, they will not last nor seem so severe after a time. When those two are married, you and I shall live together and be quite happy."
"When are they to marry?" I asked.
"In a month or two. A foolish business, Midge: I thought Cornelius would have had more sense; but he is to have plenty of work from a Mr. Redmond, and on the strength of such prospects he is going to marry. He is but a boy, and he does not know better: but she does, and it is a shame of her to take him in."
"I thought Miss Russell had money."
"So she has; but I know Cornelius; he won't live on his wife's money; he will do paltry work to support himself, lose all his time in copying bad pictures, and ruin his prospects as an artist,--all that because he could not wait a year or two. Ah well! I hope he may not repent it; I hope he may always love her as much as he does now. Don't fret, child; he never deserved such a good little girl as you have been to him."
"Oh, Kate, it is not for that I fret, but is it possible Cornelius can think of giving up painting? it cuts me to think of it."
"He does not think of it, foolish fellow! He does not see that he is tying himself down; just as he does not see that it is to please her he is sending you away. He thinks it is all his idea, whereas I know very well that of his own accord Cornelius O'Reilly would never have dreamed of parting from the child of Edward Burns. To be sure, I might have insisted on keeping you, for the house is mine, but for your own sake I would not make an annoyance of you to him. One must always let men have their way, and find out their own mistake; he will regret you yet, Daisy."