I did not ask better. She kissed me, and again said I was very pale; her brother never raised his eyes from his book. I thought him unkind and myself ill-used. I was proud, even with him; I left the room without bidding him good-night, and went to bed without seeking a reconciliation.
I awoke the next morning in a miserable, unhappy mood. Kate noticed my downcast looks and sullen replies at breakfast, and said, rather sharply--
"I should like to know what is the matter with you, child."
I did not answer, but looked sulkily down at my cup; when I chanced to raise my eyes, they met the gaze of Cornelius fastened intently on my face. I felt my colour come and go. With a sense of pain I averted my look from his. Immediately after breakfast, and without asking me to accompany him, he went up to his studio; he had not been there long, and I was still listening to the lecture of Kate, who reproved me for being so ill-tempered, when we heard the voice of her brother, calling out from above in a tone that sounded strange--
"Daisy!"
I obeyed the summons. Cornelius stood on the landing waiting for me. He made me enter the studio, then followed me in and closed the door. I looked at him and stood still; his brow was pale and contracted; his brown eyes, so pleasant and good-humoured, burned with a lurid light; his lips were white and thin, and quivered slightly. Never had I seen him so.
He took me by the hand--he led me to his easel.
"Look!" he said, in a low tone.
But I could not take my eyes from his face.
"Look!" he said again.
I obeyed mechanically, and started back with dismay. Where the fair, intent face of Medora had once looked towards the blue horizon, now appeared an unsightly blotch. I looked incredulously at first; at length I said--
"How did it happen, Cornelius?"
"You mean, who did it?" he replied.
"Did any one do it, then?" I asked, looking up in his face.
He folded his arms across his breast, and looked down at me.
"You ask if any one did it!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, Cornelius, for who could do it, when you know there was no one in the house but ourselves?"
"Very true, no one but ourselves," he answered, with a smile of which I did not understand the full meaning. "It could not be Kate, for she was out?"
"And so was Deborah," I quickly suggested.
"Ay, and Miss Russell left at the same time with me."
"And I am quite sure no one entered the studio whilst you were out, Cornelius, for I was sitting at the head of the staircase."
"And I am quite as sure no one entered it at night, for I had the key in my pocket."
"Then you see that no one did it," I replied, looking up at him.
"I see," he said, laying his hand on my shoulder, and bending his look on mine,--"I see no such thing, Daisy. I see that only two persons can have done the deed--you or I--I'll leave you to guess which it was."
"And did you really do it, Cornelius?" I exclaimed, quite bewildered.
The eyes of Cornelius kindled, his lip trembled, but turning away from me as if in scorn of wrath--
"Leave the room," he said almost calmly.
I looked at him--the truth flashed across me--Cornelius accused me of having done it. I felt stunned, far more with wonder than with indignation.
"Did you hear me?" he asked, with the same dead calmness in his tone.
"Leave the room!" and his extended hand pointed to the door.
But I did not move.
"Cornelius," I said, "do you mean that I did it?"
"Leave the room," was his only answer, and he turned from me.
"Cornelius," I repeated, following him, "do you mean that I did it?"
"Leave the room," he said, without looking at me.
"Cornelius, did you say I did it?" I asked a third time, and I placed myself before him, so as to make him stop short. I was not angry--I was scarcely moved--I spoke quietly, but I felt that were he to kill me the next minute, I should and would compel a reply, and I did compel one.
"Yes," he answered, with a sort of astonished wrath at my hardihood; "yes, I do say you did it."
I drew back a step or two from him, so that my upraised look met his.
"Cornelius," I said, very earnestly, "I did not do it."
"Ah! you did not," he exclaimed.
"Oh no," I replied, and I shook my head and smiled at so strange a mistake.
"Ah!" echoed Cornelius in the same tone, "you did not--who did, then?"
"I do not know, Cornelius, how should I?"
"How should you? Was it not proved awhile back only two persons could have done it, you or I, and since it so chances that I am not the person, does it not follow that you are?"
I looked at him incredulously: it seemed to me that I had but to deny to be acquitted. I fancied he had not understood me.
"Cornelius," I objected, "did you not hear me say it was not I?"
"I heard you--what about it?"
"Why that it cannot be me."
"Who else?"
"I do not know."
"Was not the picture safe when I left it here?"