"Yes, nothing."
"Have you no lessons?"
"No; Mrs. Marks says, that, as I can read well, and write a little, it is enough."
"Enough!" indignantly exclaimed Cornelius; but he checked himself to observe, "Mrs. Marks knows nothing about it; a good education is the least Mr. Thornton can give his grand-daughter."
He was not questioning me; but I looked at him, and said, bluntly, "I am to get a common-place education; I am not to be a lady."
"Who says so?" indignantly asked Cornelius.
"Mr. Thornton."
"How do you know?"
"He said it, before me, to Miss Grainger. He said I was to be neither a governess nor a lady; and that a common-place education, and some decent occupation, were to be my destiny." The words had stung me to the quick at the time, and had never been forgotten. As I repeated them, the blood rushed up to the face of Cornelius O'Reilly; his look lit; his lip trembled with all the quickness of emotion of his race.
"But you shall be a lady," he exclaimed, with rapid warmth. "Your father, who was an Irish gentleman born and bred, gave me the education of a gentleman; and I will give you the education of a lady,--so help me God!"
He drew and pressed me to him. I looked up at him, and said, "I should not take up much room." He seemed surprised at the observation.
I continued--"And Mrs. Marks says I eat so little." Cornelius looked perplexed.
"Will you take me with you?" I asked earnestly.
Cornelius drew in a long breath.
"You are an odd child!" he said.
I passed my arms around his neck, and asked again, "Will you take me with you?"
"Why do you want me to take you?"
I hung down my head, and did not answer. The strange unconquerable shyness of childhood was on me, and rendered me tongue-tied. Cornelius gently raised my face, so that it met his look, and smiled at seeing it grow hot and flushed beneath his gaze.
"Do you really want me to take you?" he asked, after a pause.
I looked up quickly; I said nothing; but if childhood has no words to render its feelings, it has eloquent looks easily read. Cornelius was at no loss to understand the meaning of mine.
"Indeed, then, if I can I will," he replied earnestly.
"Oh! we can get out by the back-door," I said, quickly.
"My dear," answered Cornelius, gravely, "never leave a house by the back- door, unless in case of fire; besides, it would look like an elopement.
We must speak to Mr. Thornton."
I could not see the necessity of this; but I submitted to his decision, and, taking his hand, I accompanied him downstairs. No stray domestic was visible, not even the little servant appeared. Cornelius looked around him, then resolutely knocked at the door of my grandfather's study. A sharp "Come in!" authorized us to enter. This time Mr. Thornton had exchanged the magnifying glass and the beetle for a pair of compasses and an immense map which covered the whole table. He looked up; and, on perceiving Cornelius, exclaimed, with a ludicrous expression of dismay, "Sir, have you brought me another little girl?"
"No, Sir," replied Cornelius smiling; "this is the same."
"Oh! the same, is it?"
"No; not quite the same," resumed Cornelius; "the child, whom I left here a month ago, is strangely altered; question her yourself, Sir, and ascertain the manner in which, without your wish or knowledge, I feel assured, your grand-daughter has been treated in your house."
My grandfather gave the young man a sharp look, and his brown face darkened in meaning if not in hue.
"Come here," he said, addressing me; "and remember, that, though you have large secretiveness, I must have the truth."
I looked at Cornelius; he nodded; I went up to Mr. Thornton, who looked keenly at my face, and, as if something there suggested the question, abruptly asked, "Do you get enough to eat?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Why don't you eat, then?"
"But I do eat."
"Why does Mrs. Marks strike you?"
"She never strikes me," I replied indignantly.
"But why does she ill-use you?"
"She does not ill-use me; she dare not."
Mr. Thornton looked at Cornelius with ironical triumph. The young man seemed disgusted, and said warmly, "I never meant, sir, that Margaret Burns was a starved, ill-used child. Heaven forbid! But I meant to say that she is left to solitude, idleness, and disgraceful ignorance."
"Upon my word, Mr. O'Reilly," observed Mr. Thornton, pushing away his map, as if to survey Cornelius better,--"upon my word, you meddle in my family arrangements with praiseworthy coolness."
"Mr. Thornton," replied Cornelius, not a whit disconcerted, and looking at him very calmly, "I brought the child to you; this gives me a right to interfere, which you have yourself acknowledged by not checking me at once."
Mr. Thornton gave him an odd look, then grunted a sort of assent, looked at his map, and said impatiently--
"Granted; but not that the child is not treated as she ought to be.
Still, within reasonable bounds, she shall be judge in her own case. Do you hear?" he added, turning towards me, "if you want for anything, say so, and you shall get it."
"I want to go away," I said at once.
"Very well; I shall send you to school."
"But I want to go with Mr. O'Reilly."
"Mr. O'Reilly is welcome to you," sarcastically replied my grandfather; "he may take you, drop you on the way, do what he likes with you--if he chooses to have you!" I ran to Cornelius.
"Shall I get ready?" I asked eagerly.
"My dear," he gently replied, "Mr. Thornton means to send you to school, where you will learn many things."
"She will not be troubled with much learning," drily observed Mr.