He looked around as I still stood by him in the attitude of an unforgiven child, and he sighed.
"You wish for an explanation," he said in a troubled tone, "so do I, and yet I dread it."
"Cornelius, I will do all I can not to annoy you. Question me and I will answer you in all the sincerity of my heart. If I have done wrong, it is by mistake, and indeed William too. We are both very young and ignorant, Cornelius?"
"Both! What is that young man to you that his name cannot be severed from yours?"
"He is my friend, Cornelius."
"Why did you never mention his name since my return?"
"It must have been because I was so much more absorbed in thinking of what concerned you, than of what concerned myself. I could not otherwise have failed mentioning the name of William, the only companion and friend I have had during your absence."
"The only one, Daisy?"
"Yes, Cornelius."
"I suppose you were a good deal together?"
"Yes, a great deal."
"Here or at Miss Murray's?"
"Neither at one nor at the other," I answered smiling. "We seldom went to Miss Murray's, and as Kate did not like William, nor he her, he never came here. I met him on the sands."
"How did you spend your time?"
"We played together."
"Played!"
"Yes, you know we were both quite young then; but as we grew older we left off playing."
"And what did you do then?" he asked uneasily.
"We walked on the beach, climbed up the cliffs, ran down again, sat when we felt tired and talked."
"Of what?"
"Of the sea; of anything."
There was a pause, then Cornelius said:
"He is your friend, you say."
"Yes, Cornelius; and though often rude to others, he is ever kind and gentle to me; he likes me, you know."
"Do you like him?"
"Very much."
He laid his hand on my head, and bent down on me a glance that seemed as if it longed to read my very heart.
"You like him?" he said in a low tone.
"Yes, Cornelius, I like him."
More he did not ask; more I did not dare to say, much as I longed to tell; I only ventured to observe:
"Do you not want to ask me anything else, Cornelius?"
"Nothing else," he replied with a sharp glance that made mine sink down abashed; "but I have a piece of advice to give you: appoint no more meetings with your friend. I do not mean that there was harm in those accidental interviews, in which of course there never passed anything but what you have told."
"Oh no, never."
"But discretion is needed by a young girl."
"Have I been indiscreet?"
"A little; but do not think I make much of it. It is a mere childish matter."
"You do not think anything else?"
"Nothing else," he said, with a look that again disconcerted me, "I have indeed advised--"
"Oh! speak not of advice," I interrupted eagerly. "You know that my pleasure is to please you, that I do my own will when I do yours, Cornelius."
"You believe that," he replied, "but can I, Daisy?"
"Put me to the test then!"
We stood side by side. He passed his arm around me, and drew me towards him.
"You bid me put you to the test," he said.
"Yes," I replied, but my heart beat fast.
"There was a time," he resumed with a look of jealous reproach, "when I was, I will not say the only friend you had, but the only friend you thought of or cared for."
I felt a sharp and sudden pang of pain, but I said nothing.
"Well!" he impatiently exclaimed.
"May I not write to him?" I replied, feeling that my colour came and went beneath his gaze.
He did not reply. It was plain he would have an entire sacrifice or none.
He clasped me so close, that I was obliged to rest my head on his shoulder. As he bent over me, my look met his, and from the gaze I seemed to drink in all the strange and dangerous sweetness of sacrifice.
"Well!" he said again.