"There are plenty left," he replied, gathering a few more; then, looking at his watch, carelessly said:
"It was time to go."
I asked if we should take the path that led to the beach.
"Why not go by Leigh, you were wishing for green fields!"
"True; besides we can come back by the sands."
He did not reply. I took his arm; we traversed the house, and went down the steep path, which had seen some of our first walks in the pleasant lanes and meadows of Leigh.
"Only think," I observed after a while, "I have brought the flowers you gave me. They will be quite withered by the time we are home again."
Cornelius stopped abruptly, and held me back.
"Mind that stone," he said, "you might have hurt yourself. Why did you not look before you?"
"Because I feel as if I trod on air," I replied gaily, "and when one feels so, it seems quite ridiculous to trouble one's self with stones, &c. I don't know when I have been in a mood so light and happy. I feel as if this green lane need have no end or turning, and this pleasant day no sunset."
He did not answer. My flights of fancy won no response from his graver mood; the dazzling brightness of the deep blue sky, the green freshness of the fields, seemed lost upon him, lost the charm and sweetness of the day. But even his unusual seriousness could not subdue the buoyancy and life which I felt rising within me. My blood flowed, as it only flows in youth or in spring, light, warm and rapid, making of every sensation a brief delight, of every aspect and change of nature an exquisite enjoyment, tempered with that under-current of subtle pain which runs through over-wrought emotions, and subdues at their very highest pitch the sweetest and purest joys of mortal sense. I walked on, like one in a dream, scarcely heeding where we went. At length Cornelius stopped, and said:
"Shall we not rest here awhile?"
We stood in that green and lonely nook, by the banks of the quiet stream where we had once lingered through the hours of a summer noon. It so chanced that though we had since then often passed by the spot, we had never made it our resting-place. The thought of once more spending here an hour or two was pleasant. I took off my bonnet and suspended it from the branches of the willow; I sat again beneath it; Cornelius unconsciously took the very attitude in which I remembered him--half reclining on the bank, with his brow resting on the palm of his hand. The same bending trees above, with their glimpses of blue sky; the same clear stream flowing on, with its silent world below, and its green wilderness beyond; the same murmur of low and broken sounds around us; the same sweet sense of freshness and solitude made past weeks seem like one unbroken summer day. I felt that sitting there, I could forget how quickly pass on hours, how rapid is the course of time.
"Daisy!" suddenly said Cornelius, looking up, "how is it you do not ask me what I had to tell you last night?"
"I had forgotten all about it," I answered, smiling, "What is it, Cornelius?"
He did not reply at once, but again taking my hands in his, he looked at me so sadly, that my heart sank within me.
"Cornelius," I exclaimed, "you have not news--of--Kate?"
"No," he quickly replied, "I have sad news for you, my poor child; but Kate is well."
"What is it then? What is it, Cornelius? Has she lost her money? Is the house burned down? What is it?"
"Nothing like this, Daisy; you would never guess--1 must tell you. God alone knows how hard I find it. Daisy, we are going to part."
My arms fell down powerless; I did not speak; I did not weep; I was stunned with the blow. An expression full of trouble and remorse passed over his face.
"What have I done?" he exclaimed in an agitated tone, "I wished to spare you until the last moment. Oh! Daisy, for God's sake do not look so."
I felt, and I dare say I looked, almost inanimate. He took me in his arms and bending over me, eagerly begged me to forgive him.
"It was to spare you, my darling," he said, "I was going to tell you last night, but I thought I would let you sleep in peace, and I kept the weary secret to myself, as I have done these three days."
I heard him drearily. It was true then, an actual, dread reality. I summoned strength to ask--
"Why must we part, Cornelius?"
"Why?" he echoed sadly.
"You must not go, I will not let you," I exclaimed passionately, "or if you go, you must take me with you. I have money of my own; I will be no cost to you, but I will not leave you."
He wanted to speak; I laid my hand on his lips.
"I tell you that you must either stay at home or take me with you," I said wilfully, "I too want to see Spain."
"Daisy, I am not going to Spain."
"Where then? To Italy? What for? Who have you left there that is so very dear? Oh! I see! I see! Go, Cornelius, go." And I disengaged myself with wounded pride from the embrace he could find it in his heart to bestow, with that heart full--as I thought in the jealousy of the moment--of another.
"That's right, Daisy!" he replied bitterly, "that's right! Make me feel to the end the fever and torment of the last two months."
"Are you or are you not going away to marry?" I said, confronting him.
"Marry!" he echoed in an impatient and irritated tone, "Marry! I don't think of it."
A load was raised from my heart. I breathed. I again. His marriage was the only evil to which I could see no remedy.
By the fright it had given me, I perceived how much I had dreaded it; but a vague instinct forbade me to show him this. I quickly changed the subject.
"Take me with you," I said entreatingly, "I will give you no trouble."
"Trouble! Oh, that indeed I were going away and you with me," he half groaned. "Blessed would be that trouble; too sweet, too delightful the task of bearing you away, alone with me, to some far land."
"Cornelius," I said, "tell me all at once. Since you are not going away-- what is it?"
"I suppose," he answered after a brief pause, "you know, though you have never alluded to it, that this park before us is your grandfather's; that the house of which we can discern the roof through this grove of elm and beech, is Thornton House. I am taking you there now."
"But I shall go back to Rock Cottage with you?" I exclaimed eagerly. "I shall go to London with you, and live there in the house of Kate. Shall I not?"
He did not answer; but he half averted his troubled face; his gaze shunned mine.
"Cornelius," I said, clinging to him, "I will not go and live with Mr.
Thornton, I will not. I don't love him, and I love you and Kate as my life. He treated me unkindly, and you took me and reared me. Unless you turn me out of your home, I will not leave it for his."
I spoke with passion and vehemence; holding fast to him, as if to brave the power that would seek to divide us.
"Do not speak so wildly," he replied in a soothing tone; "God knows I wish not to compel you--you are free. Daisy."
"Then I stay with you and Kate," I cried throwing my arms around his neck.
"Will you?" he said with a wistful look, and pressing me to his heart for a moment; but the next he put me away with a deep sigh, and added:
"No, Daisy, you cannot, and would not if you could. Do not interrupt me: I have much to say, and I must go far back. You know how your parents married?"