I said nothing; but Cornelius could feel me, for I felt myself, trembling from head to foot; there were dews on my brow, and a death-like chill had seized my heart; for a moment the inward struggle, "I cannot leave him,"--"thou must," seemed like what we imagine of the spirit torn from the flesh; as bitter and as brief. I submitted silently; but Cornelius required not speech to know it. For a moment he turned pale; for a moment his lips parted, as if to detain me; but he checked the impulse, and said not a word.
I could not weep now; my grief was too bitter. I knew I was turning away from the warmth of my life, to enter a barren, sunless region; and I already felt upon me its desolateness and its gloom. The sacrifice was made; but in no humble, no resigned spirit. My whole being revolted against it with mute and powerless resentment. A captive in the subtle net of fate, I felt as if I could have struggled, even unto death, against those slender bonds which I did not dare to break. Cornelius watched me silently, and read on my face what was passing within me.
"Daisy," he said, in a low, sad tone, "remember we are not men or women until our hearts are mastered, until our passions--ay, the best and purest--lie subdued."
The words subdued my resentful mood to a sorrow more tender and holy. My burden was heavy, but was it more than I could bear? Daughter of the cross, should I dare to repine? I yielded; I tasted the bitter joy which those who bravely drain the cup of sacrifice find in its dregs--a strange sort of sweetness, to be felt, not described, and, alas! not to be envied.
"Cornelius!" I replied, and my faltering voice grew more firm as I uttered his name--"Cornelius, I am willing. Your word shall be redeemed!"
I was going to rise, but lightly resting his hand on my shoulder, he detained me. He stooped, and laid his lips on my brow. He did not say so, but I knew that this was his farewell kiss--the seal set on the love, care, and tenderness of years. The embrace lasted a moment only; the next he had risen. I rose too; I tied my bonnet-strings; he helped me to wrap my scarf around me: mechanically I picked up the flowers he had given me; then silently took his arm, and left the spot where I had decided my destiny.
CHAPTER X.
To reach Thornton House, we had to follow the windings of the stream for some time; cross a one-arched bridge that spanned it, then enter the solitary path that led to the old lodge and iron gate. We had not far to go, but my heart seemed to sink with every step I took; as I perceived the dark trees of the park rising before us, a sudden faintness seized me. I stopped short, and laying my head on the shoulder of Cornelius, I said:
"Let me cry before you give me up, Cornelius; let me cry--or my heart will break."
"I give you up!" he echoed, his eyes kindling, "no mortal man shall make me do that, Daisy. I shall redeem my word by taking you to your grandfather; but from the moment I leave Thornton House, my mind shall have but one thought, my will but one aim: to get you back."
Struck with his defiant tone, I raised my head, and checking my tears, drew back to see him better. He met my look firmly.
"It is fair play," he said, "so long as you are mine, I will not break my pledge by breathing a word to keep or secure you--even with you for the stakes, I would scorn to cheat--but once he fancies you his, I say you are mine, to win if I can. He may guard you as jealously as ever a Turk his Sultana--I shall still outwit and defy him--cost me what it will-- come what may--I will have you back again."
A slight frown knit his brow; his brown eyes were bent on me, with a look both ardent and resolute; there was will and confidence in the smile which curled his lip, and power and daring in his mien.
"Cornelius," I said a little startled, "how will you do it?"
"Leave that to me, Daisy."
"Then, if this is no parting after all," I observed rather perplexed, "why were you so grieved, and why have you let me grieve, Cornelius?"
His face fell. He sighed profoundly.
"Why?" he said, "why? because, alas! my own will cannot do all. Oh, Daisy! I dread you. I dread you deeply! What avails it to me that I may prevail against others, when with a word you can render me powerless?"
He gave me a look of mingled anxiety and doubt. I wanted him to explain himself; but he would not go beyond saying that on me it all depended; an assertion which he repeated with a sigh. I believed him, and passed from grief to sudden gladness.
"Then consider it settled," I said laughing joyously. "I am not leaving you, Cornelius. I am going on a week's visit or so to my good grandpapa.
Tell Johnstone to send me only the little black trunk, but to put my work in it. I want to have it ready for Kate."
We were standing in the path. Cornelius looked down, with a fond yet troubled smile, into my upraised face.
"Go on!" he observed, "it sounds too delightful to be true. It is but a dream which the first rude touch of reality will dispel; and yet I like to delude myself and listen; go on!"
I did go on, laughing at his credulity.
"You must write to Kate," I observed, "and tell her that you are waiting for me. I shall not keep you long; just a week for form's sake."
"God grant it," he replied fervently; and we resumed our walk.
We found Thornton House as gloomy and neglected as ever. The court was overgrown with grass and weeds; the fountain was still a ruin; the ivy grew thick and dark on the walls, and the yews and cypresses behind only looked more sombre and melancholy for rising, as they did now, in the gay sunlight.
When Cornelius knocked at the door, I seemed to expect that the little servant would again open and attempt to oppose our entrance; but, in her stead, a tall, straight housemaid appeared in the gloomy aperture; and, on hearing the name of Cornelius, showed us at once into the same room where, seven years before, we had been ushered by her predecessor. And there, too, surrounded by his books, his papers, maps, globes, stuffed animals, insects, geological specimens, shells, and scientific instruments, we found my grandfather, seated in his arm-chair and unchanged, save for a few more wrinkles.
Mr. Thornton received us with abrupt courtesy. When the preliminary greetings had been exchanged, he gave me a sharp look, and startled me with the remark addressed to Cornelius--
"They are not at all alike."
Implying, I supposed, that my former and my present self were two individuals.
"Not at all," replied Cornelius, who had the faculty of entering at once into the peculiarities of those with whom he conversed.
"Of course you are sure it is the right one," suggested Mr. Thornton.
"Quite sure."
"She has grown," was the next observation of my grandfather; as if the fact astonished him.
Cornelius did not answer. My heart sank to see him rise; he laid his hand on my arm, and said gravely--
"Sir, four years ago, I pledged my word that whenever you wished for this young girl, you should have her. Here she is. I have kept my word."
"And mean to keep it still?" hinted Mr. Thornton, darting a quick and piercing look from me to him.
Cornelius reddened, and replied shortly--
"It is kept, Sir."
"And the future may shift for itself. Humph! Well, I suppose you are glad enough to be rid of her! I remember you found her in the way four years ago. So, fancying she would still be more inconvenient as she grew up, I thought I would relieve you from her altogether."
He spoke with ironical politeness. Cornelius gave him a defiant look-- which Mr. Thornton received with evident amusement--then he turned to me, glanced at me significantly, pressed my hand, bade me a quiet adieu, bowed haughtily to my grandfather, and was gone. I felt confident that this parting was but to lead to a pleasanter reunion, and yet life is so uncertain--its unhappy chances so often outweigh the more fortunate, that I grew sad, spite of all my confident hopes.
"Humph!" said Mr. Thornton, looking at me from under his shaggy eyebrows.
"Don't you want to go up to your room?" he added, abruptly.
"I should like it," I replied, not much pleased with his manner.
He rang. A tall, straight housemaid appeared.
"Marks!" said Mr. Thornton, briefly.
"Please, Sir!"
"Mrs. Marks, you fool! Well, why do you stare?"