"Not at all. It mortified me so much I could scarcely do it; but I was never rude to Deborah again."
"How is it I never heard of this story before?"
"I begged of Kate not to tell you. I could not bear that you should think me ungenerous and mean."
"And the moral of all that, Daisy?"
"That it is very mean to be jealous, Cornelius; very mean and ungenerous; and that I hope never to be so again. Do you still think I shall?" I added, glancing up at his face.
"I think," he replied, looking down into mine, "that there is a strange spark of austere ambition in you, strange in one so young: and that what it will lead to is more than I can tell."
"Cornelius, I don't feel ambitious; but I long to be good, and I hope God will help me."
"If that is not ambitious, I don't know anything about it," replied Cornelius; "but it is a very fine ambition, Daisy; and I am glad you have it; ay, and I respect you for it, too!"
I looked up at him, to make sure he did not speak in jest; but he seemed quite grave and in earnest. I felt much relieved; this matter had lain on my heart a year and more, yet I never could have spoken to him, had he not been going away. The passionate wish of making him give me a little more of his regard and esteem had, alone, loosened my tongue, that wish was now more than gratified by his words.
"Oh! Cornelius," I exclaimed, "how good of you not to laugh at me!"
"Poor child, did you expect I should?"
"I feared it."
He was gently reproving me for the fear, when Kate beckoned him in, and held a whispered conversation with him in the passage. Some mystery seemed afloat. I felt uneasy. When I bade Cornelius good-night that evening, he kissed me with a lingering tenderness that troubled me. Was not this, perhaps, a parting embrace? I fancied I detected unusual sadness in his gaze, and heard him suppress a sigh.
I said nothing; but I resolved not to sleep that night, sooner than run the risk of losing the adieu of Cornelius. Soon after I had retired to my room, I heard him and his sister come up too. It was scarcely ten; this unusually early hour confirmed me in my suspicion. I sat up in the dark.
I heard twelve,--then one,--then two; and my power of keeping vigil failed me. Sleep is a pitiless tyrant in youth. I felt my eyes involuntarily closing. I took a resolve that was not without some meaning. I softly stole out of my room, sat down on the mat at the door of Cornelius, and, secure that he could not leave without my knowledge, I soon fell fast asleep. What might have been foreseen, happened: Cornelius, on leaving his room, stumbled over me. I woke; he stooped and picked me up, with a mingled exclamation of wonder and dismay.
"Daisy!" he cried, "are you hurt? What brought you here?"
"I wanted to bid you good-bye. I guessed you were going."
His room door stood half-open, and so did the window beyond it; the morning stirred the white muslin curtains, and early dawn was blushing in the grey sky. Cornelius drew me to that dim light, and gazed at me silently.
"How long have you been there?" he asked.
"Since two; I felt too sleepy to sit up in my own room, and I was so afraid you might go whilst I slept."
"Since two--and it is four! You foolish child! If I wanted to go quietly, it was only to spare your little heart some grief, and your poor eyes some tears."
"Cornelius, I shall not cry now. I shall wait until you are gone for that."
Attracted by the sound of our voices, Kate now opened her room door.
"Daisy?" she exclaimed.
"Yes," replied her brother, "Daisy, who has been sleeping at my door like a faithful watcher. Oh! Kate, you'll take care of her whilst I am away?"
"Yes, yes, of course; but don't stand losing your time there. Come down."
We went downstairs. Cornelius took a hasty meal; then a cab stopped at the door; his luggage was removed to it, and he stood ready to depart.
His sister was to go with him to the station. They thought it better for me to stay behind, and I submitted. I kept my word--I did not cry--I went through the parting courageously. Cornelius seemed much moved. He took me in his arms, and repeatedly he embraced me, repeatedly he pressed me to his heart. He exhorted me to persevere in my studies, to be good and dutiful to Kate. Then he promised to write to me, called me his child, his dear adopted daughter, gave me another kiss, put me away, and departed. I saw him go, I heard the cab rolling down the street, not without sorrow, but without bitterness. To be separated from him was hard, no doubt, but to part with the consciousness of so much affection on his side, with the prospect of a happy re-union, with the conviction that his absence was to open to him a career of fortune and renown, was not a thing that could not be borne. I wept heartily, but I was not unhappy.
In two hours Kate returned; she entered the parlour, sat down, took off her bonnet, and began to cry.
"Well," she said, "he has his wish--he is gone--and how glad, how eager he was to go! Poor boy, he has had a dull, imprisoned life, and liberty is sweet. Besides, it is in their nature; they like to rove, every one of them; they like to rove, and once they are off, mother, sister, or wife may wait."
She cried again, but there never was a more firm, more cheerful nature.
She soon checked her tears, to say, with a sigh,--
"Now Midge, you must help me, for there is a wonderful deal to do. Well, child, don't open your eyes. I forgot I had not told you--we are going to leave."
"To leave!"
"Yes, my child, we must. I had money by me, to be sure; but not enough, and I was not going to let Cornelius travel otherwise than as an Irish gentleman, so I borrowed at interest. He will want for nothing, that is one comfort; but we must pinch, Daisy, and to begin I have let the house furnished to a single gentleman, who comes in next Saturday. He has agreed to keep Deborah, who is now too expensive a servant for me. That is why we must leave."
"Very well," I said, resolutely; "we shall take a little room somewhere, and I'll be your housemaid, Kate."
She smiled, and kissed me.
"Nonsense, child, we are not driven to that yet. You know your father left some property,--very little, it is true, but you will find it safe when you grow up. The house in which he died was his, and is yours now; it has not proved a very valuable possession, for nobody will live in it on account of its being so lone and bleak. Leigh is a cheap place, and you and I, Daisy, are going to Rock Cottage after to-morrow."
"To live in it, Kate?"
"Yes, to live in it. There is nothing to keep me here, once he is gone. I did not tell him this, as you may imagine, so there is no time to lose in packing up. That was what I meant by saying you should help me."
With the courage of a true heart, she rose at once and set to work. I aided her willingly; we made such good despatch, that three days after the departure of Cornelius we had left the Grove and reached Leigh. Miss Murray, with whom Cornelius and Kate had always kept up an occasional correspondence, had, through the medium of Abby, kindly provided our future home with the first necessaries of beds, chairs, and tables; the rest, Kate said, would come in time.
The village through which we passed looked the same quiet place I had left it five years before. Few changes had occurred; the only strangeness was that men and women whose faces I had not forgotten, stared at us, and knew me not.
"How very odd!" I said to Kate, "I am sure that was Mr. Jenning, who keeps the dancing academy. He ought to know me, ought he not, Kate? I was one of his pupils. Papa said I should know how to dance, for that it gave a graceful carriage. I believe he used to dance himself when he was quite a young man, but I never saw him. Do you feel uuwell, Kate?"
She made a sign of denial. I continued--
"Do you see that path, Kate? Well, it leads to my grandfather's house. I wonder if he still lives in it with Mrs. Marks and my cousin Edith! I will show you to-morrow the place where I felt tired, and Cornelius carried me to Ryde. Why, Kate, we need not go on; this is Rock Cottage; I forgot you did not know it."
"Yes, there it stood, the same isolated white-washed, low-roofed dwelling in its lone garden. My tears rushed forth as I saw again the home where I had been reared, and where my father had died. Kate opened the door, but as she crossed the threshold she turned deadly pale, and sank rather than sat in the nearest chair.
"Kate!" I cried, quite alarmed, "what is the matter with you?"
I passed my arm around her neck; she gave me a most sorrowful look, then laid her head on my shoulder, and cried as if her heart would break.
"Oh, Kate!" I said, much distressed, "he has promised to be back in two years, and indeed he will keep his word."
She did not seem to heed me.
"It was here," she murmured, "yes, it was here he died."
This time I looked at her silent and astonished.