I laid my head on his shoulder as I spoke.
"Daisy," he asked, "what have you to say?"
I wept without answering; but saw his eye vainly looking over the table in search of something.
"I have it," I said aloud, "I have it, and I will not give it to you, Cornelius, for you must not, no, you must not go."
"I knew it," he resignedly exclaimed, "I knew it would come to this; and yet," he added, looking down at me rather wistfully, "it is of no use, Daisy; I must go, and I will go too."
"No, Cornelius, you will not; you never could have the heart to do it.
Besides, why go?"
"For change."
"Change! what is change? If I were an artist I would make variety enough in my own mind to be the charm of daily life; and whilst I painted pictures, I would not care a pin for Spain or Italy. If I were an ambitious spirit, I would not go just when my fame was beginning, when glorious prospects were opening before me. If I were a brother, and had a good sister, who loved me dearly, I would not forsake her. If I were a kind-hearted man, and had adopted a poor little orphan girl, reared her, indulged her, made her my friend, and promised not to leave her, I would not break her heart by running away from her; but when she said to me: 'Stay, Cornelius!' I would just give her a kiss, and say: 'Yes, my pet, by all means!'"
But in vain. I looked up into his face; he did not kiss me; he did not call me his pet; his lips never parted to say, "Yes, by all means!" His head was sunk on his bosom; his arms were folded; his downcast look never sought mine. I left my place by him to sit down at his feet and see him better. I read sorrow on his face, great sorrow, but no change of purpose. I took one of his hands in mine, and gazing at him through gathering tears:
"Cornelius," I said, "are you still going?"
He did not reply.
"Are you still going?" I asked, laying my head on his knee.
He remained silent.
"Are you still going?" I persisted, rising as I spoke, and pressing my lips to his cheek. He never moved; he never answered. The blood rushed to my heart with passionate force. I threw back rather than dropped his hand; I stepped away from him with wounded and indignant pride. "Go then!" I exclaimed, with angry tears, "go, here is your passport; take it and with it take back your broken promise and friendship betrayed."
"Betrayed!" he echoed, looking up.
"Yes, betrayed; I do not retract the word. Want of confidence is treason in friendship, and you have had no confidence in me--why in this house, where as a child I had obeyed you, and could have obeyed you all my life, why did you of your own accord raise me to an equality which was my boast and my pride, when in your heart you meant to treat me as a child to be cheated into a parting? You gave me an empty name; I will have the reality or I will have nothing, Cornelius."
I turned away from him as I spoke; he rose and followed me.
"Daisy," he said, "what do you mean?"
I looked round at him over my shoulder, and replied, reproachfully:
"I mean that you do not care for me."
"I do not care for you!"
"No; you have secrets from me; William never had any secrets; he liked me more than you do, Cornelius."
An expression of so much pain passed across his face, that I repented at once.
"You cannot believe that?" he replied at length; "you would not say it if you were not very angry with me, Daisy, and yet you know, oh! you know well enough I cannot bear your anger."
"Can't you bear it, Cornelius?" I answered turning round to face him, "then don't go; for if you do, I shall be so angry--indeed, you can have no idea of it!"
"None, whilst you speak and look so very unlike anger. Oh, Daisy! which is easier: to part from you in wrath or in peace?"
"Why part at all? why go?" I replied passing my arm within his, and looking up at his bending face in which I read signs of yielding.
"Why remain?"
"Because I wish it," I said, making him sit down.
"Is that a reason?"
"The best of all--for it will make you stay."
He did not say yes; but then, he did not say no.
"Stay! stay!" he repeated with an impatient sigh. "What for? You do not want me."
"Indeed, I do," I replied, triumphantly, "I want you much, very much, just now."
"What for?"
"To advise me about Mr. Thornton."
"Ah! what of him?" exclaimed Cornelius, with a sudden start.
"Nothing," I replied, sorry to have said so much.
He gave me a look beneath which I felt myself reddening.
"He too!" he said, biting his lip and folding his arms like one amazed, "he too! And I was going, actually going, actually leaving you to him."
He laughed indignantly and rose; I eagerly caught hold of his arm.
"Oh, I am not going," he exclaimed impetuously, throwing down his hat as he spoke. "Catch me going now. No, Daisy," he added, resuming his place by me, and laying his hand on my arm as he bent on me a fixed and resolute look, "though I was fool enough to let him have the picture, he shall not find it quite so easy to get the original."
"Oh, Cornelius!" I exclaimed, feeling ready to cry with vexation and shame, "that is not at all what I mean."
"Another," he continued with ill-repressed irritation, "it is the strangest thing, that young or old, boys in experience, or worn and wearied with the world, they all want you."
"Cornelius, how can you talk so! it is Mrs. Langton whom Mr. Thornton likes."
"Mrs. Langton!"
"Yes, Mrs. Langton, the great beauty."
"So much the better," he replied with a scornful and incredulous laugh, "for he shall not have you, Daisy."
"He does not want me," I said desperately; "but if he did, it would be time lost. For I am sure I don't want him."