CHAPTER VII.

I awoke the next morning with a severe headache; I rose and came down as usual, thinking to hide it; scarcely, however, had I entered the front parlour, when Cornelius asked what ailed me. "Only a headache," I replied, carelessly; but he seemed filled with concern. He made me return to my room where I slept for a few hours, but without feeling any better; I then again went down to the parlour and lay on the sofa. Cornelius, who according to his sister had gone up to listen at my door every ten minutes--sat by me holding my hand.

"How feverish she is!" he said to Kate.

"There is twice as much fever in your blood as in that of Daisy," decisively replied Miss O'Reilly.

"Don't be alarmed, Cornelius," I said quietly, "I do not feel as if I should realize the prediction of Dr. Mixton just yet."

"Don't talk of that madman," exclaimed Cornelius, with a troubled face, "he was mad; only fit for Bedlam."

"It came into my head by chance, and, as one thought leads to another, I thought, if I were going to die, I should ask two things of Cornelius. That if he married and had daughters, he should call one of them Daisy. Thus there would ever be something in his home to remind him of me; also to bury me here at Leigh--"

"Daisy, Daisy!" almost angrily interrupted Cornelius, "what do you mean? I am not going to marry and have daughters; and to think of you as pale and inanimate with the cold earth above you, is a sickening thought."

He looked quite pale. I saw there was a deep and secret fear at his heart, and indeed he showed it sufficiently; for as the day advanced and my headache still continued to trouble me, he insisted, spite of my entreaties and those of Kate, on going himself for a physician who resided several miles off. I was touched to the heart by this proof of a love so vigilant.

"How kind he is," I said to Kate.

"Kind! why surely child, you can see that he doats on you! Is he not making a fool of himself, just because your head aches? Would he not go distracted if anything were to happen to you? Oh, Midge! Midge!" she added, with a half-stifled sigh, "don't you see you are the apple of his eye?"

As the heat of the day subsided, I felt suddenly better. The fresh sea- breeze could only do me good, so I went and sat on the bench at the end of the garden, there to watch for the return of Cornelius whose road home lay along the wide sweep of beach beneath me. For a long time I watched in vain; at length I perceived a man's form slowly descending the cliffs; I hastened in for my bonnet and scarf, and merely saying to Kate:

"I see him coming," as I passed the parlour door, I was gone before she could open her lips to object. When I reached the sands, I looked in vain for Cornelius. I walked on, thinking he had seen me coming and stood concealed in a cleft of the rocks, but my look searched every one of their dark recesses, and nowhere could discover a token of his presence. It was late, though the singular clearness of the air which prevails by the sea-side, gave more light than belonged to the hour. I resolved to go no further, but to give one more look and return. I climbed up a heap of fallen rocks, and slowly began to scan the whole coast; it looked silent and lonely in the pale light of a rising moon. I was preparing to descend from my post of observation, when I started to perceive a shadow near mine. I looked up and saw William Murray.

"William!" I exclaimed, delighted, "William Murray! Oh, how glad I am to see you again."

He did not speak, but he took and held both my hands in his, and pressed them warmly, looking down at me with a happy, smiling face.

"God bless you!" he said, "God bless you, Daisy! I thought I should never see you again."

"Why so, William?" I asked, sitting down on a rock and making him sit down by me.

He hesitated as he replied:

"Don't you know?"

"O, William, what is it? You make my heart beat."

"Why we have been wrecked in the Mediterranean. I am sorry to tell you so abruptly; I thought you knew."

He was safe before me; but we feel even the past perils of those we love. I felt myself turning faint and pale. William seemed much moved; he assured me that the danger had not been so very great, though in the hour of peril he had indeed thought of me as of one he should see no more.

"Oh, William!" I said, looking up, and allowing him again to take my hands in his, "will you not leave that perilous life, and that dangerous sea?"

"I cannot, Daisy; why I am only here for two days; I shall not see much of you before I am off again."

"For long?"

"A year," he replied, sighing.

"How long have you been back?"

"Two hours."

"Why did you not come to me at once?"

"Why did I wander up and down here, but to get a sight of you?"

"Then it was you I took for Cornelius. You know he is come back. Oh, William! you must call on us and see him. How much you will like him!"

"And how fond you are of him, Daisy, said William, in a low tone.

"Why, of course, I am; and he deserves it."

"Ay, that he does," he warmly replied. "You know, Daisy, I always said he was a good man."

"He is a good man, for he does good actions, and never seems to know it. He is a great man--for he has genius, which is a great gift; and," I added, with a smile, "he is a handsome man, too, William."

"There are some very fine men amongst those Irish," gravely replied William; "and they wear well too. There's our captain--Captain MacMahon-- who is upwards of fifty, but the most splendid fellow I ever saw--six foot six: then such shoulders and such lungs. He does not roar like Johnstone, or scream like Philipps; but he just opens his mouth, and lets his voice out as it were. Then his fists--you should see his fists, Daisy!"

I was much amused, and replied:

"I fear Cornelius is not quite equal to Captain MacMahon, yet I think you will like him, William."

"This is the second time you say so."

"Because I know it--just as I know that he will be delighted with you."

William gave me a look, half shy, half pleased, and muttered something that sounded very like:

"Did _I_ care for him?"

"No," I replied, amused at the question, "not at all. How can I care for a friend who leaves me to go and get wrecked?"

"Not at all, Daisy," he echoed; "not at all."

He stooped, and looked very eagerly into my face. I drew back with a laugh that was checked by a voice observing behind me:

"Daisy, what are you doing here at this hour?"

I turned round--it was Cornelius. The moonlight fell full on his pale and angry face. I rose, without answering; 1 felt--and, no doubt, I looked-- like a culprit. He gave me a glance in which sadness and severity blended: then, as it taking pity on my confusion, he silently held out his arm to me. As I took it, I attempted a justification, and said:

"I took William for you, Cornelius, and came out to meet you. He is Miss Murray's nephew, you know, and I had not seen him for months. Did you come for me from home? I am sorry--very sorry, Cornelius."

I sought his look, but vainly; it was fastened on William, who had risen, and now stood before us. Cornelius eyed him from head to foot, with a keen and scrutinising gaze, which the young man returned. Neither spoke-- there was an evident want of cordiality in the silent glances they exchanged. I began to feel uncomfortable; my sense of uneasiness increased when Cornelius turned towards me, and said coldly:

"I am sorry to hurry you away, Daisy, but Kate is very anxious."

And without taking the least notice of William, or seeming to think that I could have another word to say to him, he made me turn homewards. I felt so disconcerted at his displeasure, that I neither opened my lips, nor attempted to resist; but, when we had walked on together for a few minute, I gathered courage to say:

"I must go back to bid him good evening, Cornelius."

I disengaged my arm from his, and lightly ran back to the spot where we had left William, and where he still stood looking after us with folded arms.

"Good night, William," I said, holding out my hand.

He did not take it, but replied in a tone overflowing with reproach:

"Why did you deceive me, Daisy?"

"Deceive you, William!"

"Why did you pretend to care for me when you are so wrapped up in another, that, from the moment he comes up, you have neither speech nor look for me?"

"I have left him to come and bid you good night, and by way of thanks, you accuse me of deceiving you. How, and about what?"

"What do you call speaking of him as if he were your grandfather, when I don't believe he is a bit older than I am?"

"He is twenty-seven. But what about his age?"

"I don't care about his age, nor about his looks either," replied William, with a scornful laugh. "You may think him handsome if you like-- I do not."

I felt offended, and replied, shortly:

"I never told you Cornelius was old. It was you chose to compare an elegant young man, of twenty-seven, to a coarse sea-captain of fifty, not I. I might add that your remarks are very childish, but I do not want to speak unkindly. Good night, William. I trust that when I come here to- morrow morning, I shall find you in a better temper."

I turned away; he followed me.

"Will you really come?" he asked, submissively.

I replied,

"Yes," and hastened away to join Cornelius, who was coming to meet me with a face so overcast, that I saw I was again at fault.

"I am so sorry to have brought you back!" I said, forestalling accusation. "I thought you would go on."

Cornelius stopped short--we were once more walking homewards--to give me an amazed look, and say in a half indignant tone:

"Go on, and leave you alone at this hour with a strange young man!"

"He is not strange," I replied, feeling the blush he could not see; "I have known him since we were both children; and Kate can tell you he is only a boy."

"A boy scarcely younger than I am," pointedly replied Cornelius.

I thought it odd that both he and William should come to conclusions so similar with regard to their respective ages, but I did not venture to reply. Not another word was spoken until we reached the foot of the cliff on which rose our home; then, from the garden above was heard the anxious voice of Kate, exclaiming:

"Have you found her, Cornelius?"

"Yes," he replied, "she is quite safe."

I was dismayed at this proof of the uneasiness I had made them feel. Kate received me very sharply. "I am astonished at you," she said, "to choose the very moment when you are troubled with a headache, and Cornelius is gone for the physician, to run down to the sands!"

"You know, Kate, I was better; besides I thought I saw him coming, and went to meet him; but it proved to be William Murray."

"The young bear--what brought him back?"

"He has been wrecked."

"Nonsense! wrecked! he has been spinning a yarn to you, Daisy."

"I never yet knew William to tell an untruth," I replied, a little indignantly.

"Truth or not, were you to make us anxious just to listen to the stories of that boy. Cornelius has come back from Italy with banditti notions; and he would have it that some ill-looking fellows, whom he met as he was going, had lingered on the beach until dusk to waylay you. So off he ran like a madman. Look at him. See how pale he is still!"

Cornelius, who had lingered behind, entered the parlour as his sister spoke; my heart smote me to see that he was deadly pale. He sat down by the table, leaned his elbow upon it, and rested his brow on the palm of his hand, so that his face was shaded from the light.

"Cornelius, what ails you?" asked Kate.

"I am tired," he answered, without looking up.

"Dr. Reeves was out, so I went for Dr. Simpson."

"Why that is three miles further off."

"Just so, that is what tired me. He too was out."

Kate gave me a reproachful look; but indeed there was no need; my conscience troubled me sorely for the heedlessness which had added unnecessary fatigue and alarm to that his ardent affection had already caused him to undergo for my sake. I longed to make some atonement; to offer some explanation; but he gave me no opportunity; he left early, and it was only by his not coming down again, that we knew he had left us for the evening.

In appointing to meet William on the sands the following morning, I had not reflected how difficult it would be for me to do so. I turned the subject over and over, and at length resolved to speak to Cornelius. He behaved to me at breakfast as if nothing had occurred; and when we both entered the little studio as usual, his face, though more serious than in the presence of Kate, expressed nothing like displeasure. In whose kindness and indulgence could I confide, if not in his? I hoped he would open the conversation, but, as he did not, I resolved to speak. I went up to his chair, and leaning upon it, said in a low tone:

"Cornelius."

"Well, Daisy," he replied, looking round.

"May I say something to you? But pray," I quickly added, "pray, do not be vexed; promise that you will not."

"Daisy!" exclaimed Cornelius, giving me a troubled look.

"Well, then, promise nothing. I will trust to your indulgence. I can bear that you should reprove me, but I could not bear to deceive you."

He took my hand in his, and, bending on me a look so keen that I began to feel disconcerted, he said slowly:

"What do you mean?"

I did not answer.

"What do you mean?" he said, his voice rising.

"Well then!" I exclaimed a little desperately, "I mean that I have made an appointment with William, and that I want your permission to keep it."

Cornelius dropped my hand, and looked petrified.

"You have made an appointment with that young man!" he said at length.

"Yes, Cornelius."

"And you come and tell it to me."

"Oh, Cornelius, would you have me keep it a secret?"

"But to tell it to _me_."

"To whom else should I tell it?"

"But to ask _me_ to let you keep it."

"Of whom else should I ask it?"

He seemed unable to reply. He looked at me; but no words passed his trembling lips. I began to feel hurt and dismayed at the manner in which he received my confidence. At length, he said, with forced calmness:--

"This is some mistake of mine; I have misunderstood you, Daisy. You cannot have meant to say that you had appointed a meeting with the young man I saw with you last night."

"That was my meaning, Cornelius," I replied, firmly.

"You confirm it," he replied, turning pale; "and I, who, after a night of tormenting thought, came down this morning, not knowing how to question you. Oh, Daisy!"

There was agitation in his look and in his voice.

"Cornelius," I said, with some emotion, "if I have made an appointment with William, where is the harm? It is not the first time I have done so."

"Not the first time!"

"No, nor the second, nor the third. We have been attached since Kate brought me to Leigh; and before William went to sea, there scarcely passed a day but we met somewhere."

"And I have been away two years!" said Cornelius, in a low tone. "Not a day but you met somewhere!"

"Yes, on the downs, or on the beach, where you found me last night, and where I had promised to meet him this morning."

Cornelius turned on me with flashing eyes.

"Unhappy child!" he exclaimed, "what do you mean by telling me all this? What have you been doing in my absence? What sort of a watch has Kate kept over the young girl I left to her care? What sense of honour has he who took so shameless an advantage of your ignorance, but who shall account to me for it yet?"

He rose; his brow was stern; his face was pale. Half wild with terror, I threw my arms around his neck, and detained him.

"It was my fault!" I exclaimed, eagerly; "all my fault--resent it upon me."

"And what can I do to you?" answered Cornelius, looking down at me with strange anger and tenderness in his gaze; "what can I do to you?"

"Hear me," I entreated, weeping.

He sat down again, subdued at once by the sight of my tears, and said he would listen patiently.

"William," I began.

"Why speak of him?" he interrupted, with a clouded brow.

"You have accused him; I must justify him, or bear my share of the blame."

"Blame!" sorrowfully echoed Cornelius; "why should I blame you? I was away, and Kate was negligent, and another was there; it was natural, very natural."

Encouraged by the gentleness of his tone, I stooped, and pressing my lips to his cheek, I said, in my most persuasive accents:--

"May I keep my appointment, Cornelius?"

He turned upon me a flushed and troubled face.

"I have heard of strange, tormenting things," he said, between his set teeth; "but I vow I never heard of anything to equal this. My God!" he added, pressing me to him with strange and sudden passion, "what can you want with that young man?"

His look felt like fire; I bowed my face before its wrath. When I spoke, it was to say, in a faltering tone:--

"Cornelius, you are angry again; yet all I want is not to make William wait."

"But what do you want with him?--What can you want with him?" desperately asked Cornelius.

"He was so unreasonable; he said I did not care for him; and indeed, Cornelius, that was a great mistake of his. All I want is to speak to him a few minutes, and make him hear sense."

"Oh, Daisy!" exclaimed Cornelius, with ill repressed anger, "is it possible you do not understand that it is not becoming for a young girl to go and meet a young man in a lonely place?"

"Then forbid me to go!" I exclaimed, eagerly; "forbid me, that I may assure William if I broke my word to him, it was to obey you."

Cornelius turned very pale; he rose, and said, in a moved and broken tone:--

"I am no tyrant. I do not forbid you to go. I claim no control over your feelings or actions. Go, and stay at your pleasure."

Without giving me another look, he turned to his easel. I sat down in the attitude of the young girl reading; but, though every now and then I stole up a look from the open book on mv lap, I never could catch his eye. I felt this keenly; for if there was a thing which Cornelius had of late done more than another, it was to look into my face; and, oh! how kindly he ever looked! At length, I could bear it no longer. I rose, and went up to where he stood painting. He never even glanced around. The calm expostulation with which I had thought to address him, faded from my memory. With involuntary emotion, I sank down at his feet, and, seizing his hand, I exclaimed, with something like passion:--

"Blame me! but look at me, Cornelius; say what you will, but look at me."

"Are you mad?" he cried reddening indignantly and forcibly raising me from the ground. "What do you, what can you mean by kneeling to me? Oh, Daisy!" he added with keen reproach, "I would rather you had struck me than you had done that."

I stood by him silent and ashamed.

"To kneel to me!" he resumed, as if he could not get over it. "For man to kneel to woman may be folly, but at least it is the voluntary submission of strength; but for woman to kneel to man--what is it--save the painful submission of weakness. If you have any regard for me, if you care for me, never do that again."

I promised I would not, then added:

"Have you forgiven me, Cornelius?"

"What have I to forgive?"

"You know--I do not."

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.

"Yes," I answered, "all--anything you like, Cornelius."

I trembled--for my blood rushed to my heart with something like pain and gladness blending in its rapid flow; but he only saw the tears which covered my face, and he exclaimed, with reproachful tenderness:

"You weep because I ask you to give up a childish past, which, childish as it is, I would give anything to annihilate. Oh! Daisy, Daisy!"

At once I checked my tears. He saw the effort, and, stooping, he pressed a long and lingering kiss on my brow.

"Oh! my darling!" he said, ardently, "do not regret it so much. If I will share your friendship with none, is it not because I mean to take on myself the exclusive care of your happiness? Trust in me--in that feeling be a child again. Alas! I sometimes fear that the calmness and serenity of childhood are not merely in your years, but also in your nature. Oh! if, without adding one day to your existence--one dark page to your experience--I could change this!"

I tried to smile, but I could not--I felt languid and wretched. My heart ached at what I had done--at William, given up so utterly, with scarcely a cause assigned. I wondered if Cornelius, knowing all, would have exacted the same sacrifice. Once or twice I tried to bring the discourse round to the point I wished; but he shunned this so carefully, that at length my eyes opened: Cornelius wished to know nothing. From that moment I was silent and resigned.

If endearing language, and every proof of an ardent affection, could have consoled me, I need not have grieved: but even sitting by Cornelius--- even listening to him--I was haunted by the image of William vainly waiting for me at the old meeting-place. I heard his voice reproachfully exclaiming--now, alas! with how much truth--"You have deceived me!"

In the course of the day, we received an invitation to take tea with Miss Murray, in honour of her nephew's return. I said I could not go, and Kate, with a smile, replied she would sacrifice herself, and allow Cornelius to remain and keep me company. We spent a quiet evening together. My head again ached slightly; I was glad of the pretence to lie on the sofa with closed eyes. Cornelius sat by me, holding my hand in his, and thus his sister found us on her return. She looked at us with a pleased face, and said it was well to be a spoiled child like me.

"By the bye," she carelessly added, "William Murray is as great a bear as ever. He had been out all day, and looked, when he came in, as if he longed to knock me down."

I think I replied, "Indeed." I know that soon after this I went up to my room, there to learn what new pangs can give to grief, and what new bitterness to tears--the sense of an affection betrayed.