anxious to convince him, and resumed—

"Cornelius, do you remember how insolent I was when papa lived?—how rude I showed myself to you when you came to see him?—how over-bearing to the servants?"

"You were a spoiled child, certainly; but you have got over that."

"I think I have, Cornelius. When I came here, I was rude to Deborah, who was good enough to bear with it for a long time; but one day Kate heard me, and she told me she thought it very mean and ungenerous to be rude to servants. She said she would not enjoin on me to apologize to Deborah; but she hoped that, for my own sake, I would do so. The next day I went down into the kitchen, and asked Deborah to forgive me."

"How did you like that?" asked Cornelius giving me a curious look.

"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,