Daisy Burns Volume I Part 9

Thornton.

"Surely, Sir," remonstrated Cornelius, "the poor child is to be educated?"

"Sir, she is not to be a fine lady."

"Allow me to observe--"

"Sir, I will allow you to take her away and do what you like with her; but not to observe."

"I take you at your word," warmly replied Cornelius, on whom Mr. Thornton bestowed an astonished look; "take her I will, and educate her too. It would be strange if I could not do for her father's child what that father did for me! I thank you, Sir, for that which brought me here, but which I scarcely knew how to ask for."

My grandfather looked at me, and made an odd grimace, as if not considering me a particularly valuable present. Still, and though taken at his word, he seemed scarcely pleased.

"Well," he said at length, "be it so. I certainly do not care much about the child myself, not being able to forget where that face of hers came from--you do; you want to make a penniless lady of her; she wants to go with you: have both your wish. If she should prove troublesome or in the way, send her back to me, or, in my absence, to Mrs. Marks. You distinctly understand that I am willing to provide for her; though, I suppose," he added, looking at Cornelius, "I must not propose--"

"No, Sir," gravely interrupted the young man.

"Very well; provide for her too, since such is your fancy. Take her; you are welcome to her."

And thus it was decided; and in less than a quarter of an hour we had not only left Thornton House, but the surly porter at the lodge had closed his iron gates upon us, and we were on our way to Ryde, whence Cornelius wished to proceed to London, straight on, that same evening.

After walking on for awhile in utter silence, Cornelius said to me--

"Are you tired. Margaret?"

"Oh no!" I answered eagerly.

Indeed the question seemed to take away my sense of fatigue. For some time, the fear of being left behind lent me fict.i.tious strength; but at length my sore and weary feet could carry me no further; in the wildest and most desolate part of the road I was obliged to stop short.

"What is the matter?" asked Cornelius.

"I can't go on," I replied, despondingly.

"Can't you, indeed?"

"No," I said, sitting down on a milestone, and feeling ready to cry, "I can't at all."

"Well, then, if you can't at all," coolly observed Cornelius, "I must carry you."

"I am very heavy!" I objected, astonished at the suggestion.

He laughed, and attempted to lift me up, but I resisted.

"Oh! it will fatigue you so!" I said.

"No, nature has given me such extraordinary strength that I can bear without fatigue burdens--like you, for instance--beneath which other men would sink."

He raised me with an ease that justified his a.s.sertion. I clasped my arms around his neck, rested my head on his shoulder, and feeling how firm and secure was his hold, I yielded with a pleasurable sensation to a mode of conveyance which I found both novel and luxurious. I could not however help asking once, with lingering uneasiness, "If he did not feel tired?"

"No; strange to say, and heavy as you are, I do not: but why do you s.h.i.+ver? Are you cold?"

"No, thank you," I replied, but my teeth chattered as I spoke.

"I hope it is nothing worse than cold," uneasily observed Cornelius, stopping short; "undo the clasp of my cloak, and bring it around you."

I obeyed; he helped to wrap me up in the warm and ample folds, and we resumed our journey, a moment interrupted. He walked fast; we soon reached Ryde; but he would not let me come to light until we were safely housed. I heard a staid voice observing--

"Your carpet-bag. I presume, Sir. It will be quite safe here."

"It is not a carpet-bag," replied Cornelius, unwrapping me, and depositing me in a small ill-lit back parlour, with a grim landlady looking on.

"Your carpet-bag will be quite safe here," she resumed.

"I have none." She looked aghast. A little girl, and no carpet-bag!

"Yours, Sir, I presume?" she steadily observed.

"Mine!" echoed Cornelius, reddening, "no."

"Your sister, I presume, Sir?" persisted the landlady.

"She is no relative," he shortly answered; then, without heeding her, he felt my forehead, took my hand, said both were burning; looked at his watch, pondered, and finally startled the landlady--who had remained in the room taciturn and suspicious--with the abrupt query--

"Is there a medical man about here, Ma'am?"

"There is Mr. Wood."

"Be so kind as to send for him; I fear this child is ill."

She looked mistrustful, but complied with the request, and in about ten minutes returned with a sleek little man in black, who bowed himself into the room, peeped at my tongue, held my wrist delicately suspended between his thumb and forefinger, then for the s.p.a.ce of a minute looked intently at the ceiling, with his right eye firmly shut, and his tongue shrewdly screwed in the left corner of his mouth. At length he dropped my hand, opened his eye, put in his tongue, and gravely said:

"The young lady is only a little feverish."

"You are quite sure it is nothing worse?" observed Cornelius, seeming much relieved.

"Quite sure," decisively replied Mr. Wood; "but concerning the young lady--not your daughter, Sir?"

"No!" was the indignant answer.

"Concerning this young lady," placidly resumed Mr. Wood, "I wish to observe that she is of an excitable temperament, requiring--Not your sister?" he added, again breaking off into an inquiry.

"No, Sir," impatiently replied Cornelius.

"Of an excitable temperament, requiring gentle exercise, indulgence, little study, and none of those violent emotions," (here he held up his forefinger in solemn warning,) "none of those violent emotions which sap the springs of life in the youthful being. Not your ward?" he observed, with another negative inquiry.

"No!--Yes!" hesitatingly said Cornelius.

"In the youthful being--" again began Mr. Wood.