"I can give you no hope," said the physician, for such even then I knew him to be: "it will end in a decline."
"Oh! doctor," entreated Cornelius, "she is so young, scarcely twelve."
"My dear Sir, we do not work miracles, and those excitable children—"
"But my poor little Daisy is so quiet," interrupted Cornelius; "you never knew such a quiet child; she will sit still for hours whilst I am drawing or painting. Indeed, Sir," he added, giving the doctor an appealing look, "she is the quietest little creature breathing."
"Well, Sir," replied the physician, "I will not say that she cannot outlive this, but she is too slight, too delicate for me to hold out much hope for the future."
He left. When he was gone Cornelius bent over me. "My poor little Daisy," he said, in a low, sad tone,—"my poor little Daisy, I did not think you would wither so very early."
Two hot tears fell on my face.
"Mr. O'Reilly," said a sweet voice behind him, "the child will live, you love her too much, she cannot die."
I looked languidly through my half-closed eyes. Miriam stood by Cornelius; she had placed her hand on his shoulder; he sat half turned round gazing at her with astonishment. She smiled and continued—
"My child was given up three times; but I loved her; I would not let her go; she stayed with me; your child too shall stay."