"Why, child," he asked, "what is the matter?"
He did not even know it!
"Does your head ache?" he continued, with the most irritating unconsciousness.
"No, Cornelius," I replied in a low tone.
"Are you feverish, then?" and he felt my pulse.
This time I did not answer.
"Lie down for awhile," he said kindly. He made me sit down on the couch; placed a pillow under my head; told me to sleep, and returned to his easel.
Alas! it was not the sleep of the body that I wanted, but the calm peace which is to the mind what slumber is to the senses. His kindness irritated more than it soothed me. I watched him painting; I saw that the eyes of Medora were going to change their hue, and I remembered the time when Cornelius would not have given a stroke of the pencil, more or less, to please mortal creature. I tossed about restlessly; he heard me, and thinking me unwell, he came to me.
"Poor little thing!" he said compassionately, and stooping, he left a kiss on my forehead; but this pledge of old affection had lost its charm; I felt betrayed, and involuntarily turned away. Cornelius smiled with astonishment.
"Why, what have I done?" he asked, gaily.