A little reluctantly he sat down by her, but said he must return to his work at three.
It was a sketch, which he wanted for the foreground of Medora, that Cornelius could not find. We had vainly looked for it the whole morning. I thought I would have another search. A deep shelf, well stored with art-rubbish, ran round the room. Unperceived by Cornelius, I got up on the table, reached down an old portfolio, opened it, and found at once the missing sketch. Overjoyed at my success, I stepped down too hastily; my foot slipped, I fell; in no time Cornelius had picked me up.
"Are you hurt?" he cried, in great alarm.
I was too much stunned to reply at first; when I could speak, my first words were—
"Here it is, Cornelius!"
I picked up the sketch from where it had fallen, showed it to him, and enjoyed his surprise.
"Oh! you naughty child!" he said, with kind reproof. He sat down again on the couch, made me sit by him, and tenderly pressed his lips on my brow.
"I should suggest brown paper and vinegar for a bruise," observed the chilling voice of Miriam.
"Are you bruised, my darling?" anxiously asked Cornelius.
I laughed, and kissed him. He turned towards Miriam, smiled, and with the generous and imprudent candour of his character, he said—