He saw the change with wonder and regret. He felt, rather late, that the jealousy of a child was not a matter to be slighted; he tried to reason me out of it; he was kind, severe, and indulgent by turns—uselessly. The mischief was, I could not help loving him more than ever, and, loving him thus, it was impossible I should not be jealous. Once this excessive affection had pleased him, and he had encouraged it injudiciously; it now wearied him—and no wonder; it had become the source of a daily annoyance, paltry yet most irritating.
I remember well one morning. Oh! how those childish incidents have burned themselves into my brain! She had as usual been provoking me by allusions to my pale and sickly aspect, and then by questions so insidiously framed to make me break forth into impertinence or ill-temper, that I would answer her no more. This availed me little.
"Pray let her alone, Miriam," said Cornelius, greatly disgusted, "she is a sulky little thing, unworthy of your notice."
"The poor child would not be so if she were not so unhealthy," kindly observed Miriam.
This was one of the speeches with which she used to sting me; she knew, and I knew too, how much Cornelius admired health, with its fresh aspect and its joyous feelings, in both of which I failed so lamentably.
"You are too good to be always framing excuses for her," replied
Cornelius, with a severe look at me.
"Excuses!" I thought; "yes, it was easy to frame such excuses." But I never replied; I never looked up from my books. I sat at the table by the window, as if I had heard nothing; for this took place in the studio, where Miriam still daily sat for Medora. Towards noon she rose to go.
"Give a look at our little garden first," said Cornelius; then turning to me, he added—"Put on your bonnet and cape—the sun is warm, and the air will do you good."
It was one of the mildest days of early spring. Our garden boasted but few flowers. Cornelius gathered the freshest and fairest for his mistress; but some snowdrops which she admired especially, he did not gather.
"These I cannot give you," he said, "they are Daisy's; the others are
Kate's, and consequently mine."