"Thank God! I was so uneasy; and there's that foolish Midge, whom I sent to bed an hour ago, and who, I am sure, is still lying awake, listening, poor child! I felt angry with her for being so nervous, and I am as bad myself."
She closed the door as she spoke. I had slipped in unperceived, and I might have escaped detection, for Cornelius did not seem inclined to betray me, when, as we were going up the steps leading to the porch, Deborah suddenly appeared bringing a light; she stared at me as I slunk behind Cornelius; Kate turned round, saw me, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
"It is very wrong of her," hastily said Cornelius, "but you must forgive her, Kate. I found her outside the door waiting for me. I suppose she had worked herself into a terror of my being waylaid and assassinated, and scarcely knew what she was about."
"Ah!" replied Kate, and she said no more.
We entered the parlour. Cornelius sat down, made me sit down by him, and chafed my cold hands in his. He chid me rather severely, forbade me ever to do such a thing again, said he was very angry, and ended by taking me in his arms and kissing me. Kate had never uttered one word of reproof, but she looked unusually grave. As I sat by her brother, indulged and caressed, spite of my foolish disobedience, I had an unpleasant consciousness of her look being fastened on us both, and shunned it by keeping mine pertinaciously fixed on the kind face which, as if to efface all memory of the past, now seemed unable to look down at me with anger or displeasure.
"Cornelius!" at length said Kate.
"Well!" he replied, looking from me to her.
"Do you remember the story of Goethe's Mignon?"
Cornelius reddened, turned pale, reddened again, and looked both irritated and ashamed.
"What about it, Kate?" he asked at length.