"This you know, but I scarcely think you know how bitterly your father repented this act of his youth. He often spoke of it to me. 'Cornelius, never rob a man of his child,' he said, 'it is a great sin.' He was right, Daisy; it is a great sin; I felt it then; I feel it far more now; for though you are not my child, I have reared you, and I know that affection is jealous; that to resign a daughter to a stranger, must always be bitter, but that to have her actually stolen from you; to be robbed of the pleasant thing which has for years been your delight and pride, to feel that it is gone beyond recall, the property of another, I know that this is too sharp a pang for speech, almost for thought. I have thought of such a thing; I have thought that another man might step in between you and me, that he might rob me, whilst I looked on powerless and deserted. My God!" he suddenly added, pressing me closer to him, his eyes kindling, his lips trembling, "I have also thought that if it were not for your sake, there was nothing I would not have the heart to do to that man."
"You have thought that?" I said, reproachfully, "as if such a thing could ever happen, Cornelius."
"If I speak so," he replied, "it is to show you what may be the feelings of the wronged father, and when he is a high-minded man like your father, of him by whom he had been wronged. It was the knowledge of this that made me take you to Mr. Thornton. Oh, how could I be so blind as to call in a stranger to share with me the exclusive and precious privilege Heaven had bestowed, but which I knew not then how to prize! You know, Daisy, that when you were at Mrs. Gray's, I wrote to Mr. Thornton, to obtain back again the boon my folly had forfeited; he cared little for you; he knew you were fretting to return; he consented, but on a condition, to the fulfilment of which I pledged my word—that word, Daisy, which it is death to a man's honour to break—that, whenever he wished it, you were his to claim. He was abroad then, but he returned about a week ago, and his first act has been to write and remind me of my promise."
"You pledged yourself for me, Cornelius?" I said dismayed.
"Oh! Daisy, forgive me. I acted as I thought your father would have wished me to act; besides, I could not have had you otherwise."
"And Mr. Thornton actually wants me!" I exclaimed desperately.
"Yes," sadly replied Cornelius.
"But I do not want him; I will not have him, or his wealth, Cornelius."
"He offers you no wealth, my poor child. Every one knows that his extravagance has made him poor; the estate is mortgaged and entailed; his personal property is small; he has little to give, nothing to bequeath. He is still, as when you knew him, wrapped up in his books."
"Then what does he want me for, Cornelius?"