Mrs. Marks gave me a look of her cold, fishy eye, and said, "Yes, Sir," in a tone of ice.
I saw she remembered me with no pleasant feelings. I followed her out of the study, determined that both she and my grandfather should learn I was no longer a child. She took me to a room on the first floor, large, but plainly furnished, and informed me "this was my apartment."
"Thank you," I replied, quietly; "but it is too gloomy. I prefer the room
I had formerly."
Mrs. Marks did not understand. Mrs. Marks was in a state of obliviousness concerning all that had passed before this day. Mrs. Marks knew Miss Burns, the grand-daughter of Mr. Thornton; of the obstinate little girl whom she had called Burns, Mrs. Marks had no recollection, nor of anything concerning her. Without heeding this, I described to her so minutely the locality of my old apartment, that she could not feign ignorance; but when, in answer to her objection that it was "quite empty," I civilly requested her to cause the furniture around me to be removed to it as soon as possible, Mrs. Marks looked figuratively knocked down. I left her in that prostrate condition, to go down and speak to my grandfather.
I could not understand why he had so suddenly claimed me, and what he wanted with me. He did not look as if he liked me a bit better than formerly; certainly not as if inclined to make me "the charm of his home, and the delight of his heart and eyes." "There is something in it," I thought. "Cornelius may fancy that every body is as fond of me as he is, and look for no other motive; but I am sure there is, and I must find it out, if it were only to help him in his mysterious design."
I knocked at the door of the study, and, receiving no answer, opened it and looked in. My grandfather never raised his eyes from his book. Unwilling to disturb him, I entered quietly, and, without speaking, sat down by the window. It was a broad, arched casement, partly veiled with ivy hanging down from above, and facing a magnificent avenue of beech trees that stretched far on into the park. They communicated some of their solemn gloom to the apartment; and the contrast of that green woodland aspect with the dusty tomes and air of venerable learning within; of that solitary look out, and of the quiet, white-headed figure bending so intently over its open volume, struck me. "There is a pretty picture for Cornelius," I thought. "I must bear every detail of it in my mind's eye to tell him when we meet." The contrast recalled me to the object of my presence in my grandfather's apartment. I coughed gently; Mr. Thornton started, looked up, and said, "Ah!" with evident astonishment. I looked at him quietly.
"Well!" he ejaculated.
"Yes," I replied.
"Yes what?" he asked, impatiently.
I thought I might have asked, "Well what?" with as much reason; but I merely said: