"And wilful," I suggested.
"He is very firm."
"I remember hearing formerly that he was very litigious; is it true!"
"Why yes," carelessly replied my cousin; "he generally has one or two little law matters going on. He is tenacious of his rights, and never allows them to be infringed. He would spend hundreds sooner than be wronged of a shilling. How do you like this place?"
I had not heeded where he was taking me; looking up I perceived that we had reached a wild-looking part of the grounds, and stood by a quiet and solitary well. Between the sombre and massive trees that shed their solemn gloom over it, I caught a distant glimpse of the narrow stream by which Cornelius and I had sat that same day, and of which the glancing waters were now reddened by the setting sun. The well was built against a rise of ground; it was rude, ancient, defaced by time, and partly veiled by moss, and dark creeping plants; the water came out clear and bright from beneath the gloom of its low arch, to fall into a stone basin, then flow away hidden among the high ferns that grew around, and betrayed in its course, only by its low murmur.
"It is a wishing-well; will you try its virtues?" said my cousin, pointing with a smile to the iron bowl, hanging from a rusty chain by the low arch.
"Did you ever put them to the test, Sir?" I asked, wishfully.
"As a boy I did; and found the legend—a legend."
"Then I fear it is useless for me to try," I replied, sighing.
We turned away from the spot, walked a little longer, then went in. What sort of an evening my three cousins spent together, I know not. I retired early, and went up, sad and disheartened, to that room whence I now feared it passed the power of Cornelius to deliver me. I sat down, and looked around me; vivid images of the past rose with every glance. I went to the window by which I had so often watched for his coming; and looking down on the dark park below, I thought, with an aching heart, of the lonely evening he was spending at Rock Cottage. My own heart was full. I could not bear not to be with him; but every time, even in thought, I imagined our reunion, the dread spectre of the law seemed to rise between us. Cornelius, exposed to trouble, persecution, and loss on my account— it was not to be thought of.