I laughed at the confession.
"And so that is the end of it," he said, looking somewhat downcast, "there seems to be on me a spell, that will never let me end as I begin. Oh! Daisy; why do I like you so well? That is the heel of Achilles—the only vulnerable point which, do what I will, renders me so powerless and so weak."
"Then you do like me, you see," I said, smoothing his hair, "spite of all my faults!"
"Yes, I do like you," he replied, returning the caress with a peculiar look, "and yet, Daisy, I am getting rather wearied of this task of Sisyphus, which I am ever doing, and which somehow or other is never done."
"It was the heel of Achilles a while back, and now it is the stone of
Sisyphus! What has put you into so mythological a mood?"
Cornelius coloured, then turned pale, but did not answer.
"Surely," I exclaimed, "you are not offended now about a few light words! Oh. Cornelius," I added, much concerned, "I see matters will never be right until you resume your authority, and I am again your obedient child. If you had always allowed me to consider you as my dear adopted father."—
I stopped short. He had not spoken; he had not moved; he still sat by me, calm, silent and motionless, with his look fixed on the fire and his hand in mine; but as I spoke, there passed something in his face, and even in his eyes, that told me I was probing to the very quick, the wound my careless hand had first inflicted.
"Have I done wrong again?" I asked, dismayed.
"Oh, no!" he replied, negligently; "it is only fair; I was once too careless, too indifferent—the girl has avenged the child—that is all!"