"To please you, Cornelius: but I do not want it. The sight of your face at the door was more reviving than wine to me."
I just tasted the wine, and handed him the glass. He drank off its contents. His hand, in touching mine, had felt feverish, and he looked rather pale.
"You are unwell," I said, uneasily.
"Unwell!" he echoed, gaily. "I never felt better."
He poured himself out another glass of wine, but I took it from him.
"You must not!" I exclaimed, imperatively. "Oh, Cornelius! be careful," I added, imploringly.
He laughed at my uneasiness; but there was something dreary in the sound of his laughter, which I did not like.
"I tell you I am well—quite well," he persisted; "but I feel uneasy about you, Daisy. How this night will fatigue you! I dare not tell you to go to your room, lest it should be too chill; but will you try and sleep here?"
"On condition that, when I am asleep, you will go up, and take some rest yourself."
He promised to do so; and, to please him, I laid my head on the pillow of the couch. He removed the lamp from my eyes, but in vain I closed them, and tried to sleep. Every now and then I kept opening them again, and talking in that excited way, which is the result of over-wrought emotion.