Had I then loved Cornelius even as a child? loved him with that purer part of affection which needs not to wait for the growth of years? God alone knows. Love is a great mystery; it is easy to remember the time of its discovery, but wise, indeed, are they who can tell the hour and moment of its birth.
I had the wisdom not to ask myself so useless a question. The past vanished from my thoughts; it was all future now. I looked at the eastern sky; it was reddening fast, and grew more bright and burning as I looked. With the superstition of the heart, I watched the dawn of that day, as that which opened my new existence, and for all of the past that it revealed, and I had never seen; for all of the future that it promised, and I had never hoped. I gave thanks to God.
I know not how long I had been thus, when a tap at my door disturbed me. I rose, opened, and saw Kate. She made me turn my face to the light, then half smiled, and said:
"Cornelius wants to speak to you; he is quite in a way. Pray come down."
I followed her down stairs in silence. She opened the back parlour door, closed it, and left me. I stood still; all the blood in my frame seemed to have rushed to my beating heart. It was one thing to be alone with Cornelius, my friend, and another to find myself thus suddenly brought to the presence of Cornelius, my lover.
He sat by the open window; beyond it rose the green garden trees tinged with a rosy light, and above them spread the blushing sky. A fresh breeze came in bearing soft sounds of rustling leaves and twittering songs of wakening birds. He too had watched the dawning day; but there seemed to have been at least as much sorrow as love in his vigil. He looked pale, weary, and slowly turned around as I entered. He saw me standing at the door, rose, and came up to me without speaking. I looked at him like one in a dream. He took my passive hand in his, and gave me a troubled glance, then suddenly he passed his other arm around me, looking down at me with the saddest face.
"And is it thus indeed, Daisy," he said, in a low tone, "you are pale as death, but as silent; your hand lies in mine chill as ice, but not withdrawn; you yield, mute and meek as a poor little victim to the arms that clasp you! No tears! No words to rouse remorse or sting pride. Nothing but entire sacrifice, and that silent submission."
He spoke of paleness; his own face was like marble, his eyes overflowed, his lips trembled, he stooped to press them on my brow. Involuntarily I shunned the embrace.
"Do not shrink," he observed, with evident pain, "I mean it as the last. Yes! the last. I never intended putting you to such a trial. Never, Daisy," he continued, giving me a wistful look, "anger at your blindness, and the irresistible temptation of a sudden opportunity, did indeed make me forget, in one moment, the dearly-bought patience of a year; passion, roused to tyranny after her long subjection, and sick of restraint, did indeed vow she would and should be gratified, no matter what the cost might be; but I never meant it. You are young, generous, and devoted. Months ago, if I had spoken, I know—and I knew it then—that I could have had you for the asking. But I could not bear to have you thus. When your grandfather placed so great a trust in my honour, and showed so little faith in my generosity, I laughed at his blindness, for I thought age had cooled his blood, and made him forget the language which is not speech. But alas! I found that I who had taught you many things, could not teach you this lesson. How could I? when what is held the easiest of all, the letting you see what you were to me, I could never accomplish. Do, say, act as I would, the sacredness of your affection ever stood between us. I tried every art, and love has many, but when I spoke so plainly, it seemed as if a very child must have understood me. You looked or smiled with hopeless serenity. I vowed once that cost me what it might, I would not speak until I had made you love me as truly, as ardently as I loved you myself. I waited months, I might have waited years. Well, no matter, it is over now. Be free, forget the trouble of an hour in the peace of a life-time. Be happy, very happy, and yet, oh! how happy, it seems to me, your friend could have made you, if you would but have let him."
He released and left me. Touched with his sorrow, I could not restrain my tears.