And he threw himself down on the grass with evident delight. It was a pleasant place. Many a day has passed since I beheld it; yet if I but close my eyes with my hand over them, I seem to see it again as I saw it then on that summer noon, when I went out walking with Cornelius.
It had the first charm which such a spot need have—perfect solitude. You might sit or linger for hours, unheeded and undisturbed in that green nook, shut in between the dark mass of trees which separated it from the open country, and the stream on which their heavy shadow ever fell. Beyond extended a wide and ancient park, a wild-looking desert of dark heath and high green fern, with sombre groups of trees that seemed the vanguards of aged forests, and paths deepening down like Alpine dells and ravines. I took off my bonnet and scarf, and fastening them to the bending branch of an old, hoary willow, I sat down by Cornelius. The sandwiches were produced, and done full justice to; but when the repast was over, Cornelius exclaimed—
"Kate might as well have given us a stone or osier bottle of some sort.
We have nothing to drink."
"Nothing! why there is a whole river."
"Water!" he replied with a slight grimace; "but how are we to get at even that?"
I did not answer, but clasping the trunk of the willow with one arm, I bent over the stream to dip my other hand into it. With a start of alarm Cornelius held me back.
"That river, as you call it, is deep and swift, Daisy. How can you be so imprudent?"
"There is no danger where there is no fear. Unless that willow-tree breaks I am safe."
He persisted however in holding me fast with his arm passed around me, as I stooped again, and brought forth my hand full of water, as clear and sparkling as crystal.
"Look!" I said, "and tell me if you ever saw such water, even in Italy?"