"Do I prevent you from sketching, Cornelius?"
"Of course you do; but for you I should have travelled for miles, and come home at night groaning beneath the load of crags, lonely fountains, cottages, farm-houses, snug little woods, ruins, etc. Instead of which, here I am lying on my back, looking up at trees and sky, and losing all my precious time in listening to 'Auld Robin Gray,' 'The Exile of Erin,' 'Charlie, you're my darling,' and I know not what else. Oh, Daisy, Daisy! are you not ashamed of yourself?—sing me another song."
"Indeed, Cornelius, I do not know another."
"Then I must have mercy on you."
He moved away, but kept a keen, watchful look fastened on me. There was however no need to fear. In a second I was by his side. He chid me for form's sake, then smiled, stroked my hair, and passing his arm around me, said—
"The other one could not have done as much, could she, Daisy?"
"What other one, Cornelius?"
"The one I carried in my arms from Leigh to Ryde."
"No, Cornelius, she could not, and that was why Providence sent her so kind a friend."
I forget his answer, but I remember that we sat again on the grassy banks and lingered there until the little brook shone red and burning in the light of the broad round sun that slowly sank down behind us, filling with fiery glow the space between earth and sky.