"Very well, thank you," I replied in a low tone, and making a useless effort to disengage my hands from his grasp. Without seeming to notice this, he continued, nodding at a brown-paper parcel on the table-- "There is a cake, which my sister Kate sends you, with her very kind love." I saw Sarah turning up her eyes in admiration, and this induced me to make a reply which I am ashamed to record, it was so ungracious: "I never eat cake," I said. "Miss!" began Sarah. "And I have brought you this," interrupted the young man, drawing forth a book from his pocket. He held it before my eyes; it had a bright cover, with a gilt title; the temptation was strong, but not stronger than my stubborn pride. "Papa gives me books," I replied. "Oh! very well," smilingly answered Cornelius; "I shall give him this to give to you." His good-humoured forbearance began to make me feel penitent, when again Sarah interfered with an unlucky "For shame, Miss!" "She is only shy," kindly said Cornelius. "Oh! Sir, it is sly we are," replied Sarah with a prim smile; "if we durst, we'd scamper away through that open door; ay, that we would!" she added, emphatically nodding her head at me. "We are very unkind, Sir." "Not at all," observed Cornelius, taking my part; "Margaret is very fond of me, only she does not like to say so. Are you not, my dear?" he added with provoking confidence. "No," was my reply, more frank than civil. "Indeed you are, and the proof of it is that of your own accord you are going to give me a kiss." I was astounded at the audacious idea. I never kissed any one but my father. Alas! I fear I thought myself and my childish caresses very precious things indeed. Cornelius laughed, and stooped; but as he gently released my hands at the same time, I eluded the caress, and darted through the open door up the dark staircase. Sarah wanted to rush after me. Cornelius interfered, and again said I was shy. "Shy, Sir! shy!" echoed Sarah with a short, indignant laugh, "bless you, Sir, it is pride: she is as proud as Lucifer, and as obstinate, too. I could beat that child to death, Sir, and not make her kiss me. No one knows how she has tried my feelings. I am naturally fond of children, and I have been in families where young ladies used to doat on me, and scarcely care for their Mas, much less for their Pas; but with Miss Margaret it is just the reverse. You may wait on her, scold, praise, coax; it is all one: she cares for no one but for her Pa--of whom she is as jealous as can be, Sir; and if she doesn't like you, Sir, why she won't like you, and there's an end of it."