"Do you know why I, who never thought of you before this last hour, now wish to love you?--Because you are so unlike me." What Cornelius replied I know not. Soon after this Miss Russell left. Cornelius had followed her to the door. He returned to the parlour, and throwing himself on the sofa, he there fell into a smiling reverie. I softly left my couch, entered the parlour, and quietly sat down on a cushion at his feet. Cornelius looked as if he could not believe his eyes, then slowly sat up, and bent on me a face that darkened as he looked. CHAPTER XII. "Where do you come from?" he asked. "From the next room." "Have you been there long?" "The whole evening." "I thought you were upstairs sleeping?" "No, Cornelius, I was lying on the couch." "And you have just awakened, I suppose?" he carelessly observed, but with his look bent keenly on my face. I answered in a faltering tone-- "I have been awake some time." "Before Miss Russell left?" "Yes, Cornelius." The blood rushed up to his brow. "You listened?" he exclaimed, with a wrathful glance. "I heard, Cornelius," I replied, unwilling to lose the distinction, "and heard as little as I could." "Heard!" he indignantly echoed. "Upon my word! and why did you hear? Why did you not leave the room?" "Twice I rose to do so; I made a noise on purpose; but you did not hear me, and I did not dare to disturb you." Cornelius did not say which of the two evils--being disturbed or overheard by me--he would have preferred. I sat at his feet, wistfully looking up into his face. It was always expressive, and now told very plainly his annoyance and vexation. It would scarcely have been in the nature of mortal man, not to resent the presence of a witness on so interesting and delicate an occasion. "I never heard anything like it," he exclaimed, indignantly. "I am fond of you, Daisy, but you do not imagine I ever contemplated taking you--a little girl too--into my confidence, as twice I have been compelled to do. What do you mean by it?" he added, with a perplexed and provoked air, that to a looker-on might have been amusing. "I mean nothing, Cornelius." "Foolish child," he continued, impatiently, "not to stay on your couch, and let me fancy you had slept through it!" "But that would have been a great shame," I replied very earnestly; "I came out on purpose that you might know." "Thank you!" he said drily. "I shall not tell," I observed, in a low tone. "It is to be no secret," he shortly answered. I had no more to say. Cornelius rose impatiently, walked about the room, came back to his place, and still looked unable to get over the irritating consciousness of having been overheard. I rose to go; he suddenly detained me.