"And so that is the end of it," he said, looking somewhat downcast, "there seems to be on me a spell, that will never let me end as I begin. Oh! Daisy; why do I like you so well? That is the heel of Achilles--the only vulnerable point which, do what I will, renders me so powerless and so weak." "Then you do like me, you see," I said, smoothing his hair, "spite of all my faults!" "Yes, I do like you," he replied, returning the caress with a peculiar look, "and yet, Daisy, I am getting rather wearied of this task of Sisyphus, which I am ever doing, and which somehow or other is never done." "It was the heel of Achilles a while back, and now it is the stone of Sisyphus! What has put you into so mythological a mood?" Cornelius coloured, then turned pale, but did not answer. "Surely," I exclaimed, "you are not offended now about a few light words! Oh. Cornelius," I added, much concerned, "I see matters will never be right until you resume your authority, and I am again your obedient child. If you had always allowed me to consider you as my dear adopted father."-- I stopped short. He had not spoken; he had not moved; he still sat by me, calm, silent and motionless, with his look fixed on the fire and his hand in mine; but as I spoke, there passed something in his face, and even in his eyes, that told me I was probing to the very quick, the wound my careless hand had first inflicted. "Have I done wrong again?" I asked, dismayed. "Oh, no!" he replied, negligently; "it is only fair; I was once too careless, too indifferent--the girl has avenged the child--that is all!" "I am sure I have said something you don't like," I observed, anxiously. Cornelius took me in his arms and kissed me. "My good little girl," he said, "you are the best little girl in this world; and if you are only a little girl, you cannot help it--so keep your little heart in peace--and God bless you." He spoke kindly, and rose, looking down at me with a sort of fondness and pity which did not escape, and which half offended me. "But I am not a little girl, Cornelius," I replied, in a piqued tone. "Aren't you?" he said, taking hold of my chin with a smile and look that were not free from irony. "I beg your pardon; I thought you were the little girl that so long made a fool of Cornelius O'Reilly!" I gave him a surprised look; he laughed and took his hat; I followed him to the door and detained him. "You are not angry with me!" I observed, uneasily. "Angry with you!" he said, "no, my pet. What should I be angry for?" "I don't know, Cornelius; but I am glad you are not angry."