It was foolish to be glad to see him again after so short a separation; I knew it, but could not help it. He, too, seemed glad; I had never seen him in better spirits; and seldom had I spent even with him, a pleasanter day. With regret, I saw approach the hour that should take me back to Poplar Lodge. Cornelius said he would accompany me by the lanes. They looked very lovely on that mild spring evening, and we talked pleasantly and happily as we walked along. At length we reached the end of a long lane that brought us to a grated iron door--the back entrance of Poplar Lodge. We stopped short; the place and the moment stand before me like a picture still. The lane was lonely, and hushed rather than silent. The heavy clouds of night were gathering slowly in the lower sky. In its serener heights, the full moon had risen, and now looked down at us between two of the large poplar trees that had given its name to my cousin's abode. I stood by Cornelius, one arm passed in his, his other hand clasping mine. "When will you come back?" he asked, bending over me. "Next Saturday, I hope." "Not before?" "No, Cornelius, I could not, you know." "Can't you try?" "Indeed, Cornelius. I am afraid I cannot. You know I long to be back with you and Kate." "Very well, then; Saturday let it be. And yet, Daisy, why not Friday?" "Cornelius, I assure you I think it would be taken amiss if I were to leave on Friday." He submitted, gave me a quiet kiss, and rang the bell. A white figure emerged from a neighbouring avenue, and Mrs. Langton, recognising me through the iron grating, took down the key that always hung by the door, and admitted me, smiling. I introduced Cornelius somewhat awkwardly. He stood with the light of the moon full on his face and figure. I caught Mrs. Langton giving him two or three rapid and curious looks, but she only made a few civil and commonplace remarks. He answered in the same strain, bowed, and left us. "And so, Miss Burns," softly observed Mrs. Langton, as she closed and locked the gate, "that is your adopted father--as Mr. Edward Thornton calls him, I believe." "Yes," I said, quietly, "Cornelius is, indeed, my adopted father; but he does not like me to consider him so." "Indeed!" "Oh, no: he does me the honour to hold me as his friend." Mrs. Langton suppressed a rosy smile, and talked of the beauty of the evening as we walked through the grounds to the Lodge. Mr. Thornton was out, and Mrs. Brand whispered confidentially that my absence might be the cause. He came in, however, sufficiently early, and as I sat apart rather silent, his sister felt sure I suffered from low spirits, and gave him the duty of enlivening me. He smiled, bowed, and settling himself in a comfortable arm-chair by me, entered on the task. But I remained obstinately grave, until, from topic to topic, he came to the Academy.