His eyes flashed, and his lips trembled with jealous resentment. Borne away by the force of his own feelings, he had spoken with a vehement rapidity, that left him no room for pause, as they left me no room for interruption. At length he ceased. I looked at him; he had spoken of his patience with feverish anger, of his calmness with bitter indignation; the passionate emotions had left their traces on his brow slightly contracted, on his pale and agitated face, in his look that still burned with ill-repressed fire; but there was sweetness in his reproaches, and a secret pleasantness in his wrath. "Another," I said quietly, "and suppose there is no other. Suppose no one cares for me." "No one!" he echoed, drawing nearer, and taking my hand in his, with a sudden change of mood and accent, "No one, Daisy! Oh! you know there will always be one. One who sat with you by a running stream for the whole of a summer's noon, and at whom your face seemed to look from the clear waters until it sank deep and for ever in his heart. One who waking or sleeping, has loved you since that day, and for whom it is you, Daisy, who care not." I said I did care for him. "But how, how?" he asked, with an impatient sigh, "you mean old affection, habit, friendship, and I, you know well enough, mean none of those things. I love you because do what I will, you attract me irresistibly. If I had met you in the street by chance, I should have said, 'this girl and none other I will have;' I would have followed you, ascertained your dwelling, name and parentage, ay, and made you love me too, Daisy, cold as you are now." "I am not cold, Cornelius."