"Oh! yes, I do keep you," he replied, bending on me a look that seemed as if he would attract and gather my whole being into his--a look that, through all my blindness, startled me: but, as it lasted--for a moment only. "Yes, I keep you, Daisy Burns. You have asked to remain with me, and you shall. I will bind you to my home and to me by bonds neither you nor others shall dare to break. Again I say, let those alone who have passed through this fiery trial, and conquered, dare to judge me." I wondered at the repressed vehemence of his tone--at the defiance of his look--at the mingled trouble and scorn which I read in his countenance, usually so pleasant and good-humoured. I wondered, for I felt not thus, as if striving against my own wishes, and arguing with some hidden enemy. With my head still reclining on his shoulder, my hand in his, my mind, heart, and whole being conscious that we were not to be severed--I felt steeped in peace and serene happiness. My eyelids, heavy with recent tears, could almost have closed in slumber, so deep were now the calm and repose that had followed this storm of grief. Therefore I wondered--I could not but wonder--that if he, too, felt happy, there should be in his look and mien so few of the tokens of joy-- for, surely, joy never wore that flushed aspect and troubled glance. It shocked me to see that the meaning of his face was both guilty and resolute--that he looked like one who does a wrong thing, who knows it, but who will do that thing, come what will. He detected my uneasy look, and said, quickly: "Never mind, Daisy; I take on myself the deed and the sin. I care not for the world's opinion--I care not for its esteem." "The world, Cornelius! Why what can it say?" "Accuse me of selfishness. But I say it again: I care not." I laughed. He gave me a look of pain. "Do not laugh so," he said; "do not. I never yet heard that light, girlish laugh of yours, but it presaged some new irritating torment. What are you going to say now?" I saw his temper was chafed. I answered, soothingly: "What can I say, Cornelius, save that only your sensitive conscience could imagine the accusation of selfishness? Those who think you selfish must be crazed. Why here am I to keep, a girl of seventeen, with little or no money, and you not a rich man yet! Why any other man would think me a bore--a burden--and be glad enough to get rid of me. But you are so disinterested, so generous, that you cannot see that." I felt more than I saw the change which these words wrought on Cornelius. It was not that his look turned away; it was not that the arm which encircled me, released its hold; but it was as if a cold shadow suddenly stepped in between us: the life and warmth departed from his clasp; the light and meaning of his look retreated inwardly, to depths where mine could not follow. "You think me disinterested and generous," he said at length. "Do you mean that I do not care about you?"