We were not prepared for the sudden return of Cornelius; his room was neither aired nor ready; Miss O'Reilly accordingly gave him up her own apartment, and slept with me. She complained of my restlessness; well she might! tossed on a sea of unquiet joy, I scarcely slept. I woke and rose early. The morning was bright and gay, and my little room overflowed with sunshine.

"Now, Daisy," said Kate, in a tone of remonstrance, "you need not be in such a hurry: he is not awake yet, child!"

I was opening the window as she spoke. I drew back quickly, for it looked on the garden; I was but half-dressed, and, though I saw no one, the fresh breeze brought me the scent of a cigar. My heart leaped with joy, and something seemed to say within me, "Yes, yes, he is come back."

"Not awake!" I exclaimed aloud, "why he is already in the garden! Oh!
Kate, do help me to fasten on my dress."

"Not that dingy, everyday grey thing!" decisively said Miss O'Reilly, "he hates dull colours."

She went to my drawers, and drew forth a light blue muslin.

"But it has short sleeves!" I observed, a little uneasily, "and it looks so dressy!"

"Never mind the short sleeves or the dressiness either—the chief thing is, not to annoy him with an ugly colour he cannot endure."

I yielded against my own wish and judgment; partly to gratify her, and still more to lose no time. I gained nothing by the ready compliance. Miss O'Reilly dressed me as she had never dressed me before; she suggested or rejected improvements with unusual and irritating fastidiousness. Now a snow-white habit-shirt "would look so nice, or if my hair were braided, instead of being in plain bands, it would become me so much better."

I could not help crying.

"Oh, Kate, if you would only let me go! What will Cornelius care about all this?"

"But I care," replied Miss O'Reilly. "I thought Cornelius would find you so much improved; but all he noticed was that you had grown."

"Because that is all!" I said, laughing.

"It is not. But last night you were pale and wild-looking; besides, you had that ugly grey thing on; but now, Midge, let me tell you there is a difference."

She was holding me out at arm's length, with a satisfied look and smile.

"There!" she said, dropping my hand, and releasing me, "you may go now."

I waited for no second bidding. I ran down the stairs, then up the gravel path that led to the pine-trees. The scent of the cigar had not deceived me: he stood leaning against the trunk of the farthest pine, looking at the fresh sparkling sea that spread beneath, and went far away to meet a white line of horizon arched over by a sky of brightest blue. He turned round as I reached him all out of breath, and welcomed me with a smile. I stood by him, looking at him with the delighted eyes with which we gaze at those we love. He laid his hand on my shoulder, and looked at me too, silently at first, then all at once he said—

"God bless your pleasant face!" and stooping, kissed my brow.

My heart beat a little; I could not help being glad. There was nothing in me beyond what there is in every girl from fifteen to twenty; but then this is the golden age of woman, when the youthful grace of the outlines makes the gazer forget their irregularity, and seeing the cheek so fresh and clear, he asks not whether it be dark or fair—when he is charmed by the sense of a being who has not dwelt on earth too long, and gives pleasant welcome to this late arrived guest.

Our first greeting over, Cornelius and I sat down on the wooden bench. The wind came from the west. It blew fresh in our faces, and bowed over us the pine-trees and their rustling branches, through which the slanting rays of the sun behind came warm and pleasant. Our glance rested on a sweep of winding shore, half veiled in light sparkling mists; on that sea which looked so serene, and yet seemed so living and so free in its very repose. Our ear was greeted by the low dash of waves on the beach below, by the murmurs of a breeze that died away far inland amongst low hills and lonely places, and looking up at one another with a smile, we both said what a lovely morning it was. I passed my arm within that of Cornelius, and clasping both my hands over it, I looked up into his face and began a series of questions.

"Tell me all about your pictures and your painting."

A light cloud passed over his brow, as he replied—

"Never mind about the pictures just now, Daisy."

"Well, then," I said, though a little disappointed, "tell me all about
Italy."

"All about it—there's a modest request!"

"Well, then, tell me something. Are the Italian women so handsome?"

"Some are, some are not."

His tone and manner were abstracted. I could not but notice that he was surveying me from head to foot.

"What else?" I asked, a little impatiently.

"What else?" he echoed, still looking at me.

"Yes, what else?"

"Nothing else; save that I am thinking of something else just now."

"I knew you would notice it," I exclaimed, feeling myself reddening; "I told Kate so."

"Indeed?"

"Yes; it was her doing, not mine. She said you hated grey, and made me put on this blue muslin, though it looks so gay for the morning."

"Well," replied Cornelius, with a smile, "blue is as charming a colour as grey is cold and dull to the eye. But to tell you the truth, I was not thinking about your dress."

"Ah!" I said, rather abashed.

"No,—I was thinking of the change two years have wrought, and wondering I never noticed it last night. The other one was a pale, sickly little thing, a poor wee Daisy, coming up weak and stunted on the outskirts of the town; this one is fresh and fair as any wild flower that grows. Why, where did she, once so wan and sallow, get that clear, rosy freshness? What kind fairy has changed the pale yellow hair I still remember, into those heavy tresses of rich brown, tinged with gold—a hue both exquisite and rare, which I shall assuredly transfer to my next picture. As for the eyes, she could not improve them,—so she left them what they still are— the finest I have ever seen."

I opened them a little on hearing him speak so. He quietly took out my comb; my hair rolled down in waves below my waist; he surveyed it admiringly, with a glance in which blended the fondness of a father for his pet child and the ever-observant eye of the artist.

"A pretty little effect, so," he added, "especially with your startled look, reminding one of Cervantes' Dorothea."

"So she does!" said Miss O'Reilly, coming up from behind.

She kissed her brother, and looking at me as I rose to do up my hair, "It is like her father's," she added with a subdued sigh, "but not quite so bright."

"Why did you never write to me that Daisy was so much improved?" asked
Cornelius, perhaps to divert her thoughts.

"Because I knew you had eyes of your own to find it out," answered his sister smiling. "And now don't sit looking at the girl, as if she were a beauty; she has grown tall and has good health, that is all."

"All! is not that a great deal?"

"Of course it is; but I came to tell you breakfast is waiting, and not to talk about Daisy's looks."

We went in to breakfast; I sat opposite Cornelius and could scarcely take my eyes off his face; he could not help smiling now and then, but Miss O'Reilly chose to be in a pet about it.

"Don't be foolish, Midge! I wish, Cornelius, you would mind what I say, instead of paying so much attention to that silly girl. When do you mean to have that case opened?"

"In a day or two."

"Nonsense! you don't think I am going to wait a day or two to see your pictures? After breakfast you mean?"

She carried the point as usual, and after breakfast it accordingly was. As Cornelius drew back the last covering which stood between us and his picture, I felt my heart beat with expectation; as for Kate, from the moment it became visible, she was lost in wonder and admiration. The picture, though not very large, was an elaborate historical performance; it represented the death of Mary Stuart, with mourning ladies-in-waiting, knights, pages, executioner and all.

"How beautiful, how very beautiful!" exclaimed Kate with tears in her eyes; "what a subject, and how you treated it! But what a pity, what a mortal pity it was not finished in time for the academy, Cornelius!"

There was a pause, he stooped and brushed away some dust from Mary
Stuart's face, but never answered. His sister resumed—

"Who is that dark-looking fellow in front?"

"The Earl of Salisbury."

"Ah! I remember, I knew he could not be good; it is in his face, I assure you. And who is that girl in the corner?"

"A looker-on."

"I knew it!" triumphantly exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, "I knew it by her unconcerned air. Cornelius, there is wonderful character in it all."

He did not reply: he was untying the strings of a large portfolio, and looking over the sketches and drawings it contained. His sister called him to her side with an air of concern. "Was he sure Mary Stuart had a velvet robe on? She hoped it was not a mistake. Critics are such harpies, you know," she added with a sigh, "they would pounce on a mistake directly."

He laid his hand on her shoulder, and, with a kind smile, looked down at her upraised face.

"Make your mind easy, Kate; Mary Stuart died in a velvet robe, which, poor thing, she kept for solemn occasions."

Miss O'Reilly's face brightened.

"Indeed I am glad to hear it; the imitation is perfect; real velvet could not have more depth and softness. How much pains you must have taken with it!"

"Yes, it gave me some trouble."

"But how sorry I am, the other pictures are sold!"

"It could not be helped! I wanted the money."

"Yes, but it has kept you in the shade all this time. What a pity Mary
Stuart was not finished for this year's Academy!"

She looked at him so earnestly that he reddened.

"Cornelius," she continued rather seriously, "why was it not finished for this year's Academy?"

Jane spared him the trouble of answering, by looking in, and conveying the intimation that more luggage had come, and that there was a bill of one pound ten and elevenpence halfpenny to pay.

"I wish they may get it!" hotly said Miss O'Reilly; "it is perfectly shameful; let me manage them, Cornelius, only just come to see whether they have not changed your luggage for that of some one else. My opinion is," she added, raising her voice, "that people who charge one pound ten shillings and elevenpence halfpenny for carriage are capable of anything."

He smiled; they went out together, closed the door, and left me alone with Mary Stuart and my bitter disappointment. I could not understand it; it was strange, incredible, and yet it was so, I looked and did not admire. I could have cried with vexation to feel that this stately Mary Stuart did not touch me; that her sorrowful beauty, the grief of her weeping women, the insolent scorn of the English nobles, the impassiveness of the headsman, the commonplace pity of the lookers-on, actually left me cold and unmoved. And yet thus it was, and the longer I looked, the worse it grew; so I gave it up in despair, and turned to the portfolio.

Sketch after sketch I turned over with a pleasure that gradually grew into delight. All Italy, in her sunshine and beauty, seemed to pass before me. Here a dark-eyed girl danced the Tarantella; there swarthy boys with eager faces played at the morra; beggars held out their hand for alms with the look and mien of princes; and village women, of a beauty as calm and pure as that of the image above them, knelt and prayed before the shrine of some lowly Madonna. Nor was I less charmed by the glimpses of landscape and out-door life. I felt the warmth of that blue sky which looked as if the very heavens were opening; the sunshine on the steps of the white church dazzled me with its brightness; there were depths of coolness in the dark shade of those old trees beneath which the women sat reposing; there was life and dewy freshness in the waters of the stone fountain by which the children played. Charmed and absorbed, I never heard Cornelius enter, and knew not he was by me until he said in a careless tone behind me—

"Oh! you are looking at these odds and ends."

"I like them so much," I replied, carefully abstaining from looking towards Mary Stuart.

"Do you?"

"Indeed I do; they are beautiful, and then they remind me of our
Gallery—you remember our Gallery, Cornelius?"

"Yes, I think I remember something of the kind,—you were an odd little girl, Daisy."

"I wish you would explain these sketches to me."

He sat down by me; leaned one arm on the back of my chair, and, with the hand that was free, turned over the sketches, giving a few words of brief but graphic explanation to each. He allowed me to admire them, but made no comment of his own. At length the pleasant task was ended; Cornelius rose and put away the portfolio; I was thinking with inward self- gratulation that he had forgotten all about the picture, when to my dismay he said very quietly—

"Daisy, you have not told me what you think of my Mary Stuart."

"Have I not?"

"No, indeed. Whilst Kate was here you looked at it, but never opened your lips; when I came back, I found you sitting with your back to it, intent over these sketches, mere foolish trifles, Daisy, with which I relaxed my mind from graver labours; so pray forget them, look at Mary Stuart, and give me, without flattery of course, your candid opinion."

Here was a predicament! I came out with—

"A picture of yours cannot but be good, Cornelius."

"Thank you, Daisy, but that is stating a fact, not giving me your opinion."

"I dare not give an opinion."

"Very modest; but you know whether you like a thing or not; ergo, do you or do you not like Mary Stuart?"

Oh for a good genius to suggest some reply that might please him and not violate truth! All I could find was a foolish "Of course not," which prolonged, but did not elude the difficulty.

"Do you like it or not?" he repeated.

I did not reply.

"A plain yes or no, Daisy."

"Well, then,—no," I exclaimed, desperately.

Cornelius whistled.

"She is grown up," he said; "not like my picture! decidedly she is grown up! Why, the other one would have admired any daub I painted!"

Tears of vexation rose to my eyes; he stooped, and smiled in my face.

"Why should you be annoyed when I am not?" he asked, very kindly.

"I am mortified at my bad taste, Cornelius."

"Then since you are conscious of bad taste, why don't you like Mary
Stuart?"

"I can't help it; I am afraid I have no feeling, for when I look at Mary
Stuart I feel as if I did not care whether they put her to death or not."

"How hard-hearted you must be! but go on; what else?"

"Nothing else, Cornelius, save that I fear I don't care about Mary Stuart at all."

I looked at him rather shyly; he was laughing.

"You are as odd a girl as you were an odd child," he said, with his look bent on my face; "why, Daisy, that is just my case; I did not care about Mary Stuart whilst I painted her, and, poor thing! I don't care much about her now."

"Don't you, Cornelius?" I asked, astonished.

"No, history may be a fine, grand thing, but give me lowly beings and quiet feelings. Oh! Daisy, I wonder now that disappointed ambition ever made me bend the knee to the false goddess, success, who moreover always leaves me in the lurch; but our life is made up of mistakes; we stumble at every step, and the last thing we learn is to be true to ourselves."

"Were your other pictures like this, Cornelius?"

"Oh, Daisy, they were such charming things." he replied, sighing; "but Count Morsikoff wanted them, I wanted his rubles; but, never mind, I shall repeat them, and show Kate that my journey to Italy has not been quite lost."

"Why did you let her admire Mary Stuart?"

"How could I undeceive her? I had brought the unfortunate thing as a proof of my industry, not to encumber the walls of the Academy, or for her to admire; but when she looked at it with tears of admiration, what was I to do?"

"To show her the sketches."

"She won't care about them, Daisy."

"Try her."

I opened the door, and called her in eagerly. But the event proved the correctness of her brother's conjecture. Miss O'Reilly thought the sketches very pretty things, but she hoped Cornelius had not lost too much time with them. It would be such a pity, considering how admirably fitted he was for historical compositions. He winced, but did not contradict. She proceeded—

"I have been thinking of such a series of subjects: what do you say to the battle of Clontarf, or to Bannockburn? something to make one feel as if that grand lyric of Burns were being sung in the distance."

Cornelius stroked his chin and looked puzzled.

She resumed: "Perhaps you would like a subject more pathetic,—The
Children in the Tower, eh, Cornelius?"

"I have been thinking of something more domestic."

Kate's face expressed the deepest disappointment.

"History is a grand thing, Cornelius."

"And Home is lovely."

She said he knew best, but that he would never surpass Mary Stuart.

Cornelius did not reply, and put away the portfolio with a smile at me. Then we all three went out into the garden, where we lingered until the noon-day heat sent us in: that is to say, Kate and I, for Cornelius, accustomed to an Italian sun, remained out, walking up and down the gravel path, and every now and then making long pauses of rest by the back parlour window, near which we sat sewing. Once Kate, called away by some domestic concern, left us; he stood on the side facing me, his elbow resting on the low window; he looked long, then smiled.

"Well!" I said.

"Well," he replied, "it would make a pretty picture; you sitting there sewing by the window, with the cool shady back-ground of the room, a glimpse of the bright sunny garden beyond."

"And you standing there looking in, leaning on the window-sill, and the warm sunshine upon you, Cornelius."

"Yes," said the pleasant voice of Kate, now coming in, "that would complete the picture." Then she suddenly added, "Cornelius, are you not tired?"

"Not at all; I rested in London, you know."

"Go and take a walk then."

"What for, Kate?"

"Go out sketching."

"I feel very comfortable here."

"Go, I tell you; Daisy will show you the way; she knows Leigh by heart, and, for England, it is pretty enough."

Cornelius looked at me and I looked at Kate. She smoothed my hair and answered the look: "No, child, I can't go; bless you, my hands are full of domestic concerns, so make haste and get ready. Stay, I shall go with you."

She accompanied me to my room, opened my drawers and drew forth a white muslin frock.

"Put that on," she said; "do not open your eyes, but do as I bid you."

"If we walk in the grass—" I began.

"You will soil it,—what matter?"

"But why put it on? it is my best."

"Bless the child! don't you see that I tell you to put it on because it is your best, or rather because you look best in it? Don't be dull, Midge, I want Cornelius to like you and your looks too."

There was no resisting an argument so plainly stated. Still when Kate went down on some mysterious errand into the kitchen, and I hastened to the parlour with my scarf on my arm and my bonnet in my hand, in order not to keep Cornelius waiting, I was under a nervous apprehension that he would think me very vain and fond of dress. He did look at me, and very fixedly too. I exclaimed, deprecatingly—

"I knew you would think it odd to go and put on a white dress for a walk in the country, but Kate would have it so."

He laughed, and gave me an amused look.

"What a strange girl you are, Daisy! I never noticed your dress. I was studying the effect of that bright sunlight on your hair, and thinking how it made it look more rich and deep than the hues Titian loved to paint."

It was my turn to laugh.

"How like an artist, to be always thinking of effects!"

"Now don't stand giggling and chatting there," said Miss O'Reilly, appearing with an ample provision of sandwiches neatly packed up, "but go out whilst the day is still pleasant. Cornelius, take these; you are to stay out the whole day. Daisy, why don't you take his arm? you are tall enough for that now."

He held out his arm for me with a smile, and as I took it and looked up into his face, I felt a proud and happy girl. The time had been when the hand of Cornelius was as much as I could claim, and I longed in vain for the present privilege and honour.

We left Rock Cottage by the garden gate. As we walked arm in arm down the path that led to the beach, I saw Miss O'Reilly stand on the door-step, and, shading her eyes with her hand, look after us, until the winding of the path concealed us from her sight.