Yes, I was just thinking of you, my love--so longing to have a quiet _chat_ with you--your dear father!--such a _grand_ man he is! _such genius_! Oh! _I_ was his devoted. Tell me all about him, and that sweet _home_ of yours, and _dear_ little Sophie, too. Oh! I was so shocked, so terrified, to hear of her illness; and--let me see!--oh, yes, and that new pupil your papa has--Mr. Bressant--_how_ is he? _does_ he behave well? _is_ he pleasant? _do_ you see much of him? _does_ he keep himself quiet?--such a--"
"Why! how did you know about him?" interrupted Cornelia, into Mrs. Vanderplanck's ever-ready ear-trumpet. "Is he a relation of yours, or any thing?"
Aunt Margaret stopped short, and pressed her thin, wide lips together. She had never imagined but that Professor Valeyon had told his daughters through whose immediate instrumentality it was that Bressant made his appearance at the Parsonage; but finding, from Cornelia's questions, that this was not so, she bethought herself that it might be well for her young guest to remain in ignorance, at least for the present. It was not too late, and, after a scarcely-perceptible pause, she made answer:
"It was in your dear papa's _answer_ to my invitation, my love. Oh! so shocked I was dear little Sophie couldn't come--lay awake _all_ that night with a headache--yes, _indeed_!--when he _wrote_ to me, you know--such a dear, noble letter it _was_, too! Oh! I read it over a dozen--_twenty_ times at least!--he mentioned this new pupil of his--seemed interested in him--of course I _can't_ help being interested in whatever interests any of you dear ones, you know--he mentioned his strange name and all--it _is_ a strange name, isn't it, love?"
"It isn't his real name," interposed Cornelia; "nobody except papa knows who he is. It's just like one of those ancient names, you know--the Christian name and the surname in one."
"Oh, yes, I see--so odd, isn't it?--such a _mystery_, and all that--yes--so that's how I came to speak of him, I suppose. One gets _ideas_ of a person that way sometimes, don't you know, though they may never have actually _seen_ them at all? Oh! when I was a _young_ thing, I was just full of those--_ideals, I_ used to call them--oh, you know all about it, I _dare_ say!"
"He met with a very serious accident just before I came away," said Cornelia to the ear-trumpet; "he stopped Dolly--our horse--she was running away with papa in the wagon. He saved papa beautifully, but he was dreadfully hurt--his collar-bone was broken, and he was kicked, and almost killed. He's at our house now, and papa's taking care of him."
At this information Aunt Margaret became very white, or rather bloodless, in the face. She allowed the ear-trumpet to hang by its silver chain from her neck, and, reaching out her hand to a recess in the writing-table at which she sat, she drew forth a small ebony box, set in silver, and carved all over with little figures in bass-relief. Opening it, she took out a few grains of some dark substance which the box contained, and slipped them eagerly into her large mouth, Cornelia watched her out of the corner of her eyes, and, being a physician's daughter, she drew her own conclusions.
"Ho, ho! that's where your sick-headaches, and yellow complexion, and nervousness, and weak eyes, come from, is it? You'd better look out! that's morphine, or opium, or some such thing, I know; and papa says that old ladies like you, who use such drugs, are liable to get insane after a while, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if you were to become insane, Aunt Margaret!"
This agreeable prophecy, being confined solely to Cornelia's thoughts, was naturally inaudible to Mrs. Vanderplanck. She murmured something about her doctor having prescribed medicine to be taken at that hour, and then, the medicine appearing to have an immediate and salutary effect, she found her color and her voice again, and took up the conversation.
"Shocking! oh, shocking! _so_ sad for the poor young man--no father--no--no mother there to care for him. He _it_ an orphan, is he not?--no relatives, I suppose--no one who _belongs_ to him, poor boy! Dear, dear!--but he's _not_ fatally injured, is he?--not fatally?"
"Oh, no," replied Cornelia, whose opinion of Aunt Margaret's character was much improved by this evidently sincere sympathy in the suffering of some one she had never seen--"oh, no; papa says he'll be all well in three months."
"And he's staying at your house, and under your dear father's care?"
"Yes, he is now. Before his accident he was boarding at Abbie's, down in the village. She would have been very kind to him, of course, but I suppose he'd rather be at our house, because papa can always be at hand."
While Cornelia was delivering this into the black ear-trumpet, she turned her eyes away from Aunt Margaret's face, being in truth somewhat embarrassed at talking so much about the man who had her heart. Consequently she did not observe the expression which crossed her companion's face at her mention of the modest name of the boarding-house keeper. Her features seemed to contract and sharpen, and there was positively a glitter in her watery eyes, seemingly mingled of consternation, astonishment, and hatred. In another moment the expression had passed away, or was softened into one of nervous alarm and anxiety; and even this, when she spoke, was wellnigh effaced.
"Certainly--yes, _certainly_! your dear father--_what_ a wise man he is! he _has_ such a profound knowledge of medicine and surgery--all those things--so prudent, so careful! Still, a woman is a treasure, you know--a good, sensible, efficient woman is a _host_--oh, yes, in a sick-room. This boarding-house keeper, now--she's just such a person, I _dare_ say--elderly, sober, experienced--a married woman, probably, with a large family, no doubt? Abbie, Abbie! what _did_ you say her last name was, my love?"
Cornelia was so much amused at the idea of Abbie's being a married woman with a large family that she did not observe how Aunt Margaret, awaiting her answer, was all in a tremble. If she had not been laughing, she could scarcely have helped seeing how the ear-trumpet shook as it was presented to her.
"Oh, no," said she, "she's not married, Aunt Margaret--at least not now, though I believe she's a widow, or something of that kind, you know--and she hasn't any children at all! As to her other name, I don't know it, and I believe hardly any one does. You see, she's one of that queer sort of people; she's very quiet, and always grave, and nobody knows much about her, except that she's very good, and has lived in the village for twenty years and more. I believe, though, papa has met her before, or knows something about her in some way; but he never says any thing to us on the subject."
This was all that could be got out of Cornelia upon the topic of Abbie, and Mrs. Vanderplauck was obliged to swallow whatever uneasiness, curiosity, or misgiving she may have felt. In the midst of an exhortation to her young guest to repeat her visit daily to the boudoir, and regale her auntie with anecdotes of the dear old, interesting people in the village, Abbie and all, some one of the young ladies knocked at the door, and hurried Miss Valeyon off, without her having asked, as she had intended, for an explanation of the puzzling, metaphorical allusions.
Mrs. Vanderplanck, left to herself, rocked backward and forward in her chair, with her hands clasped over her forehead, much in the way that an insane person might have done.
"Who'd have thought it! who'd have thought it! In the very village--in the very house--of all places in the world!--in the very house!--and he laid up--can't be moved--can't be taken away. Why didn't I know?--why didn't I find out?--careless--stupid--thoughtless! Curse the woman! couldn't I have imagined that she'd never be far away from her dear professor--and we sent him there--we hid him away--we disguised his name--college was too public for him--let him finish his education in the country--and then we could escape away--to Germany--France--anywhere--and carry all the money with us--all the money!--half for me, and half for him!--and what'll become of it now? Curse the woman! I knew she couldn't be dead. But she sha'n't have the money--no! she sha'n't, she sha'n't!
"Is it possible,
