before her eyes. She saw Bressant standing, lightly erect, near the centre of the road, could discern his darkly-clad, well-knit figure, seemingly gigantic in the gloom: his head turned toward the on-rushing mare, one foot a little advanced, his arms partly raised, and bent: remarked what a marvelous mingling of grace and power was in his form and bearing: as the watch ticked again, she saw him spring forward and upward, grasping and dragging down both reins in his hands: another tick--he was dashed against Dolly's shoulder, and his body swung around along the shaft, but without loosening his hold upon the reins: tick, tick, tick, the mare's headway was slackened; the dragging at the bit of that great weight was more than she could carry; tick, tick, tick, she staggered on a few paces, trailing Bressant along the road; tick, tick, she came to a panting, trembling stand-still; Bressant let go the reins, but, instead of rising to his feet, he dropped loosely to the earth and lay there; tick--the five seconds were up, and Cornelia drew her second breath.
By the time the professor had scrambled out of the wagon and got around to the scene of action, he found the mysterious white figure--his own daughter--kneeling in the road beside a prostrate something he knew must be Bressant.
"Father, is he dead?" she asked, in a broken, horror-stricken voice.
The old gentleman was too much concerned to reply. Had this been a narrower nature he might have been aggrieved at Cornelia's ignoring his own late deadly peril in her anxiety for the young man. But he would have done her wrong; her heart had stood still for him till she had seen his safety assured; then it had gone out in gratitude, admiration, and tender solicitude, for the man who had shown unfaltering and desperate determination in saving him.
Having backed Dolly--who was standing, quite subdued, with hanging head and heaving sides--away from the body, Professor Valeyon stooped down to make an examination. He had begun life as a surgeon, and was well skilled in the science. He cautiously unbuttoned the closely-fitting coat.
"Stop! let me alone! let me alone!--will you?" growled Bressant, speaking thickly and disjointedly, like one just recovering from a fainting-fit, but with unmistakable signs of ill-temper.
"Thank God! you're alive, my boy," said the professor, too much relieved to notice the tone. "Cornelia, my dear, run to the house, and get Michael and the wheelbarrow.--Any bones broken, do you think?" he continued, carefully pursuing his investigations the while.
"No, nothing! can't you let me lie here alone?" was the sulky reply. But, as the other's hand happened to press lightly in the vicinity of the chest, Bressant drew a quick, gasping breath, and could not control a spasm of pain.
"Don't touch there--it's where the shaft struck me," said he, in a voice that was no more than a whisper, but as sullen as if he had been the victim of some unpardonable wrong. There was a trace of mortification in it, too, such as might have been caused by detection in a disgraceful act.
"Never saw any thing like this in him, before," said the professor to himself. "Badly injured, too, I'm afraid: collar-bone broken, at any rate. Ah! there's the wheelbarrow, and Neelie with some cushions. Now, Michael, take hold of him carefully, and help me lift him in." But Bressant, as he felt the first touch, opened wide his half-closed eyes, and looked around savagely.
"Keep your hands off me," whispered he, in a menacing tone; "if I must go into the house, I'll walk in myself."
"Nonsense! you're crazy! 'walk in?'" cried the professor.
Bressant said no more, but, with an effort that forced a groan, he rolled over on his face, and thence raised himself to a kneeling posture. He paused so a moment, and then, by another spasmodic movement, succeeded in gaining his feet. He had been twice kicked in his right leg, and the pain was wellnigh insupportable. He stood balancing himself unsteadily.
"Let me help you," said Cornelia, coming to his side. But he took no notice of her, not even turning his eyes upon her. He staggered blindly along the road to the gate; it gave way before him with a reluctant rattle, and closed with an ill-tempered clap as he passed through. Swaying from side to side of the marble walk, he at last reached the porch. In trying to ascend the steps, he stumbled, and pitched forward in a heavy fall.
"There!--confound his obstinacy! he's fainted," muttered the professor, with an awful frown, while the tears ran down his cheeks. "Here, Michael, help me carry him in before he comes to."
CHAPTER XIII.
A KEEPSAKE.
Bressant's collar-bone was broken; there were two severe bruises on his leg, though it had escaped fracture; his body in several places was marked with dark contusions, and there was a cut in the back of his head, where he had fallen against a stone. The professor set the collar-bone--a harrowing piece of work, there being no anesthetics at hand--and attended to the other hurts, the patient all the while preserving a dogged and moody silence, and avoiding the eyes of whoever looked at him.
"Can't understand it," said the old gentleman to himself; "the fellow acts like a wild-beast as regards his appreciation of human sympathy, in spite of his refined intellect and cultivation. A wounded animal has the same instinct to crawl away, and suffer in private."
When brought into the house, Bressant had been laid in the spare room adjoining the professor's study. After he had done all he could for his comfort, the warm-hearted old gentleman, being overcome with fatigue, retired to rest; the patient lay sullenly quiet, wishing it were day, and, again, wishing day would never come: at length the composing draught which had been given him took effect, and he sank heavily into sleep.
It was broad daylight when he awoke, and stared feverishly around him. The room was a pleasant one, facing the north and east, and the morning sun came cheerfully in through the open windows, slanting down the walls, and brightening on the carpet. It was a great improvement upon his rather gloomy room at the boarding-house, and he could not but feel it so. A small ormolu clock ticked rapidly upon the mantel-piece, the swing of the gilded pendulum being visible beneath. Bressant watched it with idle interest. He felt so weak, in mind and body, that the clock seemed company just fitted for his comprehension.
The door opened by-and-by, and Cornelia's smiling face peeped in, looking the sweeter for an expression of tender anxiety. Seeing that he was awake, her eyes took on an extra sparkle, and she advanced a step into the room, still clinging with one hand to the door-knob, however, as if afraid to lose its support.
"You feel a little better, don't you? Is that mattress comfortable? I'm going to bring you your breakfast in a few minutes."
Bressant only grew red and bit his mustache for answer. He would gladly have covered himself up out of sight, but he could not move hand or foot.
Cornelia had in her mind a little speech she meant to deliver to Bressant, on the subject of the previous night's event, but, at the critical moment, she felt her courage forsaking her. The topic was so weighty--and then she shrank from speaking out what was in her head, perhaps because her auditor was there as well as her sentiments. Still, she felt she ought to try.
"Mr. Bressant," began she, with a kindling look, "Mr. Bressant, I--" here her voice faltered; "oh! you don't know--I can never tell you--I can never forget what you did last night!" This was the end of the great speech.
Bressant became still more red and uncomfortable. "I made a fool of myself last night," said he, dejectedly. "I wish you hadn't been there; if I'd known what a piece of work--"
"But you saved my papa's life!" interrupted Cornelia,
