Bressant, no matter how sincere and well-meaning he might be at the outset. A man is apt to know when he has power over a woman; and, although he may have no expectation of it, nor wish to use it, yet, as time goes on and accustoms him to the idea, he must have strong principles or cold blood who does not finally yield to temptation. Plain speaking, where pleasant things are said, is smelling poisonous flowers for both parties.
A steady fall of rain set in during the night, and made the morning of departure gray. Blurred clouds rested helplessly on the backs of the hills, and wept themselves into the wet valley without seeming to grow less lugubrious for the indulgence. There was no wind; trees and plants stood up and were soaked in passive resignation. The weather-beaten boards of the barn were drenched black, except a small place right under the eaves, which looked as if it had been painted a light gray. When the covered wagon was brought around to the gate, it speedily acquired a brilliant coat of varnish; Dolly's bay suit was streaked and discolored, and the reins, thrown over her back, got all wet and uncomfortable.
Michael now came for Cornelia's trunk--a ponderous structure packed within an inch of its existence. Cornelia stood at the head of the stairs and saw it go thump! thump! thump! down to the bottom, and then scrape unwillingly over the oil-cloth to the door. Such a heavy-hearted old trunk as it was! Then she walked to the hall-window, and watched its further journey along the glistening marble causeway, which dimly reflected its square ponderosity, and the tugging Michael behind it.
Now the gate had to be pulled open; the rasp of its rattle and sharpness of its flap were somewhat impaired by the wet, but it managed to give the trunk a parting kick as it went out, as much as to say the house was well rid of it.
"Cornelia!" called the Professor from down-stairs, "you've just five minutes to say good-by in. Get through and come along!"
She passed through Sophie's open door; her sister held out her arms, her eyes overflowing with tears, but smiling with the strange perversity that possesses some people on these occasions. Cornelia was troubled with no such misplaced self-dental; she threw herself impatiently down by Sophie, and sobbed with all her might. Possibly it was more than one regret that found utterance then.
"You'll be all well and walking about when I come back, won't you dear?" said she, at last, in a shaking voice.
"I shall get well thinking what a splendid time you're having, darling."
"Sophie--will you be quite the same to me when I come back?"
"Why, Neelie, dear, what a question! I shall always be the same to you."
"But I feel as if there were going to be something--that something was going to come between us;" and Cornelia began to droop like a flower under an icy wind. "You never could hate me, could you, Sophie?"
"Hate you! Neelie! What makes you speak so, dear? I have no misgivings."
"Oh! I don't know--I don't know! it must be because I'm wicked!"
"_You_ wicked, my darling sister! Come," said Sophie, with an earnest smile, "think only of how much we love each other; let the misgivings go."
"Yes, we do love each other now, don't we? Whatever happens we'll always remember that. Good-by, Sophie!" said Cornelia, with a strong hug and a long kiss.
"Good-by, dear Neelie!"
Cornelia ran down-stairs; her papa had just gone out to the wagon; she went into Bressant's room, and walked quickly up to the bedside.
"Here's your watch," said she. "I've kept it all safe, and wound it up and every thing." She had also slept with it under her pillow, and worn it all day in her bosom, but that she did not mention. She laid it down on the table as she spoke.
"Have you a watch?" asked Bressant.
"I had one, but it did not go very long. It was very small and pretty though;" this is the short and pathetic history of most ladies' watches.
"I'd like you to take something of mine with you that you can see and hear and touch: will you keep this watch?" asked he, fixing his eyes upon her. There was no time to deliberate; there was nothing she would like so much; she snatched it up without a word and stuck it into her belt.
"Good-by!" said she, holding out her hand. Bressant took it, not without difficulty.
"I wish you were going to stay," said he, gloomily, "I should be more happy to have you here, than ashamed to need your help."
Cornelia's eyes fell, and there was a tremulousness on her lips that might mean either smiles or tears. "You'll be glad to see me when I come back, then, and you are well?"
"You'll be like a beautiful morning when you come," returned he, with a touch of that picturesqueness that sounded so quaintly coming from him. All this time he had retained her hand, and now, looking her in the eyes, he drew it with painful effort toward his lips. Cornelia's heart beat so she could scarcely stand, and her mind was in a confusion, but she did not withdraw her hand. Perhaps because he was so pale and helpless; perhaps the old argument--"it's his way--he don't know it isn't customary;" perhaps--for this also must have a place--perhaps from a fear lest he should make no attempt to regain it. She felt his bearded lips press against it. At the touch, a sudden weakness, a self-pitying sensation, came over her, and the tears started to her eyes.
"No one ever did that before to me," she said, almost plaintively, for he had spoken no justifying words, and she was balancing between a remorseful timidity and a timid exultation.
"It's the first kiss I ever gave," said he, and his own voice vibrated. "Are you angry? it shall be the last if you are."
"Oh, I'm not angry," faltered poor Cornelia; and then she felt, or seemed to feel, a force drawing her down--scarcely perceptible, yet strong as death. She bent her lovely glowing face, with its tearful eyes and fragrant breath, close down to Bressant's.
At that very moment, or even an incalculable instant before, the professor's voice was heard calling loudly from without:
"Come--come! be quick! you'll be too late!"
She rose and fled from the room; but it was too late, indeed.
CHAPTER XIV.
NURSING.
After seeing Cornelia off, Professor Valeyon bethought himself of Abbie; she must be wondering what had become of her late boarder, and he resolved to stop at the house, and give her an account of the accident. He had got some distance beyond the boarding-house when the idea occurred to him. Just as he was about to head Dolly round in the opposite direction, he discerned a figure beyond, beneath an umbrella, which looked very much like the person he was seeking. He drove on, and in a few minutes overtook her.
"Going up to the Parsonage?" cried the old gentleman, getting gallantly down into the mud. "Here, jump up into-the wagon; I want to tell you about your--boarder."
"He--there's nothing the matter with him, of course?" said Abbie, with a short laugh. She was looking very pale, and as if she had not slept much of late. "No, don't drive mo to the Parsonage; take me home, if you please, Professor Valeyon. Well, about Mr. Bressant?"
"Doing very
