ittered indistinguishably
by. The runner was nearing the end of his journey, and now leaned a
little farther forward, and his feet fell in a quicker rhythm than ever.

At the beginning of the village street stood the corner grocery; a
wooden awning in front, some men loafing at the door, who looked up as
the sound of Bressant's passing struck their ears; within, an indistinct
vision of barrels of produce, hams pendent from the dusky ceiling, some
brooms in a corner, and a big cheese upon the counter. Next succeeded
the series of adjoining shop-fronts, with their various windows, signs,
and styles; all wooden and clap-boarded, however, except the fire-engine
house, of red brick, with its wide central door and boarded slope to the
street. Bressant's steps echoed closely back from between the buildings;
once he clattered sharply over a stretch of brick sidewalk; once dodged
aside to avoid overrunning a dark-figured man. The village was left
behind; yonder stood the boarding-house, dimly white and irregular of
outline; he remembered it from the glimpse he had had in passing on his
way from the depot. In a few quick moments more he stood before the
door, glowing warm, from head to foot, drawing his deep breath easily,
his blood flowing in full, steady beats through heart and veins. He took
off his hat, passed his handkerchief over forehead and face, and then
pulled the tinkling door-bell. A fat Irish girl presently appeared, and
ushered him in with a stare and a grin, wiping her hands upon her apron.

Meanwhile Cornelia, having said a few words to her father to excuse
Bressant's unceremonious departure--she refrained instinctively from
letting him know what had actually taken place--bade him good-night, and
went up-stairs with a more sober step than was her wont. She tapped at
Sophie's door, and stayed just long enough to make the necessary
arrangements for the night. Sophie, being drowsy, asked but few
questions, and received brief replies. When Cornelia reached her own
room, she closed the door with a feeling of relief. It had never been
her habit to fasten her door; but to-night, after advancing a few paces
into the chamber, she hesitated, turned back, and drew the bolt. Then,
having hastily pulled down the curtains, she seemed for the first time
to be free from a sensation of restraint.

She walked up to the dressing-table, which was covered with a disorderly
medley of a young lady's toilet articles--comb and brush, a p