ng spirit toward another, the more,
because that other was so differently embodied, endowed, and
circumstanced. She was a bed-ridden invalid, but she thrilled, like
Achilles, at the first gleam and clangor of arms. The only thing that
Sophie feared, and from which she shrank, was Sin. All else attracted
her in proportion as it was powerful, stirring, or awe-inspiring.
Delicate, sensitive, and apparently meek and timid as was her nature,
her heart was firm as a Roman general's, and her soul as large and
sympathetic as an Apostle's. Did the occasion offer, this pale
minister's daughter was capable of great and immortal deeds.

"Which way do you like him best, Neelie?" demanded she at length,
removing the dilated gaze of her gray eyes from the round knot on the
top of the bed-post; "when he's cold and bright, or when he's wild and
fiery."

"Oh! I don't like him at all!" exclaimed Cornelia, shuddering again.

Lest she should be suspected of a wilful misstatement, it may be as
well to show how it might happen that she should deceive herself in the
matter. Such likes and dislikes as she had heretofore felt could one and
all have been paraphrased as a more or less agreeable state of mind,
induced by the sight or thought of such and such an individual. She had
never conceived the possibility that a vital affection could take its
origin in aversion and fear, and grow strong through turmoil, passion,
and suffering. As a matter of course, she estimated her feeling toward
Bressant by the only gauge she had, and with no reference to the fact
that it was a wholly inadequate one.

The majority of the impressions she had received of him could not
certainly be called pleasant; and that he was continually in her
thoughts; that every thing she heard or saw connected itself, in one way
or another, with him; that he bore a possible part in many of her
imaginations of the future--these were factors she did not take into
account, because ignorant of their significance. The conclusion that she
did not like him was therefore a legitimate one, according to the light
she had.

Whatever Sophie may have thought of Cornelia's answer, she said no more,
but lay in reverie, opening and shutting her scissors in an objectless
manner, until Cornelia's voice flowed forth again.

"Isn't it a pity he wasn't a nice, jolly, society fellow? it would have
been such fun this winter! As it is, I don't suppose we shall be able to
do so much even as if we wer