elp being more gracious--she began to allow a
little embroidery of conversation to weave itself about the sacred text
She spoke to Bressant about such simple and ordinary matters as went to
make up her life--the books she had read, the people she knew, the
country round about, a few of her more inward thoughts. He listened, and
said no more than enough to show he was attentive; sometimes making her
laugh by the shrewdness of his questions, and the quaintness of his
remarks.

But he said nothing more to bring a grave look into the eyes of his
young nurse; and she, finding him so gentle and boyish, and withal manly
and profound, chatted on with more confidence and freedom; and, being
gifted with fineness and accuracy of observation, and a clear flow and
order of language and ideas, made talking a delight and a profit.

There was nothing formal or didactic about Sophie, and her talk rippled
forth as naturally and spontaneously as a brook trickles over its brown
stones, or the over-hanging willows whisper in the wind. There was in it
the unwearied and unweariable freshness of nature. And Sophie's vein of
humor was as fine and pungent as the aroma of a lemon: it touched her
words now and then, and made their flavor all the more acceptable.

So Bressant gained his end at last, though he had yielded it; and this
fact was not lost upon the trained keenness of his observation. After
his nurse was gone, he lay with closed eyes, and a general sensation of
comfort, until he fell asleep. Quiet dreams came to him, such as
children have sometimes, but grown-up people seldom. Everywhere he
seemed to follow a cool, white cloud. But where was Cornelia?

CHAPTER XV.

AN UNTIMELY REMINISCENCE.

In spite of nursing and a very strong constitution, Bressant's recovery
was slow. The fact was, his mind was restless and disturbed, and
produced a fever in his blood. Large and powerful as he was, his
physical was largely dependent on his mental well-being, as must always
be the case with persons well organized throughout. He would never have
been so muscular and healthy had his life not been an undisturbed and
self-complacent one. These questions of the heart and emotions were not
salutary to his body, however beneficial otherwise.

At the same time, no one is quite himself who is ill, and doubtless
Bressant would have escaped many of his difficulties, and solved others
with comparatively little trouble, if his faculties had not bee