twinge of regret--a feeling that it would have
been just as well had it never happened--then is love a dangerous
companion. Gradually does the trifling spot grow upon her; in trying to
justify it, she succeeds only in lowering the whole idea of love to its
level; and this once accomplished, in all future intercourse with her
lover she must be undefended by the shield of her maidenly integrity.
And not all men are great enough not to presume on woman's weakness,
even though it be that woman, to assert whose honor and purity they
would risk their lives against the world.

Some such quality of earthiness Cornelia may have felt in the course of
her acquaintance with Bressant, preventing her love from ennobling and
elevating her. Alas! if it were so. If she cannot draw a high
inspiration from the affection which must be her loftiest sentiment,
what shall be her safeguard, and who her champion?

In the course of ten days or a fortnight, Aunt Margaret announced that
the condition of her head would admit of traveling, and the
long-expected tour began. But the more important consequences of
Cornelia's fashionable experiences had already taken place.

CHAPTER XVII.

SOPHIE'S CONFESSION.

Sophie did not stay long in the invalid's room after the awakening they
had undergone with respect to one another. She went instinctively to her
father's study, and, entering the open door, kissed the old man ere he
was well aware of her presence. He took her affectionately upon his
knee, and hugged her up to him with homely tenderness.

"My precious little daughter!" quoth he; "what would your old father do
without you?"

"Am I so much to you, papa?" asked she, with her cheek resting upon his
shoulder.

"Very much--very much, Sophie: too much, perhaps; for I don't see how I
could bear to lose you."

"Do you mean to have me die, papa?"

"How is your sick boy getting along?" returned the professor, clearing
his throat, and not seeming to hear his daughter's words.

Sophie caught a breath, and paled a little at the thought of the news
she had to tell about the sick boy. Her father had just told her she was
precious to him, and she felt that to be married might involve a
separation virtually as complete as that of death, and perhaps harder to
bear. But, again, she needed his sympathy and approval: and, sooner or
later, he must hear the truth. She was not, perhaps, aware that
etiquette should have closed her lips upon the subje