hite beard with his
fingers. "Sophie has been very ill," said he; "it wouldn't be safe to
have her go anywhere this summer. We can't take too much care of her.
Typhoid pneumonia is a dangerous thing, and though she's on the way to
recovery now, she might easily relapse. And then," added the old
gentleman, in a more inward tone, "she would recover no more."

Although he mumbled this sentence to himself, Cornelia caught his
meaning, more, probably, from his manner than from any thing she heard;
and being of an emotional and warmly-tender disposition, she began to
cry. She loved her sister very much; and something must also be allowed
to the fact that, having a great happiness in prospect for herself, she
could afford to expend more sympathy on those less fortunate. As for the
professor, he, for a second time that afternoon, gave evidence of
possessing disgracefully little control over himself. He began another
fruitless search after his handkerchief, and finally asked Cornelia,
with some heat, whether she knew what had become of it.

"Why, it's on your head, papa!" warbled she, brightly changing a laugh
for her tears; and papa, putting up his hand in great confusion, and
finding that it was indeed so, laughed also, and this time in a
perfectly natural manner; but he blew his nose very resoundingly, for
all that.

The atmosphere being serene once more, the joy of the future became
again strong in Cornelia's heart, and coupled with it, an earnest
longing to disburden herself to some one, and who but her sister should
be her confidant? So she rose from her knees, and picked up her brown
straw hat, which, in the excitement, had fallen to the floor.

"Is there any thing you'd like to do, papa dear?" asked she, laying her
forefinger caressingly upon his bald head. "Because if there isn't, I, I
should like--I think I'd better go to Sophie."

Professor Valeyon nodded his head, being in truth desirous of taking
solitary counsel with himself. The letter contained a good deal more
than the invitation he had communicated to Cornelia, and he could not
feel at ease until he had more thoroughly analyzed and digested it. So
when his daughter had vanished through the door, with a smile and a kiss
of the hand, he mounted his spectacles again, and spread the letter open
on his knee.

After reading a while in silence, he spoke; though his voice was audible
only to his own mental ears.

"There was a time," said he, "when I wouldn't ha