f that
time--when--just before I went away?"

Saying this, she drooped her eyes in a confusion, which, because more
than half of it was genuine, made her look very fascinating. Nothing is
more seductive than a little truth. As Bressant looked at her, and
thought of what lie had done at that last interview, soft thrills crept
sweetly through his blood, and he felt a most extraordinary tenderness
for her.

"I've often thought of it," answered he, in a tone which did not belie
his words.

"Well--so have I, to tell the truth!" rejoined Cornelia, looking up for
a moment with glowing candor. "But we won't either of us think of it any
more, will we? It seems very long ago, now; and it'll never be again,
and we ought to forget it ever was at all. But, oh! most of all, you
must forget it if it will ever be a reason for your disliking me, or
wishing not to see me! I know how disagreeable it must be to you to
think of it now."

Did Cornelia know what she was about? had she netted beforehand all the
meshes of this web she was throwing over him? the admirable mixture of
frankness and subtlety, nature and art--must it not have been planned
and calculated beforehand, to bewilder and mislead?--It may well be
doubted. No preconceived and elaborated programme can come up to the
inspiration of the moment, which is genius. Such felicitous wording of
subject-matter so objectionable: such an unassailable presentation of so
indefensible a principle--could hardly have been the fruit of
premeditation. Cornelia was allowing things to take their course.

"It isn't disagreeable! it's--" Bressant broke off, unable or unprepared
to say what it was. "Why must we forget it?" he added, with a
half-assured look of significance. "You said we were brother and sister,
you know!"

She laughed in his face, at the same time drawing her hand from his arm,
and stepping away from him. How tantalizingly lovely she looked!

"It won't do to carry the privileges of relationship too far, my dear
sir! at least, not until after you're married. There! go back to your
Sophie--I didn't mean to keep you so long--really! No, no!" as he made
an offer to approach her; "go! and be quick, I advise you. Good-by!"

Bressant, as he walked on to the Parsonage, was possessed by an
undefined conviction that he was learning a great deal not set down in
the books. The page of the passions, once thrown open, seems to comprise
every thing. The world has but one voice for the ma