ou been doing? How have you exposed yourself?"

"I was out on the porch about an hour ago," replied she, languidly. "I
wanted to--to see if he was coming, you know. The snow came on me a
little, I believe, and I had on my slippers. But I didn't feel any
thing--any cold. I was out only a moment."

Professor Valeyon turned his strong-featured face away from the lamp, so
that the shadow covered his expression. He could feel the heat of
Sophie's cheek through his coat, as she lay heavily on his shoulder;
heavily, but not half so heavily there as upon his heart. But, with the
physician's instinct, his voice was on that account all the more
cheerful.

"Well, well, my little girl; it won't do to run any risks nowadays,
remember! I shall make you drink a big cup of hot water, with a little
tea and sugar in it, and go to bed early, with three or four extra
blankets. Meanwhile, come! let's go and see whether Cornelia has got
supper ready yet." So saying, the old gentleman gained his feet,
offering his arm with a bow, took up the lamp with his other hand, and
off they went, leaving Shakespeare's plaster bust placidly to face the
darkness alone, as he had often done before.

The next morning the storm was over, and the sun came dazzling over the
spotless fields, but Sophie kept her bed, with bright, restless eyes,
and hot checks. The professor dreaded a return of the typhoid pneumonia,
and paced his study incessantly, in a voiceless fever of anxiety;
physically exhausting himself the better to affect quiet and unconcern
when in her room. He mentioned his fears to no one--not even to
Cornelia; besides, if care were taken, she might recover yet, without
fatal, or even serious danger. To herself, therefore, and to all who
inquired, he spoke of her attack as merely a cold, which must be nursed
for prudence' sake. Meanwhile, no signs of Bressant. Sophie said not a
word, but Cornelia showed uneasiness, and kept making suggestive remarks
to her father, and hazarding unsatisfactory explanations of his absence.
She never ventured to say any thing to her sister on the subject,
however. There was a gulf between the two that widened like a river,
hour by hour.

Toward evening a letter came from the boarding-house, directed to
Professor Valeyon. It was in Abbie's handwriting, and must contain some
news of Bressant. The old gentleman shut himself up in his room, the
better to deal with the intelligence, and the paper rustled nervously
in h