o it on purpose, or unconsciously?

"I mistook worship for love--that was the trouble, I fancy. Luckily, I
found out in time it won't do to love what is highest--it can only make
one mad. Love what you can understand--that's the way! See how wise I've
become."

Bressant's laugh affected Cornelia like a deadly drug. Her speech was
fettered, and she moved without her own will or guidance.

"I found out--just in time--that I needed more body and less soul--less
goodness and--more Cornelia!" he concluded, epigrammatically.

So this was her position. It could hardly be more humiliating. Yet how
could she rebel? for was not the yoke of her own manufacture? Indeed,
had she been put to it, she might have found it a difficult matter to
distinguish between the actual relation now subsisting between Bressant
and herself, and that which she had been, for months past, striving to
effect. He had met her half-way, that was all.

But surely it was only during this absence that this idea of abandoning
Sophie, and turning to herself, had occurred to him. Half as a question,
half as an exclamation, the words found their way through Cornelia's
twitching lips--

"What has happened to you since you went away?"

"Oh! since we love each other, there's no use talking about that at
present. If I had any idea of marrying Sophie, now, I should have to go
and tell her every thing. It's so convenient to be certain that
_nothing_ can change your love for me, Cornelia! No, no! I wouldn't be
so suspicious of you as to tell you now."

"When am I to know, then?" she asked, fearful of she knew not what.

"After we're married, there shall be a clearing up of it all. You'll be
much amused! By-the-way, I found out one queer thing--what my real name
is!"

"Your real name!"

"Yes--who I am; you know I said I wasn't the same who was engaged to
marry Sophie. Well, I'm not; he was a myth--there was no such person. I
always thought 'Bressant' was an _incognito_, didn't you? But it turns
out to be the only name I have! I hope you like it; do you think 'Mrs.
Bressant' sounds well?"

"What does all this mean? What are you going to do with me? Are you
making a sport of me?" cried Cornelia, clasping both hands over
Bressant's arm, in a passion of helplessness. Much as she loved life,
she would, at that moment, have died rather than feel that she was
ridiculed and deserted by him.

They had come to the brow of the hill on which the village stood,
overlo