"Why, papa dear! What are you doing in here in the dark? Have you been
asleep?"
"Come here, my dear!" said the professor, in a shaken voice, holding out
his hand. He took her on his knee, and hugged her to him eagerly,
passing his hand down her arm, and pressing her slender fingers. "Are
you well and happy, Sophie?"
"Yes, papa," she answered, laying her head as usual on his shoulder.
"He--your--young man didn't come to-day?" continued the professor, with
an attempt to be jocose. "He's getting very squeamish to be kept back by
a snow-storm!" Sophie replied only by nestling closer to her father's
shoulder.
"Where's Neelie?" inquired the professor, again breaking the silence.
"She's seeing about supper, I believe."
"Have you heard any thing about Abbie lately?" proceeded the other. He
must have been either strangely anxious to keep up a conversation, or
unusually inquisitive, this evening.
"Not very lately; I saw her about a week ago. She didn't look in very
good spirits, it seemed to me."
"Not in good spirits, eh? not in good spirits? and that was a week ago!
was she ill?"
"I don't think there was any thing the matter--with her health, I mean;
she only looked very sad--as if something had almost broken her heart.
But then she always is grave, you know."
"She has been of late years, that's certain," muttered the old man,
gruffly; "and does she begin to be broken-hearted now!" he added, to
himself. More thoughts, and angry ones, he might have had, but the
memory of his untoward dream still hovered about him, and he suppressed
them.
"What are you thinking of, papa?" demanded Sophie, with an inquietude of
manner which attracted the professor's attention. He laid his finger on
her pulse, and touched her forehead.
"You've taken cold, my dear," he said, with the most tender anxiety of
tone. "What have you 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.