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 his fingers as he read; but the news amounted to little, after all.
"For fear dear Sophie and you should feel anxious about Mr. Bressant, I
will tell you all I know of his absence," said the letter. "A telegram
came for him yesterday morning about ten. Joanna, the servant, who took
it up to him, says Mr. Reynolds told her it was from New York. So I
suppose some friend there--you will probably be able to say who--has
been taken very dangerously ill, or perhaps is dead. The summons must
have been very urgent, for he left his room not ten minutes afterward,
and took the half-past ten o'clock train down.
"I feel sure he will be back by to-morrow evening. Don't let your
daughters fail to be here to meet him."
After reading this, and without pausing to indulge in casuistry,
Professor Valeyon betook himself straight to Sophie's chamber.
"You've heard something!" said she, in a low, assured tone the moment he
entered. "A letter? give it me--I would rather read it myself."
The professor gave it into her hand, with a smile; but Sophie's eyes
were too deep and dark for any smile to glimmer through. As she opened
it he turned his back upon her, and saw out of the window the sinking
sun redden the snow-covered hill-top above the road.
"Yes, I'm sure he will be back to-morrow," said Sophie's quiet voice
after a minute or two. She made no comment on his having allowed any
thing to take him away at such a time--on the eve of his
marriage--without first sending word to her; but gave Abbie's letter
back into her father's keeping, and lay with closed eyes. He sat down in
the chair by the bedside, and presently noticed that she lay more
peacefully, and breathed inaudibly and easily, and that the feverish
flush was leaving her cheeks. A slight moisture, too, made itself
perceptible on her forehead.