lu clock ticked rapidly upon the mantel-piece, the
swing of the gilded pendulum being visible beneath. Bressant watched it
with idle interest. He felt so weak, in mind and body, that the clock
seemed company just fitted for his comprehension.

The door opened by-and-by, and Cornelia's smiling face peeped in,
looking the sweeter for an expression of tender anxiety. Seeing that he
was awake, her eyes took on an extra sparkle, and she advanced a step
into the room, still clinging with one hand to the door-knob, however,
as if afraid to lose its support.

"You feel a little better, don't you? Is that mattress comfortable? I'm
going to bring you your breakfast in a few minutes."

Bressant only grew red and bit his mustache for answer. He would gladly
have covered himself up out of sight, but he could not move hand or
foot.

Cornelia had in her mind a little speech she meant to deliver to
Bressant, on the subject of the previous night's event, but, at the
critical moment, she felt her courage forsaking her. The topic was so
weighty--and then she shrank from speaking out what was in her head,
perhaps because her auditor was there as well as her sentiments. Still,
she felt she ought to try.

"Mr. Bressant," began she, with a kindling look, "Mr. Bressant, I--"
here her voice faltered; "oh! you don't know--I can never tell you--I
can never forget what you did last night!" This was the end of the great
speech.

Bressant became still more red and uncomfortable. "I made a fool of
myself last night," said he, dejectedly. "I wish you hadn't been there;
if I'd known what a piece of work--"

"But you saved my papa's life!" interrupted Cornelia, in a blaze.

The young man looked as if struck with a new idea. It seemed as if he
had not before thought of looking upon the professor as an independent
quantity in the affair. The whole episode had presented itself to him as
a difficult problem which he was to solve. The accident to himself had
been an imperfection in the solution, of which he was deeply ashamed.
But he was somewhat consoled by the reflection that the old gentleman
had really needed preservation on his own account.

"That does make it better," said he, half to himself, with the first
approach to good-humor he had shown since his misfortune.

Cornelia still remained glowing in the door-way, turning the latch
backward and forward, not knowing what more to say, and yet unwilling to
say nothing more. She did not at all