shall always be the same to you."

"But I feel as if there were going to be something--that something was
going to come between us;" and Cornelia began to droop like a flower
under an icy wind. "You never could hate me, could you, Sophie?"

"Hate you! Neelie! What makes you speak so, dear? I have no misgivings."

"Oh! I don't know--I don't know! it must be because I'm wicked!"

"_You_ wicked, my darling sister! Come," said Sophie, with an earnest
smile, "think only of how much we love each other; let the misgivings
go."

"Yes, we do love each other now, don't we? Whatever happens we'll always
remember that. Good-by, Sophie!" said Cornelia, with a strong hug and a
long kiss.

"Good-by, dear Neelie!"

Cornelia ran down-stairs; her papa had just gone out to the wagon; she
went into Bressant's room, and walked quickly up to the bedside.

"Here's your watch," said she. "I've kept it all safe, and wound it up
and every thing." She had also slept with it under her pillow, and worn
it all day in her bosom, but that she did not mention. She laid it down
on the table as she spoke.

"Have you a watch?" asked Bressant.

"I had one, but it did not go very long. It was very small and pretty
though;" this is the short and pathetic history of most ladies' watches.

"I'd like you to take something of mine with you that you can see and
hear and touch: will you keep this watch?" asked he, fixing his eyes
upon her. There was no time to deliberate; there was nothing she would
like so much; she snatched it up without a word and stuck it into her
belt.

"Good-by!" said she, holding out her hand. Bressant took it, not without
difficulty.

"I wish you were going to stay," said he, gloomily, "I should be more
happy to have you here, than ashamed to need your help."

Cornelia's eyes fell, and there was a tremulousness on her lips that
might mean either smiles or tears. "You'll be glad to see me when I come
back, then, and you are well?"

"You'll be like a beautiful morning when you come," returned he, with a
touch of that picturesqueness that sounded so quaintly coming from him.
All this time he had retained her hand, and now, looking her in the
eyes, he drew it with painful effort toward his lips. Cornelia's heart
beat so she could scarcely stand, and her mind was in a confusion, but
she did not withdraw her hand. Perhaps because he was so pale and
helpless; perhaps the old argument--"it's his way--he don't know it
isn't custo