mmand,
such as she could not gainsay. "It is too late!--I will not be saved!
Look in my eyes, Sophie Valeyon, and tell me the name of what you see
there!"

Her sad, gray eyes, stern to herself, but tender and soft to him, as a
cloud ready to melt in rain-drops, met his, which were alight with all
the fire that an aroused and passionate spirit could kindle in them. She
saw what she had never beheld before indeed, but the meaning of which no
woman ever yet mistook. It was her work--the assurance of her
disgrace--the offspring of her self-seeking and unwomanly behavior; and
yet, as she looked, the blood rose gradually to her pale cheeks, and
stained them with a deeper and yet deeper spot of red; her glance caught
a spark from his, and her fragile and drooping figure seemed to dilate
and grow stately, as if inspired by some burst of glorious music.
Bressant, in the mid-whirl and heat of his emotion, fell back upon the
pillow, whence he had partly raised himself, trembling from head to
foot.

"Is it love?" he said, in a smothered tone that was scarcely more than a
whisper. He was beaten down and overawed by the might and grandeur of
the passion which, growing in his own breast, had become a giant that
swayed and swept all things before it.

"Yes--love!" said Sophie, in a voice like the soft ring of a silver
trumpet. Her heart was steadied and strengthened by what mastered him.
"Love--it is above every thing else. It has brought me down so
low--perhaps, through God's mercy, it is the path by which I may rise
again. You will guide me, dear?"

And, with a gesture of divine humility, she put her hand in his, and
looked down, with the smile brightening mistily in her eyes.

At that moment--recalled, perhaps, by a chance similarity in position,
gesture, or expression--came over him, like a sudden chill and darkness,
the memory of his last interview with Cornelia.

CHAPTER XVI.

PARTING AN ANCHOR.

Cornelia, upon her arrival in New York, had been met at the station by
an emissary of Aunt Margaret, and conducted to a country-seat some
distance up the river. Four or five young ladies were already assembled
there, and as many young gentlemen came up on afternoon trains, and
availed themselves of Aunt Margaret's hospitality, until business called
them to the city again the nest morning, except that on Saturdays they
brought an extra change or two of raiment, to tide them over the blessed
rest of Sunday.

"I've been