from her seat; by the
action the remaining petals of the tea-rose had been shaken off, leaving
the nucleus bare and unprotected. Bressant's eyes fastened idly upon it,
but he said nothing, and did not move, Cornelia withdrew her unaccepted
hand, smiled, and, turning about, walked up the path to the house with
an easy and dignified grace, which was not so much natural as the
inspired result of passion.

Bressant looked down at the watch in his hand, and saw it marking the
hour at which a dark epoch in his life began. He knelt on one knee by
the basin of the fountain--but not to pray. Grasping in one hand the
guard-chain of his watch, he dashed the watch itself two or three times
against the stone basin-rim. When it was completely shattered, he tossed
it into the water, and then rose lightly to his feet.

CHAPTER XXI.

PUTTING ON THE ARMOR.

Sophie, in her room, was moving about hither and thither, ostensibly to
put things in order, but really to make the time before her sister's
appearance pass the easier. She was little given to the manifestation of
impatience; but now, so much did she long to pour out her heart to her
sister on the subject of her love; to speak with a freedom which she
could use to no one else--not even to Bressant himself--and to receive
the full and satisfying measure of sympathy which she felt that only
Cornelia could give her--dear, loving, joyous Cornelia!--so much did all
these things press upon her, that she found waiting a very tedious
affair.

At last she heard Cornelia's step along the hall, and up the staircase.
It sounded more slow and listless than a few minutes before, as if she
were treading under the weight of a weary load. Now that she was out of
Bressant's eyeshot, the support afforded by her anger had given way, and
she felt very tired, very reckless, and rather grim. She entered
Sophie's open door, crossed the room heavily, and, with scarcely a
glance at her sister, threw herself plump into the chair by the window.

"Poor child," thought Sophie; "she's so tired with that long journey;
but she'll be refreshed by what I have to tell her."

"I'm so glad you're here," she continued, aloud. "I've never wanted any
one so much,-especially since the last two weeks. A great happiness has
come to me, dear, but I haven't been able fully to enjoy it, because I
couldn't tell you--they didn't want me to write. But I wouldn't tell any
one before you, nor let any one tell you but me