y-and-by she sat up,
sullenly shunning Sophie's touch, and appearing to shrink even at the
sound of her voice. Finally, she rose inertly to her feet, attempting to
moisten her dry lips, walked once or twice aimlessly to and fro across
the room, and ended by sitting down again upon her stool, and taking up
her sewing.

"Are you all well again, dear?" asked Sophie, timidly.

"Better than ever," replied Cornelia, with a short laugh, which had no
trace of hysteria about it.

There was, however, a slight but decided change in her manner, which did
not pass away: a sort of hardness and impenetrability: and so
incorporated into her nature did these traits seem, that one would have
supposed they had always been there. Some unpleasant visitors take a
surprisingly short time to make themselves at home.

But Sophie, seeing that her sister soon recovered her usual appearance,
did not allow herself to be disturbed by any uncalled-for anxieties.
Love, at its best, has a tendency to absorb and preoccupy those whom it
inspires: if not selfish, it is of necessity self-sufficient and
exclusive. Sophie was too completely permeated with her happiness, to
admit of being long overshadowed by the ills of those less blessed than
herself. Not that she had lost the power to sympathize with misfortune,
but the sympathy was apt to be smiling rather than tearful. She was
alight with the chaste, translucent, wondering joy of a maiden before
her marriage: the delicate, pearl-tinted brightness that pales the
stars, before the reddening morning brings on the broader daylight.

She was not of those who, in fair weather, are on the lookout for rain:
she believed that God had plenty of sunshine, and was generous of it;
and that the possibilities of bliss were unlimited. She was not afraid
to be perfectly happy. A little sunny spot, in a valley, which no shadow
has crossed all day long, was like her: there seemed to be nothing in
her soul that needed shadow to set it right.

Cheerfulness was soon reestablished, therefore, so far as she was
concerned; and the remembrance of Cornelia's distracting seizure
presently yielded to the throng of light-footed thoughts that were ever
knocking for admittance at her heart's door. Once afterward, however,
the event was recalled to her memory, by the revelation of its cause.
Little that happens in our lives would seem trifling to us, could we but
trace it, forward or backward, to the end.

CHAPTER XXVI.