ks--it is but justice! In the same instant, a cry of intensest pain
and horror escapes him: the deadly arrow, additionally poisoned by the
blood it has just shed, has passed quite through the spectre of his
former pupil, and is buried up to the feather in Professor Valeyon's
own vitals! This shock effectually wakened the old gentleman--for, after
all, he had only been having an uneasy nap in his straight-backed
chair!--and he started to his feet, and fumbled nervously for the
match-box. Just then, Sophie appeared at the door with a lamp in her
hand--the real Sophie, this time--no intangible shadow.

"Why, papa dear! What are you doing in here in the dark? Have you been
asleep?"

"Come here, my dear!" said the professor, in a shaken voice, holding out
his hand. He took her on his knee, and hugged her to him eagerly,
passing his hand down her arm, and pressing her slender fingers. "Are
you well and happy, Sophie?"

"Yes, papa," she answered, laying her head as usual on his shoulder.

"He--your--young man didn't come to-day?" continued the professor, with
an attempt to be jocose. "He's getting very squeamish to be kept back by
a snow-storm!" Sophie replied only by nestling closer to her father's
shoulder.

"Where's Neelie?" inquired the professor, again breaking the silence.

"She's seeing about supper, I believe."

"Have you heard any thing about Abbie lately?" proceeded the other. He
must have been either strangely anxious to keep up a conversation, or
unusually inquisitive, this evening.

"Not very lately; I saw her about a week ago. She didn't look in very
good spirits, it seemed to me."

"Not in good spirits, eh? not in good spirits? and that was a week ago!
was she ill?"

"I don't think there was any thing the matter--with her health, I mean;
she only looked very sad--as if something had almost broken her heart.
But then she always is grave, you know."

"She has been of late years, that's certain," muttered the old man,
gruffly; "and does she begin to be broken-hearted _now_!" he added, to
himself. More thoughts, and angry ones, he might have had, but the
memory of his untoward dream still hovered about him, and he suppressed
them.

"What are you thinking of, papa?" demanded Sophie, with an inquietude of
manner which attracted the professor's attention. He laid his finger on
her pulse, and touched her forehead.

"You've taken cold, my dear," he said, with the most tender anxiety of
tone. "What have y