alone and not far from the side-door into the yard. Her
partner--whoever he was--had gone to get her some ice-cream or a cup of
coffee. Cornelia did not wait for his return, but walked quickly and
unobserved to the door, which stood a few inches ajar, opened it, passed
through, and stood in the unconfined air. The keen intensity of the
tonic made her nostrils ache, and her uncovered bosom heave. She
unbuttoned one of her gloves, and, taking some snow in her hand, pressed
it to her warm temples, and then let it drop shivering into her breast.

"It must feel like that to die, I suppose," thought she. "If I were
Sophie, now, that snow would be the death of me in two days: as it is, I
shall only have a cold in the head to-morrow. There seems to be no
reason in these things."

A dark figure turned the farther corner of the house, and came
ploughing through the snow immediately under the eaves, dragging one
hand along the clapboards as it came. The crunching of the snow caught
Cornelia's ears, and she turned and recognized the figure in half a
breath. The great height, the massive breadth, the easy, springing
tread--it was Bressant from head to foot. He was buttoned up in a short
pea-jacket, and there was a round fur cap on his head. As Cornelia
turned upon him, he stopped a moment, standing quite motionless, with
the fingers of one hand resting on the side of the house. Then he came
close up to her and grasped her wrist with his gloved hand.

"Where is Sophie?" demanded he in his rapid, muffled voice.

"She's ill: she caught cold: she's at home," answered Cornelia, who, at
the first recognition, had felt a kind of twang through all her nerves,
and was now trying to control the effects of the shock. There was
something queer in Bressant's manner--in the way he looked at her.

"But you came," rejoined he, stooping down and peering into her
beautiful, troubled face. He broke into a laugh, which terrified
Cornelia greatly, because he laughed so seldom. "One might know you'd
come. You thought I'd be here: you came to see me, and here I am. Will
Sophie get well?"

"Oh, yes! she was much better. When I left she had on
her--wedding-dress."

Bressant drew in his breath hissingly between his teeth, and his fingers
tightened a moment round Cornelia's wrist. The pain forced a sob from
her and turned her lips pale. He paid no attention to her, presently
dropped her wrist, and put his hands behind him, grinding the snow
beneath h