vering, lingering sobs, opening and clinching her
hands, which hung at her side. Bill Reynolds, however, being overcome
with joy, at once gave intelligible manifestation of it.

"Good enough!" cried he, slapping his leg, and looking from one to
another with a giggle of relief. "Bully for her! Bless you, _I_ knew
Sophie Valeyon warn't dead. Speak again! I believe you. _She'll_ tell us
what's the matter, I guess."

Professor Valeyon rapidly and collectedly gave his directions as to what
steps were to be taken, and in a few minutes every thing was being done
that skill could do. Snow was brought in to encourage back the life it
had dismayed, and camphor and coffee awaited their turn to take part in
the resuscitation. Slow and reluctant it was, like dragging a dead
weight up from an unknown depth. More than another hour had passed away
before Sophie's eyelids quivered, and a slight tremor moved her lips.
By-and-by she opened her eyes, slowly and uncertainly, let them close
again, and once more opened them; and, after several inaudible efforts,
there came, like an echo from an immeasurable distance, one word, twice
repeated:

"Bressant! Bressant!"

They looked around for him, but he was not in the room, nor in the
house. Questioning among themselves, none could tell whether it were an
hour or a minute since he had departed. When life began to take fresh
hold on her he had so loved and wronged, his heart had failed him, and,
without a word, he had gone out and away. But not to escape; for on no
heart was the weight of sorrow and suffering so heavy as on his.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MOTHER AND SON.

The grand ball at Abbie's was still in progress, though showing signs
of approaching dissolution, when Bressant entered the house quietly at a
side-door, and crept up to his room. He wished not to be seen or heard
by anybody; but it happened that Abbie saw him, and the sight partly
alarmed and partly relieved her. She could now account for the
mysterious disappearance of Cornelia some hours before. But why had
Bressant returned so secretly? and why were his movements all so
surreptitious? Something must be out of order, either at the Parsonage
or elsewhere. She reflected and conjectured, and of course became
momentarily more and more uneasy. Nor did a short visit to his door
relieve her apprehensions: a confused and non-descript sound had
proceeded from within, as if the young man were packing up. Whither
could he be going