By the time the professor had scrambled out of the wagon and got around
to the scene of action, he found the mysterious white figure--his own
daughter--kneeling in the road beside a prostrate something he knew must
be Bressant.
"Father, is he dead?" she asked, in a broken, horror-stricken voice.
The old gentleman was too much concerned to reply. Had this been a
narrower nature he might have been aggrieved at Cornelia's ignoring his
own late deadly peril in her anxiety for the young man. But he would
have done her wrong; her heart had stood still for him till she had seen
his safety assured; then it had gone out in gratitude, admiration, and
tender solicitude, for the man who had shown unfaltering and desperate
determination in saving him.
Having backed Dolly--who was standing, quite subdued, with hanging head
and heaving sides--away from the body, Professor Valeyon stooped down to
make an examination. He had begun life as a surgeon, and was well
skilled in the science. He cautiously unbuttoned the closely-fitting
coat.
"Stop! let me alone! let me alone!--will you?" growled Bressant,
speaking thickly and disjointedly, like one just recovering from a
fainting-fit, but with unmistakable signs of ill-temper.
"Thank God! you're alive, my boy," said the professor, too much relieved
to notice the tone.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152