"I'll do it, sir; rest easy," was the encouraging reply. "Faith, and
it's a handsome man he is, and a sweet, lovely look he has out of his
eyes; leastways now, which is, maybe, more than could be said when first
he came here, three months ago, and looked that cold and sharp at a body
as might make one shiver like. It's likely his being going to marry Miss
Sophie up to the Parsonage as has fetched a change in him; which, she's
a dear good girl; and may they be happy--God bless the both of them!"
Thus soliloquizing, the fat servant-girl, apron in hand, descended the
narrow stairs, and betook herself to the kitchen.
Bressant paced restlessly up and down his small room, stopping every
minute or so to bend over the flower-pots in the window, or take a sniff
from the bouquet on the table. His cheeks and forehead were flushed, and
his eyes very brilliant. His lips worked incessantly against one
another, and he held his hands now clasped behind his back, now thrust
into the pockets of his coat. But there was certainly a noble and a
gentle light upon his features, different from their usual expression of
dazzling intellectual efficiency, different from the passionate fire
which Cornelia's presence had more than once caused to flicker over
them, different even from the purer and deeper illumination which his
love for Sophie sometimes kindled within him.
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