The woman of two weeks back
would have started and turned pale before the woman of to-day.
It would be very funny--if it were not so deep a tragedy--the havoc
bungling human fingers make in essaying the work of Providence. No one
but God can know how delicate are the petals of his flowers, nor on what
depend their bloom and fragrance. Hearts are sacred things; we should
beware of meddling, not alone with others' but with our own.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A BIT OF INSPIRATION.
Bressant was in the habit of spending three hours every afternoon at the
Parsonage. Part of this time was passed in the professor's study,
pursuing theological lore; for, whatever the young man's ultimate
expectations with regard to his career and fortune may have been, it was
no part of his plan to allow his future father-in-law to suspect any
tiling else than what he had already given him to understand.
After lessons were over he joined Sophie on the balcony, walked with her
in the garden, or gave her his arm up the hill. Cornelia was seldom to
be seen, at least within speaking distance. At the same time she did not
keep entirely out of the way. Often, when wandering with her sister
through the garden-paths, Bressant would catch a glimpse of her buoyant
figure and rich-toned face upon the balcony; or, if himself established
there, would presently behold her, in a garden hat and shortened skirt,
raking the fallen leaves off the paths and flower-beds, and perhaps
trundling them stoutly away in a wheelbarrow afterward.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286