But then she always is grave, you know."
"She has been of late years, that's certain," muttered the old man,
gruffly; "and does she begin to be broken-hearted _now_!" he added, to
himself. More thoughts, and angry ones, he might have had, but the
memory of his untoward dream still hovered about him, and he suppressed
them.
"What are you thinking of, papa?" demanded Sophie, with an inquietude of
manner which attracted the professor's attention. He laid his finger on
her pulse, and touched her forehead.
"You've taken cold, my dear," he said, with the most tender anxiety of
tone. "What have you been doing? How have you exposed yourself?"
"I was out on the porch about an hour ago," replied she, languidly. "I
wanted to--to see if he was coming, you know. The snow came on me a
little, I believe, and I had on my slippers. But I didn't feel any
thing--any cold. I was out only a moment."
Professor Valeyon turned his strong-featured face away from the lamp, so
that the shadow covered his expression. He could feel the heat of
Sophie's cheek through his coat, as she lay heavily on his shoulder;
heavily, but not half so heavily there as upon his heart. But, with the
physician's instinct, his voice was on that account all the more
cheerful.
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