"You've heard something!" said she, in a low, assured tone the moment he
entered. "A letter? give it me--I would rather read it myself."
The professor gave it into her hand, with a smile; but Sophie's eyes
were too deep and dark for any smile to glimmer through. As she opened
it he turned his back upon her, and saw out of the window the sinking
sun redden the snow-covered hill-top above the road.
"Yes, I'm sure he will be back to-morrow," said Sophie's quiet voice
after a minute or two. She made no comment on his having allowed any
thing to take him away at such a time--on the eve of his
marriage--without first sending word to her; but gave Abbie's letter
back into her father's keeping, and lay with closed eyes. He sat down in
the chair by the bedside, and presently noticed that she lay more
peacefully, and breathed inaudibly and easily, and that the feverish
flush was leaving her cheeks. A slight moisture, too, made itself
perceptible on her forehead.
"Her life is in this fellow's hand!" thought the professor, and he
trembled to his very heart, but dared not ask himself wherefore.
"Do you really think it would hurt me to sew, dear papa?" said she, at
length, looking up from her pillow.
"Better let sewing and every thing else alone for the present, my dear;
it'll be enough work to get all well again by next Sunday.
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