"But you came," rejoined he, stooping down and peering into her
beautiful, troubled face. He broke into a laugh, which terrified
Cornelia greatly, because he laughed so seldom. "One might know you'd
come. You thought I'd be here: you came to see me, and here I am. Will
Sophie get well?"
"Oh, yes! she was much better. When I left she had on
her--wedding-dress."
Bressant drew in his breath hissingly between his teeth, and his fingers
tightened a moment round Cornelia's wrist. The pain forced a sob from
her and turned her lips pale. He paid no attention to her, presently
dropped her wrist, and put his hands behind him, grinding the snow
beneath his heel, and looking down.
"Whom is she going to marry?" was his next question, asked without
raising his head.
"You!" exclaimed Cornelia, in astonishment and fear. The answer sprang
to her lips without forethought or reflection, so much had the strange
question startled her.
But he again stooped down and peered into her eyes, watching the effect
of his words on her as he spoke them.
"No, no! I am not he who promised to marry her. She wouldn't have me, if
I asked her: she don't know me. I'm going to marry some one else.
_She'll_ love me, no matter who I am. Shall I tell you her name?"
Cornelia could only shiver--shiver--with dry mouth and dilated eyes.
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