"Bully for her! Bless you, _I_ knew
Sophie Valeyon warn't dead. Speak again! I believe you. _She'll_ tell us
what's the matter, I guess."
Professor Valeyon rapidly and collectedly gave his directions as to what
steps were to be taken, and in a few minutes every thing was being done
that skill could do. Snow was brought in to encourage back the life it
had dismayed, and camphor and coffee awaited their turn to take part in
the resuscitation. Slow and reluctant it was, like dragging a dead
weight up from an unknown depth. More than another hour had passed away
before Sophie's eyelids quivered, and a slight tremor moved her lips.
By-and-by she opened her eyes, slowly and uncertainly, let them close
again, and once more opened them; and, after several inaudible efforts,
there came, like an echo from an immeasurable distance, one word, twice
repeated:
"Bressant! Bressant!"
They looked around for him, but he was not in the room, nor in the
house. Questioning among themselves, none could tell whether it were an
hour or a minute since he had departed. When life began to take fresh
hold on her he had so loved and wronged, his heart had failed him, and,
without a word, he had gone out and away. But not to escape; for on no
heart was the weight of sorrow and suffering so heavy as on his.
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