Then Cornelia moved across the hollow blackness of the room. She was
sunshiny no longer, but morose and stern; her eyebrows were drawn
together; a secret defiance was in her tigerish eyes; her lips were set,
yet seemed, ever and anon, as she turned her face aside, to tremble
with a passionate yearning. As he gazed, she disappeared, but the
professor had a feeling that she was still concealed somewhere in the
darkness. And, at last, she came again--she, or something that looked
like her. The old gentleman shivered and recoiled, as though a
snow-drift had somehow blown into his warm, old heart. Was it his
daughter who looked with those unmeaning eyes, encircled with dark
rings, in which life and passion burned out had left the dull ashes of
remorse and hopelessness? Where were the luminous cheeks and the queenly
step of his proud and beautiful Cornelia?--What words were those? or was
it only fancy?--Ah!--The professor started with a sharp exclamation: but
he was alone in his dark study, and the phantom of Cornelia was gone.
He composed himself in his chair again, and, presently, a third figure
grew into form and color before him. At first, as a stately young girl,
with the arched feet and hot blood of the south, and her eyes dark and
soft as a Spaniard's; but her beauty lasted but for a moment. A
withering change came over face and figure: she was cold and hard; her
youthful ardor, warmth, and freshness, had been shrivelled up or worn
away. The rich black hair grew rusty, and the dark, delicate complexion
became dull and lustreless. Nevertheless, the professor continued to
look with hopeful expectation, confident that a further alteration would
ensue, which, though, it would not restore the grace of youth, would
give a peace and happiness yet more beautiful. And, indeed, it seemed,
for a moment, as though his expectation would be gratified. The figure
raised its head, and held forth its hands, and the professor's bright
anticipation was reflected in its eyes. But, alas! the brightness faded
almost before it could be affirmed to exist. The hands dropped to the
sides, the head was averted, and the whole form shrank back, and sank to
the ground. For the third time--the professor's imagination was
certainly playing him strange tricks this evening--the ghost of spoken
words appeared to fall upon his ears, and sink like molten lead into his
heart. He groaned, and there was an oppression on his chest, so that he
struggled for breath; but, in another moment, the crouching figure was
gone, and the oppression with it; but drops of sweat stood upon the old
man's broad forehead.
Still another vision awaits him, however, and he draws himself up
sternly to encounter it, and a heavy frown lowers on his thick gray
eyebrows. But the lofty form which confronts him, massive and stalwart,
alike in mind and body, meets his gaze unflinchingly, and frowns back in
angry defiance. The old professor pauses in his intended denunciation,
being taken aback somewhat, at the unexpected counter-accusation which
strikes out at him from the young man's eyes. Yet do his self-confidence
and indignation become reconfirmed, for there, behind, the three former
phantoms appear together, and seem to launch against the last a deadly
shaft of bitter reproach and judgment. The professor watches it cleave a
passage through the stalwart figure's heart, and he bows his head, and
thinks--it is but justice! In the same instant, a cry of intensest pain
and horror escapes him: the deadly arrow, additionally poisoned by the
blood it has just shed, has passed quite through the spectre of his
former pupil, and is buried up to the feather in Professor Valeyon's
own vitals! This shock effectually wakened the old gentleman--for, after
all, he had only been having an uneasy nap in his straight-backed
chair!--and he started to his feet, and fumbled nervously for the
match-box. Just then, Sophie appeared at the door with a lamp in her
hand--the real Sophie, this time--no intangible shadow.