Bressant

Sophie, having carried her point regarding her wedding-dress, had

nothing better to do after Cornelia had left her than to give herself up

to reverie. She had a private purpose to sit up until her sister's

return, that she might hear all about Bressant, and why he had stayed

away so long and sent no word. That he had returned, expecting to meet

her at the ball, she entertained not the slightest doubt; nor was there

at this time any suspicion or misgiving in her mind about his fidelity

and love.

Mankind's ignorance of the future is, beyond dispute, a blessing; yet we

could wish, for Sophie, that so much presentiment of what was to come

might be hers as to lead her to concentrate all possible happy thoughts

into the few hours that remained wherein she might yet be happy. She had

full scope and freedom to think what she would--no less than if a

hundred years of earthly bliss had awaited her. Her life had been full

of all manner of spiritual beauties and perfumes--a divine poem, though

written upon clay. Let only the harmony of sweet music float about her

now, and the shadow of what was to come be not cast over her.

She sat in her deep, soft easy-chair, with its high back, and square,

roomy seat. An open-grate stove furnished light to the room, for Sophie

had blown out her candle. As the flame rose or sank, the various objects

round about stood visible, or vanished duskily away. Endymion, over the

mantel-piece, still slept as peacefully as ever, and the smile, though

forever upon his lips, seemed always to have but that moment alighted

there. How tenderly the lustrous touch of the moon brightened on his

white shoulder!

The golden letters of the Lord's Prayer gleamed ever and anon from the

shadow above the bed, and sent the shining beauty of a sentence across

to Sophie's eyes; and the face of the cherub, with his chin upon his

hand, was turned upward in immortal adoration. Sophie's glance rested

thoughtfully upon one and then the other. They were incorporated into

her life. Would they have power to protect her from evil and suffering?

Well, the words of the Prayer settle that question most wisely.

How silent the house was and how light it was out-doors! Sophie rose

from her chair by the fire and walked slowly to the window. A board

creaked beneath her quiet foot and a red coal fell with a gentle thud

into the ash-receiver. Then, as Sophie leaned against the window, she

heard the little ormolu clock, in the room below, faintly tinkle out the

half-hour after eleven. Before long--in an hour, perhaps--Cornelia would

be back, rosy with the cold, fresh, laughing, and full of news. Dear

Neelie! How Sophie wished that she might find a love as deep and a

happiness as perfect as had come to her. It hardly seemed fair that she

should monopolize so much of the world's joy. True, God knows best; but

Sophie, with her forehead against the cold window-pane, prayed that

Cornelia might speedily become as blessed as herself. Then she turned

to go back to her chair, casting a parting glance at the white road,

with the glistening track of sleigh-runners visible as far as the bend.

No moving thing was in sight. In stepping from the window her foot

caught in the skirt of her wedding-dress, and she narrowly escaped

falling. The loose board creaked again, dismally; but Sophie laughed at

her clumsiness, and, recovering her balance, reached her chair and sat

down in it. How warm and pleasant it was! The walls of the room seemed

to draw up cozily around the stove, and nod to one another

good-naturedly. They loved Sophie and would do all they could to make

her comfortable and secure. She sat quite still, and perhaps fell into a

light, half-waking slumber.