Bressant

At length she dropped her eyes, and, with nimble fingers and

swiftly-applied hair-pins, wound up her hair into its nocturnal knot.

She removed her ear-rings and rings, and put them into the vase; but

here reverie overtook her once more, and held her in a meditative

half-smile, until consciousness revived, and startled the blood into her

cheeks. She walked over to her little sofa, with dispatch and business

in her step, and sat down to unlace her boots.

There is something in these little ever-recurring actions,

however--these things which we do so often as to do them

unconsciously--which predisposes to thought and reflection. Cornelia,

having untied the knot, had not got farther than the fourth hole from

the top, her eyes meanwhile wandering slowly around the picturesque but

rather disorderly little room, before she became dreamily interested in

watching the shadow of a neck-scarf she had hung upon the support of the

looking-glass, projected upon the wall by the flickering light of the

candle. As she looked, her fingers began to labor upon the boot-lace,

and her eyes grew gradually larger and darker. Occasionally there were

little quiverings of the upper and under lids, barely perceptible

movements of the tip of the nose and the nostrils, and twitching at the

mouth-corners. By-and-by the twitchings resolved themselves into a

smile, very faint and far away at first, but broadening and brightening

every moment; now, the dimples were visible at half a glance, and now,

upon the still air of the chamber, there rippled forth-Cornelia put her hand to her mouth, and gave a quick, furtive glance

over her shoulder, as if in fear lest some one might have overheard her.

She recollected with some relief that the door was locked at any rate,

and the curtains down. But, for all that, as she realized what she had

been thinking about, and how very far her papa or Sophie would be from

laughing if they were told about it, she felt her cheeks tingle, and

could not be busy enough with that boot-lace!

There! that was off; now for the other. What a queer man he was, though!

Could all that have been put on in the garden--pretending he didn't

know! (This was such a tiresome old knot!) If she only hadn't been such

a goose and laughed--what must he think? What could have been the reason

he rushed off in such a hurry? Probably was afraid she'd tell papa, and

then he couldn't be his pupil. Suppose she should tell! that would be

mean, though. Perhaps he didn't intend it, after all. He seemed nice in

some ways, though he was so queer. Very likely it was only a sort of

spasm--an electric, magnetic thing--she had heard of something of the

sort. Yes, and she had felt funny herself that evening--a numb, quivery,

prickly kind of sensation: it may have been the thunder-storm! It was

strange, though; she never remembered to have felt it before. She

wondered whether Mr. Bressant ever had. Perhaps deaf people were more

subject to it. What a pity he should be deaf! It made it so awfully

embarrassing to talk to him sometimes. It must be dreadful for them to

be in love with anybody. Imagine having to talk in that way to a deaf

person! or being-This time it was the candle which took upon itself the task of warning

and censorship. It flickered, flared, gasped, and went out. It was a

very pathetic, and, it is to be hoped, effective way of remonstrance.

But the last thing seen of Cornelia, she was sitting on the sofa,

leaning carelessly forward, one hand holding her curved, little, booted

foot, the knot still untied, her eyes fixed dreamily on nothing, the

half-smile flickering on her lips, and the womanly contours of her

figure doubtfully lighted and darkly shaded by the uncertain

candle-light.