Bressant

After seeing Cornelia off, Professor Valeyon bethought himself of Abbie;

she must be wondering what had become of her late boarder, and he

resolved to stop at the house, and give her an account of the accident.

He had got some distance beyond the boarding-house when the idea

occurred to him. Just as he was about to head Dolly round in the

opposite direction, he discerned a figure beyond, beneath an umbrella,

which looked very much like the person he was seeking. He drove on, and

in a few minutes overtook her.

"Going up to the Parsonage?" cried the old gentleman, getting gallantly

down into the mud. "Here, jump up into-the wagon; I want to tell you

about your--boarder."

"He--there's nothing the matter with him, of course?" said Abbie, with a

short laugh. She was looking very pale, and as if she had not slept much

of late. "No, don't drive mo to the Parsonage; take me home, if you

please, Professor Valeyon. Well, about Mr. Bressant?"

"Doing very well now; he was pretty seriously hurt." And he went on to

give a short account of what had happened, which Abbie did not interrupt

by word or gesture; she sat with her head bent, and her lips working

against each other.

"It's quite certain he'll recover?" she asked, when all was told.

"As certain," quoth the professor, non-committally, "as any thing in

surgery can be."

"It wouldn't be safe to move him, of course?"

"Not till he's a good deal better; you see, the collar-bone--"

"Yes, I'll take your word for it," said Abbie, very pale. "Well, I'm

glad he's in such good hands. If I had him he wouldn't be comfortable; I

should be sure to do him more harm than good; it's better as it is; much

better."

She spoke in an inward tone, looking vacantly out into the rain, and

fumbling with the handle of her umbrella.

"But you'll come up and see him once in a while, at the Parsonage?"

Abbie shook her head. "No, no, Professor Valeyon; why should I? Do you

suppose he wants to see me? do you suppose he's thought of me once since

he went away? It would be a strange thing for an educated, intellectual,

wealthy young man like him to do, wouldn't it?" asked Abbie, with a

smile.

The professor's eyes met hers for a moment, and then she looked away.

Presently she spoke again: "I'd a great deal rather leave this world as I've lived in it, for the

last twenty years and more, than run any risk of making a blunder. I

don't want things to change, Professor Valeyon; but if they do, it

musn't be through any act of mine, or yours either."

By this time they had arrived at the boarding-house; and the old

gentleman, having seen Abbie safely in to the door, drove homeward,

frowning all the way, and at intervals shaking his head slowly. When he

got home, he shut himself into his study, and there paced restlessly

backward and forward, and stared out of the window across the valley.

That open spot on the hill-top seemed to afford little or no

enlightenment or satisfaction; and when he sat down to his solitary

dinner, the frown had not yet cleared away.