Bressant

"O papa! do you really think marriage will help him to be greater and

better?"

"It's the only thing for him, my dear," said Professor Valeyon; and,

although he was looking his guilty little daughter straight in the face,

and at such short range, too, this would-be sharp-sighted old man of

wisdom never thought to ask himself why she blushed so. "As soon as he

gets well again, I must see to getting him somewhere where he can have a

chance to profit by what we have done for him."

"Papa," said Sophie, sitting up, and stroking the old gentleman's white

beard, "you don't know how happy it makes me to hear you think that to

love and to be loved will be good for him."

"So anxious to get rid of him, eh?"

"No; oh! papa, don't you see? it's because--because I never want to

get rid of him!" and Sophie, catching her father suddenly around the

neck, hid her face in his linen coat-collar.

The professor, his features discharged of all expression, sat

stone-still, looking straight before him. Had Death been embracing him,

instead of his daughter, he could hardly have been struck more

motionless. Existence, spiritual as well as physical, seemed for a space

to have come to a stand-still.

By-and-by, startled at his silence, Sophie raised her head and looked at

him with alarmed eyes. With an effort, he turned his face toward her,

and smiled as naturally as though his mouth had been frozen.

"I'm an old man, you see, my dear: a surprise like this makes me feel

it," he made shift to say, in an uncertain voice. "So--you're engaged to

each other?"

"We're waiting for you to say we may be, papa."

"It is right--it is just!" said the professor, solemnly, though still

with a sluggish utterance. "I sought to glorify God to the end of mine

own glorification, and lo! He hath taken from me my own heart's blood!"

Swept off his feet by the profundity of his emotion, the ministerial

form of speech, so long disused, rose naturally to the old man's lips.

But presently, the paralyzing effect of the shock beginning to wear off,

he drew a few long breaths, and found himself growing very hot. He took

out his handkerchief and wiped away the perspiration that had gathered

on his forehead. Then he took his little daughter strongly yet

tremblingly to his heart, and kissed her more than once.

"God bless you! my darling--my Sophie--you're my Sophie still, if you

are in love with that--great overgrown rascal. I'm a fool--an old fool!

Well--and how long has this been going on between you, my darling?"

Sophie's heart, which, in the passionate tumult of her recent interview

with her lover, had remained so steady and unfaltering, began now to

beat with such violence as to impede her utterance and visibly to shake

her. She was resolved to show herself to her father even as she was.