“I’m glad to welcome you back,” said she, apparently unable to remove her eyes from his face.  “You’ll not likely find this place as convenient as the Parsonage, though.”

“It’s very pleasant; these flowers are delightful.  I wanted to thank you for them; it seems like home to be here.”

“Like home!” repeated Abbie.  Her body seemed to bend and sway toward him, and the outer extremity of the eyebrows drooped a little, giving a singularly soft and gentle expression to her elderly visage.  But seeing that he only colored, turning his head aside, and fumbling with his beard, her expression changed into one of constraint, which appeared to stiffen on her features.

“I’m glad you like the flowers; I didn’t know as you cared for such things.  I thought if you were ill they might be pleasant to you.  But you’re looking very well, sir, for one who has had so severe an accident.”

“Oh, yes; I’m as well as ever.  I’ve had very good nursing.”

“Yes—­yes,” she said, slowly; “it was better you should be there; you couldn’t have been so well cared for here.  I told Professor Valeyon so at the time.  I knew you’d feel happier there—­more at home.  It’s all for the best—­all for the best, in the end.”  She rattled the keys in her girdle before proceeding, with a distraught, embarrassed manner:  “By-the-way, you had something more than good nursing to help you to health, I heard.  Is it Cornelia—­or Sophie?”

Bressant hesitated and stammered—­a weakness he seldom was guilty of, especially when there was so little reason for it as at present.

“It’s—­I’m—­oh!—­Sophie!” said he.

“I heard it was Sophie, but I thought likely as not it was a mistake of one for another.  Sophie,” repeated she, musingly, “that sweet, delicate little angel.  Oh, I should fear, I should fear!  Cornelia would have been better—­not so sensitive—­she can bear more—­and who knows?—­No; but I do him wrong; he loves her:  she’ll be happy; she can’t help it!”

Here Abbie became aware that she had been thinking aloud; her hand sought her mouth, and she glanced apprehensively at Bressant.  But he had evidently heard nothing of the latter part of her speech, which was spoken in a low tone.  He had taken a flower from the bunch on the table, and was pulling it ruthlessly to pieces.  He did not look up.  Abbie, rattling her keys, retired toward the door.

“I’ll bid you good-morning, sir.  A house-keeper always must be busy, you know; and, of course, you can’t afford to be disturbed.  You need never fear any disturbance from me—­never, I assure you.  By-the-way, you received your letter?  I gave it to the servant, instead of waiting to bring it myself, because I thought it might be important.”

“Oh, yes, I have it; no—­no importance at all.  Good-morning.”