she was tolerably stout and glowing with vitality.  And Cornelia looked at her own hands, as they lay in her lap:  they were as round and shapely as ever; and there, upon the smooth back of one, below the forefinger, was a white scar, where she had cut herself when a little girl.  Moreover—­Cornelia started as her eyes rested upon it, and the blood rose painfully to her face—­there was a dark, discolored bruise, encircling one wrist:  Bressant’s last gift—­an ominous betrothal ring!

Thus several hours passed away, until, at length, Cornelia raised her eyes suddenly, and encountered those of Sophie, fixed upon her.

What a look was that!  At all times there was more to be seen in Sophie’s eyes than in most women’s; but now they were fathomless, and yet never more clear and simple.  Cornelia read in them all and more than legions of words could have told her.  There were visible the complete grasp and appreciation of Cornelia’s and Bressant’s crime; the realization of her own position between them; pity and sympathy for the sinners, too, were there; and love, not sisterly, nor quite human, for Sophie had already begun to put on immortality—­but such a love as an angel might have felt, knowing the temptation and the punishment.  Before that look Cornelia felt her own bitterness and anguish fade away, as a candle is obliterated by the sun.  She saw in Sophie so much higher a capacity for feeling, so much profounder and more sublime an emotion, that she was ashamed of her own beside it.

There was at once a comprehensiveness and a particularity in Sophie’s gaze which, while humbling and abasing Cornelia, brought a comforting feeling that full justice, upon all points, had been done her in Sophie’s mind.  There was no lack of charity for her trials and temptations, no vindictiveness.  Cornelia felt no impulse to plead her cause, because aware that all she could say would be anticipated in her sister’s forgiveness.  Nay, she almost wished there had been some bitterness and anger against which to contend.  Perhaps it may be so with our souls in their judgment-day; God’s mercy may outstrip the poor conjectures we have formed about it.  He may see palliation for our sins, which we ourselves had not taken into account.

After a few moments, Sophie beckoned Cornelia to come near, and, as the latter stood beside the bed, took her by the hand and smiled.

“I’ve been all this time with Bressant,” were her first words, spoken faintly, but with a quiet and serene assurance.

Cornelia made no answer; indeed, she could not speak.  Strange and incomprehensible as Sophie’s assertion was, she did not think of doubting but that in some way it must be true.  Sophie continued: 

“Before I went to sleep, I prayed God to send my spirit to him; and we have been together.  Neelie, he is coming back!”

“Coming back!  Sophie, coming back!  For what?”

“Don’t look so frightened, my darling.  He will tell you why when he gets here.  That will be to-morrow at noon.”