CHAPTER XXI.
PUTTING ON THE ARMOR.
Sophie, in her room, was moving about hither and thither, ostensibly to put things in order, but really to make the time before her sister's appearance pass the easier.

She was little given to the manifestation of impatience; but now, so much did she long to pour out her heart to her sister on the subject of her love; to speak with a freedom which she could use to no one else--not even to Bressant himself--and to receive the full and satisfying measure of sympathy which she felt that only Cornelia could give her--dear, loving, joyous Cornelia!--so much did all these things press upon her, that she found waiting a very tedious affair.
At last she heard Cornelia's step along the hall, and up the staircase.
It sounded more slow and listless than a few minutes before, as if she were treading under the weight of a weary load.

Now that she was out of Bressant's eyeshot, the support afforded by her anger had given way, and she felt very tired, very reckless, and rather grim.

She entered Sophie's open door, crossed the room heavily, and, with scarcely a glance at her sister, threw herself plump into the chair by the window.
"Poor child," thought Sophie; "she's so tired with that long journey; but she'll be refreshed by what I have to tell her." "I'm so glad you're here," she continued, aloud.

"I've never wanted any one so much,-especially since the last two weeks.