So the three were reunited—and not superficially, but more intimately and indissolubly than ever before. They would not be apart, but remained together in Bressant's room—Sophie on the bed, with an expression of divine contentment on her face, Cornelia and the professor sitting near.
"Papa," said Sophie, as the afternoon came on, "I want to make my will."
Cornelia caught her breath sharply, and, turning away her face, covered her eyes with her hand. Professor Valeyon's gray eyebrows gathered for a moment—then he steadied himself, and said, "Well, my dear."
It was not a very intricate matter. The various little bequests were soon made and noted down as she requested. After all was disposed of, there was a little pause.
"Neelie, dear," then said Sophie, turning her eyes full upon her, "I bequeath my love to you."
Cornelia perceived the hidden significance in the words, and blushed so deep and warm that the tears were dried upon her cheeks. Sophie went on, before she could make any reply:
"And I have something left for you, too, papa, though I know no one needs it less than you. But you may be called on for a great deal, so I bequeath you my charity. I haven't had it so very long myself."
The professor bowed his head, and, the will being complete, he took off his spectacles, and wiped them with his handkerchief.
"I was telling Neelie this morning, papa," resumed Sophie, after a while, "that I had been—that I'd had a dream that I was with Bressant; and I feel sure—though I suppose you'll think it nothing but a sick fancy of mine—that he will be here to-morrow noon."
The professor looked at Sophie, startled and anxious; but her appearance was so composed, straight-forward, and full of faith, he could not think her wandering.