who ought to have been anxious about his health, fearful of the consequences of the journey, desirous that all nourishing and good things should be ready, solely occupied in dressing herself up for the meeting, so as to hide her mortal sickness from his eyes, or any change in her appearance; and was incessantly asking us how she looked, instead of the more natural and important question of, When might he arrive?

A telegraphic message from Richard gave us the intelligence that he had already landed, and they would be with us about five. As Selina read it aloud, on my lips dwelt the question, "Is he very ill?" while Lady Maria said, "Draw down the blinds: he must not see me in the full glare of day."

We persuaded her to sleep if she could; but she said, she should probably disarrange her cap!

So, getting more excited every hour, and more tired, we dragged on the time until five. We heard the wheels of a carriage: he was coming. She sat up, though it must have been dreadful pain. She even said, "I must rise-I must go a few steps to meet him-I would not have him see me quite an invalid." She made the effort,

as we heard him coming up the stairs. The door opened. Richard led into the room a poor, shattered frame. Two feeble, thin hands were stretched out, groping his way. A bandage was over his eyes. My guardian was blind.

CHAPTER XVII.

"There is no God," the foolish saith ;—

In bitter need will borrow:

Eyes which the preacher could not school

By wayside graves are raised;

And lips say, "God be pitiful,"

Which ne'er said "God be praised."

Be pitiful, oh! God!

E. B. BROWNING.

SHE was a very strange woman, this weak and wayward Lady Maria. The loss of his manly beauty, the helpless sad state he was in, his sufferings, his hoverings between life and death, awoke no sympathy in her. He was not the handsome Captain Forest, to obtain whom she had sacrificed so much. He was a miserable

shattered wreck. Hopes were held out that some of these days he might see a little with one eye. The hopes were small, which she said "was fortunate, a man with one eye being more unsightly than not seeing at all!" She had no fears now in leaving him to our care. We repaid as best we could all his kindness to us in former years.

It may be that Selina looked prettier in her husband's eyes attending that poor blind man, than at any other time.

We did not know, we could not tell, if she was not revenging herself after a noble fashion.

Captain Forest's mother was now very old, and could not come to see him; neither could he go to her, at least at present.

Lady Maria's sufferings were drawing to a close. We had been told to expect them to be worse. They were dreadful. When a prey to them, she poured out her whole soul in prayers and penitence; letting out in her cries and agonies, many confessions that gave me other clues to the events of her sinful life. But as none heard them, save myself and the nurse, I could only think I had no right to divulge them- Selina

was happy; to take up her antecedents, if only to learn that Captain Forest had been as much wronged as herself, would have been no avail now. Glynne would be restored to his rights but too soon.

Very sad were we to see this life ebbing so fast, with so little to comfort us as to future hope.

Richard spent all the time he could spare from his parish with us.

Little Neville was sent home-Glynne was written for; yet still no real remorse smote that heart; no prayer for mercy rose to those lips, except when extorted by agony.

Glynne never appeared to such advantage, I thought, as when, with the tenderness of a woman, he waited on and cared for my guardian.

One night, our saddest, weariest, when I and my poor patient cried together, "would God it were morning," a powerful arm lifted me from the bed on which I knelt, bathing that fearful

arm.

"Let me do it," said Glynne.

He must have been very tender, she did not shrink, and her moans grew fainter.