ver that Mary, in her
humble home and common dress, was treated both by Dr. Vernon and his son
with a consideration _she_ had never found among any of the gay guests at
Somerton Park. For the truth was they already loved and esteemed Mary.

This was, perhaps, the first happy awakening of Harriet to the faults of
her own character; she began to perceive the sweetness of gentle,
unselfish humility, which, prompting ever to a contented fulfilment of
our duties, is sure to make its presence felt, even as we know, by its
delicious perfume, that the violet is near, though hidden from sight
beneath its green canopy of leaves.

Time passed on. At last, one happy day of returning spring, light
gleamed again on the darkened orbs of the afflicted father! The cure was
working, and soon--very soon, he could recognise his dear children; and,
throwing back their hair to gaze yet more fondly on their countenances,
he would talk of the change of time, of their growth, and, above all, of
his deep thankfulness to the Almighty for the blessing of sight. And now
it was that Harriet fancied--was it fancy?--that he looked more fondly at
Mary than herself. And then _they_ had so many subjects of interest to
talk about, of which she knew nothing. But whose fault was it that she
had not shared her gentle sister's cares and pleasures?

The happy time had come when Mr. Mannering no longer required the guiding
hand of either daughter. He was walking in the little garden which
belonged to their dwelling when Dr. Vernon and his son arrived. Contrary
to his custom, the old gentleman, perceiving his friend, joined him out
of doors, while Arthur, who well knew his way up stairs, tapped at the
door of their one sitting room. He did not perceive any occupant but
Mary as he entered, and indeed, I am not quite certain that even she was
aware that Harriet was in the room, Mary herself having only just come
in, and her sister being nearly hidden by a thick curtain which half
covered the window.

It was then and there, with the haughty sister for a listener, that
Arthur Vernon asked the gentle Mary to be his wife!--hinting at his hopes
and wishes at first in answer to some expressions of gratitude from her
for the service he had rendered her father, and begging her thus to repay
it by giving him herself.

Mary wept, but they were very happy tears she shed; for now she might own
that gratitude and admiration, for his noble qualities had made Arthur