had more to talk of than he used to have.
The master with whom he boarded had daughters, and these daughters had
young companions. She made him describe them to her. "I don't care for
girls," he said; "they are so silly, and talk such nonsense. There is
only one, Cecilia, whom I don't dislike, because she does not chatter
and make those faces the others do to beautify themselves--and what are
they all to me? The other evening when I came home, and went into my
room, I found a bunch of flowers on the table; I let it lie, and did
not even put it in water, though I was sorry for the flowers--but it
provoked me, and next day there was such a whispering and tittering
amongst the girls!--I felt so cross, I would not speak a word to them.
Why can't they let me alone?--I have no time for their nonsense."

When he talked so, Marlene would hang upon his lips, and treasuring up
his words, would interweave them with an endless web of her own strange
fancies. She might perhaps have been in danger of wasting her youth in
fruitless reveries, but she was saved from this by serious sorrows, and
cares that were very real. Her father, who had long fulfilled with
difficulty the duties of his place, was now struck with paralysis, and
lay entirely helpless for one whole year, when his sufferings were put
an end to by a second stroke. She never left him for an hour. Even in
the holidays which brought Clement, she would not spare the time to
talk to him, save when he would come to spend ten minutes in the
sick-room.

Thus concentrating her life, she grew more self-denying. She complained
to no one, and would have needed no one, had not her blindness
prevented her doing everything herself. Her misfortune had been a
secret discipline to her, and had taught many a humble household
virtue, that those who see neglect. She kept everything committed to
her care in the most scrupulous order. Her neatness was exaggerated,
for she had no eyes to see when she had done enough.

Clement was deeply moved when he first saw her trying to wash and dress
her helpless father, and carefully combing his thin grey hair. If in
that sick-room, her cheek grew somewhat paler, there was a deeper
radiance in her large dark eyes, and to her natural distinction, those
lowly labours were, in fact, a foil.

The old man died. His successor came to take possession of the house,
and at the Vicarage Marlene found a kind and hospitable home.

Clement only heard this by lett