essed when he alluded to her
first appearance on the rustic bridge, as the youthful goddess of the
blooming season. She knew it by her own experience, when she first
beheld Clinton in all the witchery of his noble horsemanship.

Helen was unfortunately made very sick by traveling, _sea-sick_, and
when she reached home she was exactly in that state of passive endurance
which would have caused her to lie under the carriage wheels
unresistingly had she been placed perchance in that position. The
weather was close and sultry, and the dust gathered on the folds of her
riding-dross added to the warmth and discomfort of her appearance. Her
father carried her in his arms into the house, her head reclining
languidly on his shoulder, her cheeks white as her muslin collar. Mittie
caught a glimpse of Clinton's countenance as he stood in the
back-ground, and read with exultation an expression of blank
disappointment. After gazing fixedly at Helen, he turned towards Mittie,
and his glance said as plainly as words could speak--

"You beautiful and radiant creature, can you fear the influence of such
a little, spiritless, sickly dowdy as this?"

Relieved of the most intolerable apprehensions, her greeting of Helen
was affectionate beyond the most sanguine hopes of the latter. She took
off her bonnet with assiduous kindness, (though Helen would have
preferred wearing it to her room, to displaying her disordered hair and
dusty raiment,) leaving to Mrs. Gleason the task of ministering to the
lovely blind girl.

"Where's brother? I do not hear his step," said Alice, looking round as
earnestly as if she expected to see his advancing figure.

"He has just been called away," said Louis, "or he would be here to
greet you. My poor little Helen, you do indeed look dreadfully used up.
You were never made for a traveler. Why Alice's roses are scarcely
wilted."

"Nothing but fatigue and a little sea-sickness," cried her father, "a
good night's sleep is all she needs. You will see a very different
looking girl to-morrow, I assure you."

"Better, far better as she is," thought Mittie, as she assisted the
young travelers up stairs.

Ill and weary as she was, Helen could not help noticing the astonishing
improvement in Mittie's appearance, the life, the glow, the sunlight of
her countenance. She gazed upon her with admiration and delight.

"How handsome you have grown, Mittie," said she, "and I doubt not as
good as you are handsome. And you