ed
Arthur. Mittie remembered the words of her step-mother, so similar, and
was struck by the coincidence. Her own views seemed very selfish and
narrow, by contrast.

The flowers of spring unfolded, and Mittie did indeed revive and bloom
again, but it was as the lily, not the rose. The love tint of the latter
had faded, never to blush again.

There was a subdued happiness in the household, which had long been a
stranger there.

Louis, though his brow still wore the traces of remorse, was happy in
the consciousness of errors forgiven, confidence restored, and good
resolutions strengthened and confirmed. He devoted himself to his
father's business with an industry and zeal more worthy of praise,
because he was obliged to struggle with his natural inclinations. He
believed it his father's wish to keep him with him, and he made it his
law to obey him, thinking his future life too short for expiation. There
was another object, for which he also thought life too short, and that
was to secure the happiness of Alice--whom he loved with a purity and
intensity that was deepened by her helplessness and almost infantine
artlessness. He knew that her blindness was hopeless, but it seemed to
him that he loved her the more for her blindness, her entire dependence
on his care. It would be such a holy task to protect and cherish her,
and to throw around her darkened life the illuminating influence of
love.

She was still with them, and Mrs. Hazleton had been induced to leave the
seclusion of the Parsonage, and become the guest of Mrs. Gleason. It
must have been a strong motive that tempted her from the hallowed
shades, which she had never quitted since her husband's death. Reader,
can you conjecture what that motive was?

A very handsome new house, built in the cottage style, had been lately
erected in the vicinity of Mr. Gleason's, under the superintendence of
the young doctor, and rumor said that he was shortly to be married to
Helen Gleason. Every one thought it was time for _him_ to be married, if
he ever intended to be, but many objected to her extreme youth. That,
however, was the only objection urged, as Helen was a universal
favorite, and Arthur Hazleton the idol of the town.

Arthur had never made Helen a formal declaration of love. He had never
asked her in so many many words, "Will you be my wife?" As imperceptibly
and gracefully as the morning twilight brightens into the fervor and
glory of noonday, had the watchfulne