back my eyesight? God knows and cares: and I am content in that belief. There is a special providence in the falling of a sparrow.' Am not I better than many sparrows? 'Hence have I genial seasons!' 'Tis all as it should be; and though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.

"Farewell,

"CHARLES KENRICK.

"To William C. Vance."

Several times during the dictating of this letter, Lucy (especially when Onslow's name was mentioned) would have betrayed both herself and Clara, had not the latter in dumb show dissuaded her. The next day Clara made herself known, and introduced Major Purling; but she did not allow the blind man to suspect that she was that friend of his unknown amanuensis, who had "held the ink."

Her own persuasions, added to those of the Major, forced Kenrick at last to consent to be removed to Onarock. Here, in the society of cheerful Old Age and congenial Youth, he rapidly recovered strength. But to his visual orbs there

X 2

returned no light. There it was still “dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon."

He did not murmur at the dispensation. In all Clara's studies, readings, and exercises he was made the partaker. Even the beautiful landscapes on all sides were brought vividly before his inner eyes by her graphic words. Along the river's bank, and through the forest aisles, and along the garden borders she would lead him, and not a flower was beautiful that he was not made to know it.

It was the 18th of October, 1863-that lovely Sabbath which seemed to have come down out of heaven--so beautiful it was-so calm, so brightso soft and yet so exhilarating. The forest-trees had begun to put on their autumnal drapery of many colours. The maple was already of a fiery scarlet; the beech-leaves, the birch, and the witchhazel, of a pale yellow; and there were all gradations of purple and orange among the hickories, the elms, and the ashes. The varnished leaves of the oak for the most part retained their greenness, forming mirrors for the light to reflect from, and flashing and glistening, as if for very joy, under

the bland, indolent breeze. It was such weather as this that drew from Emerson that note we can all respond to, in our higher moments of intenser life, "Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous."

With Kenrick, even to his blindness there came a sense of the beauty and the glow. He could enjoy the balmy air, the blest power of sunshine, the odours from the falling leaves and the grateful earth. And what need of external vision, since Clara could so well supply its want? He walked forth with her, and they stopped near a rustic bench overlooking the Hudson, and sat down.

"Indeed I must leave you to-morrow," said he, in continuation of some previous remark: "I've got an excellent situation as sub-teacher of French at West Point."

"Oh, you've got a situation, have you?" returned Clara.

The tears sprang to her eyes; but, alas for human frailty! this time they were tears of vexation.

There was silence for almost a minute. Then Kenrick said, "Do you know I've been with you more than three months?"

"Well,” replied Clara, pettishly, “is there anything so very surprising or disagreeable in that?"

"But I fear Onarock will prove my Capuathat it will unfit me for the sterner warfare of life."

Oh, go to your sterner warfare, since you desire it!"

And with a desperate effort at nonchalance she swung her hat by its ribbon, and sang that little air from "La Bayadère" by Auber-" Je suis content-je suis heureux."

"Clara, dear friend, you seemed displeased with me. What have I done?"

"You want to humiliate me!" exclaimed Clara, reproachfully, and bursting into a passion of tears. "Want to humiliate you? I can't see how." "I suppose not," returned Clara, ironically. "There are none so blind as those who don't choose to see."

"What do you mean, dear friend?"

"Dear friend indeed!" sobbed Clara.

"Is he

as blind as he would have me think? Haven't I given hints enough, intimations enough, opportunities enough? Would the man force me to offer myself outright?"

There was another interval of silence, and this time it lasted full ten minutes. And then Kenrick, his breath coming quick, his breast heaving, unable longer to keep back his tears, drew forth his handkerchief, and covering his face, wept heartily.

He rose and put out his hand. Clara seized it. He folded her in his arms; and their first kiss-a kiss of betrothal was exchanged.

THE END.

LONDON

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