affliction might some day be removed.
Harry had put that thought into her mind,
and I do not think I am overstating the
truth in saying that his honest, manly affection
for her was the great motive to his
working so hard at his profession, in which
he has since become deservedly successful
and famous.

We had six very quiet years. It seemed to
me as if Lettie had always, from the first, gone
softly groping her way, and I had always led
her to chapel and back. Harry studied in
London; then we heard of him in Edinburgh;
and at last his mother said he had gone to
Paris; and she was half afraid he would
settle there and marry a papist wife. Lettie
looked sorrowful and restless for a day or
two after that, but presently recovered her
cheerfulness. We had not much change or
variety at home. There was I for ever at my
work, and Lettie at her music. She had
gained a great deal of skill now; and many a
time have I seen a knot of people standing at
the corner of our garden hedge to listen to
her singing. I have heard several grand
public performers since then; but never one
who could touch my heart and bring the
tears into my eyes as my poor blind sister
did. On Sundays, at chapel, we could hear
her voice, clear and sweet, above all the
rest; and, though our tunes were wild and
simple—sung by her, they were beautiful.
Sometimes she would go to St. John's church
for the sake of the organ and the chaunting,
but I did not feel it right to change: habit
is strong in slow, untaught people; and it
did not, seem as if I had kept my Sabbath,
unless I said my prayers in the homely little
chapel to which our mother had led us by
the hand when we were children. Lettie
loved the grand church music, and who
could wonder at it, poor lassie? Once or
twice when she begged me to go with her,
it had seemed to fill my heart to pain almost;
so how much more must it have excited her
who was all fire and enthusiasm! She said
it made her feel happier and better, and more
thankful to God. Perhaps in losing one
sense, her enjoyment through the others grew
more intense.

IV.

AT the end of these six years Harry Crofts
came home. He was often at our house, and
we liked having him; but, though Lettie
seemed happy enough, he was uneasy and
discontented. I have seen him stand beside the
piano, and never take his eyes off her by the
half-hour together; but his face looked quite
gloomy. At last he one day said to me,
"Jane, are you timid—I do not think Lettie
is? She seems strong and well." I knew
he meant more than a simple inquiry after
our nerves, and I asked if he thought he
had found out a cure for my sister. He
turned quite red.

"Yea; I believe I have. I saw an operation
performed in Paris on a girl's eyes
similarly affected. It was successful."

I said not a word. The prospect seemed too
good, too beautiful to be true! Just at this
minute Lettie came in through the doorway;
there was sunshine behind her, and she
appeared to bring it into the parlour with her.
"Are you here, Harry?" she immediately
asked.

It was a strange thing, that, although she
neither saw him nor heard him speak, she
was at once aware of his presence. He got
up and took her by the hand, and brought
her to me. "Tell her, Jane, or shall I?" he
whispered. I signed to him to speak himself,
which he did without hesitation.

"Lettie, have you courage to undergo an
operation on your eyes which may restore
your sight?"

She clasped her hands, and such a beautiful
colour came flushing up into her face—you
would have said it was like an angel's face, it
changed so brightly.

"Oh, yes! anything, anything, Harry, only
give me that hope!" said she, softly.

I looked at him questioningly to ask if he
had not better warn her of possible
disappointment, and he said at once:

"Lettie, I ought to tell you that this operation
may fail, though I do not fear that it
will. For my sake, Lettie," he added, in an
under-tone.

"Well, then, for your sake, Harry," she
replied, with a low sigh. "Even if it should
not give me back my sight, I shall only be
as I am now."

They went out into the garden together:
and, from the earnest, gentle way in which
Harry talked to Lettie, I know that he was
preparing her for what she had to undergo. She
did not want for courage in any circumstances,
and I did not look for her being weak now.

The operation was performed during the
following week. Doctor Philipson and Doctor
Nash were both present, but Harry Crofts
himself did it. His nerve was wonderful. Lettie
behaved admirably too; indeed, nobody was
foolish but myself, and when it was over I
fainted. It was entirely successful; my
sister has her sight, now, as good as I have.
For several weeks we kept her in a darkened
room, but she was gradually permitted to
face the light, and the joy of that time is more
than words can describe.

Harry Crofts soon after claimed her as his
wife; and really, to say the truth, nobody
had a better right to her. The report of the
singular cure he had made, lifted him at once
into consideration; and, as he made diseases
of the eye his particular study, he is now as
celebrated an oculist as Doctor Philipson
himself: many persons indeed give him the
preference. The operation, then thought so
much of, is now of frequent occurrence;
Lettie's kind of blindness being no longer
looked on as irremediable.

And this is all I need tell about our