Evening came, and with it brought Mr. Thurston. Josephine, seated on a sofa and impenetrably veiled, received him with a courteous welcome;--and comported herself so admirably and artfully, that the most critical observer would not have imagined her to be blind, but would have supposed her to be wearing a veil merely out of caprice, or from some trifling cause.--When she spoke to her lover, or was addressed by him, she invariably turned her face towards him, as if unconsciously; and the gentleman chuckled inwardly, as he thought he saw in that simple act an evidence of her being possessed of the faculty of sight. But one incident occurred which doubly confirmed him in his belief; it was an artful contrivance of Josephine and her mother. Previous to Mr. Thurston's arrival, a rose had been placed upon the carpet, close to Josephine's feet; and during a pause in the conversation, while apparently in an abstracted mood, she leaned forward, took it up by the stem, and began slowly to pick it to pieces, scattering the leaves all about her. 'By Jupiter, I have her now!' said the lover to himself, triumphantly--and then he abruptly said-- 'How now, Josephine! If you are blind, how saw you that rose upon the carpet?' Josephine, affecting to be much confused, stammered out something about her having discovered the rose to be near her by its fragrance; but Mr. Thurston laughed and said-- 'It won't do, my dear Miss Franklin; it is evident that you can see as well as I can. Come, end this farce at once, and let me see your face.' 'No, you shall not, for I have vowed that the first man who beholds my face shall be my husband.' 'Then hear me, Josephine,' cried her lover, raising her fair hand to his lips--'I know not what singular whim has prompted you in your endeavors to make me think you ugly and blind, but this I know, you have inspired me with ardent love. I _know_ you to be beautiful and free from imperfection of sight--nay, do not speak--but I will not again allude to the subject, nor press you to raise your veil, until after our marriage--that is, if you will accept me. Speak, Josephine.' 'Mr. Thurston, if, after my many solemn assurances to you that I am afflicted in the manner I have so often described, you ask me to become your wife--here is my hand.' 'A thousand thanks, my beautiful, mysterious, veiled lady!' exclaimed the enraptured lover--'as to your being afflicted--ha, ha!--I'll risk it, I'll risk it! Naughty Josephine, I'll punish you hereafter for your attempt to deceive me!' The poor man little suspected how egregiously she _was_ deceiving him!--He was a person of no natural penetration, and could no more see thro' her designs, than through the veil which covered her face.