And Maude was beautiful. Recent suffering and non-exposure to the open air had imparted a delicacy to her complexion which harmonized well with the mournful expression of her face and the idea of touching helplessness which her presence inspired. Her long, fringed eyelashes rested upon her cheek, and her short, glossy curls were never more becomingly arranged than now, when stepping backward a pace or two, Mrs. Kennedy stopped a moment to admire her again ere going below where her presence was already needed. The din of voices grew louder in the hall, there was a tread of many feet upon the stairs, succeeded by a solemn hush, and Maude, listening to every sound, knew that the man to whom she had been plighted was giving to another his marriage vow. She had no love for J.C. De Vere, but as she sat there alone in her desolation, and thoughts of her sister's happiness rose up in contrast to her own dark, hopeless lot, who shall blame her if she covered her face with her hands and wept most bitterly. Poor Maude! It was dark, dark night within, and dark, dark night without; and her dim eye could not penetrate the gloom, nor see the star which hung o'er the brow of the distant hill, where a wayworn man was toiling on. Days and nights had he traveled, unmindful of fatigue, while his throbbing heart outstripped the steam-god by many a mile. The letter had fulfilled its mission, and with one wild burst of joy when he read that she was free, he started for the North. He was not expected at the wedding, but it would be a glad surprise, he knew, and he pressed untiringly on, thinking but one thought, and that, how he would comfort the poor, blind Maude. He did not know that even then her love belonged to him, but he could win it, perhaps, and then away to sunny France, where many a wonderful cure had been wrought, and might be wrought again. The bridal was over, and the congratulations nearly so; when a stranger was announced, an uninvited guest, and from his armchair in the corner Louis saw that it was the same kind face which had bent so fearlessly over his pillow little more than six months before. James De Vere--the name was echoed from lip to lip, but did not penetrate the silent chamber where Maude sat weeping yet. A rapid glance through the rooms assured the young man that she was not there: and when the summons to supper was given he went to Louis and asked him for his sister. "She is upstairs," said Louis, adding impulsively: "she will be glad you have come, for she has talked of you so much." "Talked of me!" and the eyes of James De Vere looked earnestly into Louis' face. "And does she talk of me still?" "Yes," said Louis, "I heard her once when she was asleep, though I ought not to have mentioned it," he continued, suddenly recollecting himself, "for when I told her, she blushed so red, and bade me not to tell." "Take me to her, will you?" said Mr. De Vere, and following his guide he was soon opposite the door of Maude's room.