At the sound of that voice Maude Glendower started suddenly, and turning aside, so her words could not be heard, she murmured sadly, "Both father and child prefer her to me." Then, recollecting herself, she offered her hand to the wondering Nellie, saying, "Your Sister's misfortune must be my excuse for devoting so much time to her, when you, as my eldest daughter, were entitled to my first attention." Her stepmother's evident preference for Maude had greatly offended the selfish Nellie, who coldly answered, "Don't trouble yourself, madam. It's not of the least consequence. But where is my father? He will welcome me, I am sure." The feeling too often existing between stepmothers and stepdaughters had sprung into life, and henceforth the intercourse of Maude Glendower and Nellie Kennedy would be marked with studied politeness, and nothing more. But the former did not care. So long as her eye could feast itself upon the face and form of Maude Remington she was content, and as Nellie left the room she wound her arm around the comparatively helpless girl, saying, "Let me take you to your brother." Although unwilling, usually, to be led, Maude yielded now, and suffered herself to be conducted to the chamber where Louis watched for her coming. She could see enough to know there was a change, and clasping her companion's hand she said, "I am surely indebted to you for this surprise." "Maude, Maude!" and the tones of Louis' voice trembled with joy, as stretching his arms toward her, he cried, "You can see." Guided more by the sound than by actual vision, Maude flew like lightning to his side, and kneeling before him hid her face in his lap, while he bent fondly over her, beseeching her to say if she could see. It was a most touching sight, and drawing near, Maude Glendower mingled her tears with those of the unfortunate children on whom affliction had laid her heavy hand. Maude Remington was naturally of a hopeful nature, and though she had passed through many an hour of anguish, and had rebelled against the fearful doom which seemed to be approaching, she did not yet despair. She still saw a little--could discern colors and forms, and could tell one person from another. "I shall be better by and by," she said, when assured by the sound of retreating footsteps that they were alone. "I am following implicitly the doctor's directions, and I hope to see by Christmas; but if I do not--" Here she broke down entirely, and wringing her hands she cried, "Oh, brother--brother, must I be blind? I can't--I can't, for who will care for poor, blind, helpless Maude?"