"None. He _must_ meet his doom. And, Mittie, sad as it is--it is just. Your own sense of rectitude and justice will in time sanction the decree. You may, you must pity him--but love, unsupported by esteem, must expire. You are mourning now over a bright illusion--a fallen idol--a deserted temple; but believe me, your mourning will change to joy. The illusion is dispelled, that truth may shine forth in all its splendor; the idol thrown down that the living God may be enthroned upon the altar; the temple deserted that it may be filled with the glory of the Lord." "You are right, Arthur, in one thing--would to God you were in all. It is not love I now feel, but despair. It is dreadful to look forward to a cold, unloving existence. I shudder to think how young I am, and how long I may have yet to live." "Yours is the natural language of disappointed youth. You have passed through a fiery ordeal. The sore and quivering heart shrinks from the contact even of sympathy. You fear the application of even Gilead's balm. You are weak and languid, and I will not weary you with discussion; but spring will soon be here; genial, rejoicing spring. You will revive with its flowers, and your spirit warble with its singing birds. Then we will walk abroad in the hush of twilight--and if you will promise to listen, I will preach you a daily sermon, with nature for my text and inspiration too." "Ah! such sermons should be breathed to Helen only. She can understand and profit by them." "There is room enough in God's temple for you and Helen too," replied Arthur. Mittie remembered the words of her step-mother, so similar, and was struck by the coincidence. Her own views seemed very selfish and narrow, by contrast. The flowers of spring unfolded, and Mittie did indeed revive and bloom again, but it was as the lily, not the rose. The love tint of the latter had faded, never to blush again. There was a subdued happiness in the household, which had long been a stranger there. Louis, though his brow still wore the traces of remorse, was happy in the consciousness of errors forgiven, confidence restored, and good resolutions strengthened and confirmed. He devoted himself to his father's business with an industry and zeal more worthy of praise, because he was obliged to struggle with his natural inclinations. He believed it his father's wish to keep him with him, and he made it his law to obey him, thinking his future life too short for expiation. There was another object, for which he also thought life too short, and that was to secure the happiness of Alice--whom he loved with a purity and intensity that was deepened by her helplessness and almost infantine artlessness. He knew that her blindness was hopeless, but it seemed to him that he loved her the more for her blindness, her entire dependence on his care. It would be such a holy task to protect and cherish her, and to throw around her darkened life the illuminating influence of love.