There was silence again between them. The old vicar's lips parted more than once, as if to speak, and firmly closed again. They heard Marlene's voice below, and Clement left the window at which he had been sorrowfully standing. "It is Marlene," his father said: "Have you forgotten her? Among your profane associates who vie with each other in their reckless folly and deny the Spirit and the liberty of the Spirit--the freedom of God's adoption--did the memory of your young playfellow never come to remind you of the wonders the Spirit can work, when severed from outward sense; and of the strength God's grace can give to a humble heart that is firm in Faith?" Clement kept back the answer that was on his lips, for he heard the blind girl's light step upon the stairs.--The door opened, and she stood on the threshold with blushing cheeks. "Clement!" she cried, turning her gentle eyes to the spot where he actually stood. He went up to her, and took the hand she held out waiting for him. "How glad you have made your parents! Welcome, welcome! a thousand welcomes! but why are you so silent?" she added. "Yes, dear child," he said, "I am here--I wanted so much to see you all again; and how well you look! You have grown taller." "The spring has set me up again--this winter was very hard to bear--but your parents are so good to me, Clement.--Good morning, father dear;" she said, turning to him--"It was so early when we went out to the field, that I could not come up to shake hands then"--and she held out hers to him. "Go downstairs now, dear child, and take Clement with you. You can shew him your garden--you have a little while to yourselves yet before dinner; and you, Clement, think over what I have been saying to you."--And then the young people went away. "What is the matter with your father?" said the young girl, when they had got downstairs--"his tone sounded rather strange, and so does yours. Have you had any angry words together?" "I found him very much excited; his blood appears to be in a disordered state. Has he been complaining again of late?" "Not to me. He sometimes appeared to be ill at ease, and would not speak for hours together, so as often to surprise our mother. Was he severe on you just now?" "We had a discussion upon very serious subjects. He questioned me, and I could not conceal my convictions." Marlene grew pensive, and her countenance only brightened when they got into the fresh air. "Is it not pleasant here?" She asked, stretching out both hands. "Indeed I hardly know the place again," he said; "what have you done to this neglected little spot? As far back as I can remember, there never was anything here but a few fruit-trees, and the hollyhocks and asters, and now it is all over roses."