Susan was safely conveyed to the hospital, and from thence the reports, which were received by Mrs. Harcourt, and duly transmitted to Nicholas and Sarah Foster, were satisfactory. The hopeful Alice was not disappointed in her eager desire to serve Susan; and before six weeks had elapsed, she was able to run breathless to the cottage of the Fosters, with the surgeon's letter in her hand, announcing that Susan's sight was safe, and that in another month she might return to her friends, in health and happiness. Old Sarah clasped her hands in speechless joy; the tears rolled in torrents unheeded down her face: her soul was absorbed in prayer. Old Nicholas groped about till he found Mrs. Harcourt's hand; and seizing it, the old man suddenly fell on his trembling knees before her. "God bless you, my dear young lady, and God reward you! I know it is to God we first owe our gratitude; but you have been the blessed instrument in his hands. God bless you!" and the old man sobbed aloud. Alice, inexpressibly distressed and affected, assisted him to rise, replaced him in his seat, extricated her hand from his grasp, and hastened away from a scene which, although delightful, was almost too overcoming. At length Susan herself wrote to them: it was the first act of her restored sight: and the dame placed the letter before her on the deal table, with her prayer-book and her spectacles, and every day did she look at it, and every day did she read it over, word by word, to Nicholas, and every day did Nicholas say "God bless Miss Alice that was!" CHAPTER XI. Wise Nature is less partial in her love Than ye do judge withal. When lavishly She pours her gifts profuse, satiety Doth blunt the sense: when sparingly dispensed, A keener relish doth supply the measure; And but to live and see the blessed skies (A good unmarked, unheeded, till 'tis lost,) Is rapture all too big for utterance To one long shut from heaven's light. _Unpublished Poems._ It was a joyful day in Overhurst when Susan Foster returned to her home. The old man and his wife had toddled up to the village inn, where the coach stopped; and there they stood, Sarah to catch the first glimpse of her, Nicholas to hear the first sound of her voice. Many a head was popped out of a casement window, and many a doorway was thronged with its inhabitants, at the hour when the coach usually arrived. George Wells was lingering in a field hard by, occasionally looking over the stile. He had twice called upon the Fosters during Susan's absence, and had inquired, in an awkward, hurried manner, how she was. The inquiry was meant kindly, and it was taken kindly. The coach drove up to the little inn, and out sprang Susan, blooming and lovely as ever. The old woman nearly fainted; and the neighbours assisted her and the trembling Nicholas into the little parlour of the inn.