FROM this time the improvement in Matilda’s character was much more steady; her warm affection for her sister and Leila daily increased, and she seemed now to have no wish beyond the enjoyment of their society. They were a most happy little trio; but days of trial were at hand, and sorrow about to visit their young hearts in an unexpected form. Charles was now at home for the Midsummer holidays, and had come over to pass the Saturday at Woodlands; he certainly was somewhat taller than before, but Leila seemed rather to think it an improvement, and she met him with all the frank gladness of her happy age. There was so little of the rough school-boy in Charles, and so much of the gentle kind friend, that Leila had learnt to look up to him with a feeling of happy security; he never flattered her in asking advice; she was always sure of hearing the truth from him unbiassed by any previous opinion expressed on her side. She told him that an accident had happened to the precious plant intended for him; but she entered into no details, and he promised to be patient, and to await the coming up of the other seeds. They had not been long together when he inquired for his friend Peggy Dobie, and Leila proposed that they should cross the lawn together and visit her at her cottage; they were sure of finding her in her garden, she said, for Peggy had told her that her bees were about to swarm, and that she must watch them closely.

Never had Leila looked more joyous than when she tied on her bonnet to accompany Charles; her cheeks were glowing with health, her eyes bright with intelligence, and the feelings of hopeful, trusting, happy youth were visible in every expression of her sweet countenance.

It had been the loveliest of summer mornings, and at first so elastic was Leila’s step, that she seemed to tread on air; she proposed to lengthen their walk by first mounting one of the high fields from which the view was particularly fine; but by the time they had gained the height, they felt the heat of the sun overcoming, and in descending were glad to avail themselves of the shelter of the wood. The bright sunshine, however, which they had wished to avoid, now suddenly gave way to dark lurid clouds; the air became very close and oppressive; there was a dull moaning sound amongst the trees, as if the wind were about to rise, and as they entered the wood the sweet singing of the birds was hushed; they were darting rapidly to and fro amongst the branches in constant uneasy motion, as if danger were at hand. Charles looked anxiously at the great masses of fiery-looking clouds which were now driven along by a strong current of upper air. Leila caught the anxious expression of his face.

“Why do you look so frightened, Charles?” she said. “I like these sudden changes, they are very good; don’t walk so quick,—let us stop for a moment and watch those magnificent clouds.”

“No, Leila, no; let us hasten home; I fear we shall have a storm.”

“A storm!” she repeated; “O do then let us make haste. I am not frightened—that is, I am not much frightened, though a storm always makes me think of melancholy things; but papa, I know, will be anxious about us; let us walk very quick.”

They hastened on, but Leila suddenly paused for a moment to listen to the sound of distant thunder. “The storm has begun,” she said, in a tone of alarm; “that is thunder;” then quickening her steps, she proceeded more rapidly than before. A second and louder peal succeeded to the first; again and again it lightened, and the thunder seemed every moment to be approaching nearer. Leila trembled all over, and clung to Charles in speechless terror.

“Let us get out of the wood,” Charles hastily exclaimed, “we shall be safer in the open field,” and seizing her arm he hurried her forward.

At that moment the whole wood seemed lighted up as if on fire; the lightning ran along the ground, a great branch from a tree fell with a loud crash at their feet, and Leila screamed, “Charles, where are you, Charles? I cannot see you—I am blind!”

O that moment of inexpressible agony, as he stooped and gazed into her dear face! It was unscathed, but the eyes were shut. “Open your eyes, dear, dear Leila; O do not say you cannot open them. Merciful God, it cannot be!”

Alas! it was too true. She tried in vain to raise her eyelids.

“I shall never see my papa again,” she almost shrieked out, as she sank upon the ground at Charles’s feet. He lifted her gently in his arms, her head fell upon his shoulder; she became still, he thought she had fainted, but soon he heard her whisper, “It is God who has done it. He loves me, I am His child, and He can comfort my dear, dear papa.”

Charles continued to carry her in his arms, but his knees trembled so much he could scarcely get along, and Leila felt a tear drop upon her cheek.

“Charles,” she said, “you are weeping. O do not weep for me; God can comfort me, and he does. I cannot tell you what I feel now, it seems as if angels were whispering to me.” Then after a little she said again, “But it is for my papa, my own papa. Charles, do not carry me to him at first; carry me to my own room.”

She was obeyed. He stole up stairs unperceived by any one, and Leila knelt down by the side of her bed and prayed earnestly.

“Now take me to my papa,” she said, as she arose from her knees. “Where are you, Charles?” she exclaimed, as she tried to grasp the empty air.

Charles had been watching at the door; he too had offered up a silent earnest prayer; he was now by her side in a moment, and led her to her papa’s room. She tapped at his door.

“Come in, my little woman,” Mr. Howard said, in a glad voice, but without raising his eyes from his book. “I am so relieved to hear your little tap; I have been seeking you, Leila. Where have you been during this frightful storm? Why don’t you come in, love?”

“Come to the door, dear papa, but do not open it, till I speak to you.”

Mr. Howard rose. “What pleasant little surprise are you preparing for me, my child?” he said, as he stood with his hand upon the lock.

“Papa, dear papa, it is not a pleasant surprise; but you will try to bear it.”

The sound of her voice startled him, and Mr. Howard opened the door in the greatest alarm. Leila fell into his arms.

“Papa,” she said, as she clung to him and repeatedly kissed his cheek, “papa, you will bear it; God has done it. He knows best. He has struck me blind!”

Mr. Howard groaned aloud; he clasped Leila more closely in his arms—he looked upon her face—he could not speak.

Charles, in a trembling voice, related all that had taken place.

Mr. Howard rallied, and seemed to regain his usual firmness; he turned to Charles,—“Send immediately to Richmond,” he said, “for Dr. B——, and let the coachman get ready to ride to London, I will give him a note. Leila, my own heroic child, I must leave you a moment with Nurse.”

The poor woman and Amy were already in the room, both sobbing bitterly; but upon Mr. Howard speaking aside to Nurse, and telling her of the necessity there was for self-command for Leila’s sake, she made a wonderful effort for composure, and seating herself on the couch, she took Leila in her arms, and laid her head gently upon her shoulder, as she used to do when she was a little child. Amy stood by her side, her hands clasped together, and with an expression of the deepest woe, while tears still ran silently down her cheeks.

Leila was now quite composed. They heard her whisper, “The worst is over now, my papa knows it all;” and she pressed Nurse’s hand repeatedly, and said she felt better, then drawing Amy towards her, she whispered very low in her ear,—“You will be a good girl, Amy, and not cry, and you will be a great comfort to me—you will lead me every where.”

Charles had himself gone off to Richmond on Leila’s pony, but returned unsuccessful; both Dr. B.—— and another to whom he applied were from home. The agony of suspense to all was very great; and though Charles strove hard to restrain his emotion, the tones of his voice betrayed his feelings to Leila every time he tried to address her.

Mr. Howard spoke to him aside—he thought it better he should return home. It was a great trial to him, but he instantly obeyed, and stole out of the room without even a word of adieu, he felt that all additional agitation must be carefully avoided.

As he went out Leila raised her head and listened. “Some one has left the room,” she said, “it must be Charles. Where has he gone to?”

Mr. Howard explained that he had returned home, he thought it better he should do so.

“Ah, papa, I know why: it is because I agitate myself so much. I know it is very wrong, and I will try to be quite calm, and to comfort you more, papa; but I cannot always do it, though sometimes for a moment it seems quite easy, and I only feel that God has done it for my good, and has sent me this great trial because he loves me and wishes to make me better, and that perhaps he has shut my eyes on the world that I may think more of my beautiful home in heaven; for, papa, do you not know how much I had begun to love the world; the love of it was creeping into me, and you did not know it; ever since we came into it I have loved it every day more and more—the people, the flowers, this house, every thing. Yes, I have loved the world better than the island, where I thought so much more of God. And I used to like so much to hear Bill and Susan call me their little mistress,—all this was very wrong, and I dare say this is why God has shut it all out, the trees, the green fields, the beautiful flowing river, and even your face, my own papa—and for ever!—oh, that is the part I cannot bear.”

“Hush, my child, my own Leila;—do not say there is any thing you cannot bear. He who has sent the trial will give you strength. Remember, we are told, that ‘If we endure chastening, God dealeth with us as with sons, for what son is he whom the Father chasteneth not?’—and though for the present it is very grievous to you, He will, when His own righteous purposes have been fulfilled, bring to your heart that sweet peace ‘which the world cannot know;’—but, my child, you are exciting yourself in talking too much, and I am most anxious that you should keep very quiet now, and try to get a little sleep.”

“Well, papa, I will. Do you remember that day, papa, when you said to me, ‘Leila, remember, duties are ours, but events are in the hands of God?’ I am glad I have thought of this now, for it comforts me—it tells me it is my duty to be patient and to trust it all to God—now I will try to sleep.”

She did try, but soon she started up again, and clasped her papa’s hand more tightly. “Papa,” she said, “there is something I wish to say to you; and then I think I could sleep;—will you write to Aunt Stanley, and tell her every thing, and beg her to come here to-day as soon as possible, and bring them all with her. I shall be better when I have seen them all”—(she stopped and shuddered)—“I shall be better when they are here, I mean; and bid aunt tell Selina not to be very sorry, and to remember how God comforted her when she was dumb, and gave her strength to bear it; and He is giving me strength also, dear papa.”

Mr. Howard seated himself at the table and began to write, and before he had finished his note Leila was asleep—it seemed a troubled sleep, she started often, and called out repeatedly, as if in extreme terror, for the shock on her nervous system had been severe; but before she awoke to perfect consciousness again, her uncle, aunt, and all of them, stood gazing upon her. They all struggled hard to control their sorrow, but it was Matilda’s and Alfred’s sobs that awakened Leila. I will not further distress my young readers by dwelling on this scene. Leila herself was the first to obtain composure, and after some time she was able to converse calmly with Selina.

She showed so much unwillingness to part with them again, that Mr. Howard arranged that they should all come over for some weeks to Woodlands, Leila having promised that she would be satisfied with exactly as much of the society of her cousins as was thought good for her; but the knowledge that they were in the house, she said, would be the greatest comfort to her; and it was further arranged that Selina was not to go home that evening, but remain till the others joined her.

This mournful day wore heavily on, and still Dr. B—— had not arrived. It were difficult to say what they all expected would be the result of his anxiously expected visit; but when at last the sound of horses’ hoofs was heard upon the gravel, the agitation of the whole party was extreme. Mr. Howard became very pale, and withdrew his hand from Leila’s that she might not be aware how he trembled; but she had heard the sound, and seemed aware of his motive, for she said, “Do not be afraid of me, papa; I know what Dr. B—— will say, and I can bear it; hold my hand again, it makes me feel strong.”

Dr. B—— entered; the look he cast on all around was full of deep sympathy, for Charles’s note had made him aware of what had happened. His eyes rested mournfully on Leila, who lay on the sofa looking pale and agitated; but as he approached, she hastily brushed a tear from her long, dark eyelashes, and the brightest colour dyed her cheeks. He paused in evident emotion; then seating himself by her, he looked at her attentively, took the hand Mr. Howard had been holding, and felt her pulse; her hand was deadly cold; again all colour had now left her cheek, and she lay like a bruised lily, shrinking from his touch.

“Try to compose yourself, my dear young lady,” he said gently; “I am not going to hurt you; but it is necessary that I should examine your eyes more closely.” As he spoke, he turned her face more fully to the light. Mr. Howard was bending over her. Dr. B—— gently raised one of her eyelids, and Leila, in a voice of rapture, exclaimed, “My papa, I see him?”

Who can express Mr. Howard’s feelings at that moment. “Thank God!” the kind-hearted physician exclaimed, “the sight of the eye in this dear child is not destroyed;” and on examining the other, the result was equally satisfactory. “This is not so bad as we dreaded,” he said; but he whispered something to Mr. Howard, and seemed about to quit the room. He had asked to speak to him alone.

Leila had not caught the words, but she suspected something; and springing up she said, “Do let him tell me every thing, papa, I am quite able to bear it. Does Dr. B—— think I shall still be blind?—do let him speak out the truth.”

Mr. Howard assented. The good doctor was much affected. “My dear young lady,” he said, “I hope and trust that you will not always be blind; but I am not prepared to say that you certainly will recover the power of raising your eyelids—there have been frequent instances of the nerves never recovering their powers; but you are young, and in good health; your well-turned mind, and your power of commanding your feelings, (and I am sure from the highest motives,) is much in your favour, and with God nothing is impossible. And now I will take my leave for to-day. I have only one caution to give, and I address it to all,—agitation of every kind must as much as possible be avoided.”

It was no unnecessary caution, for the lively joy expressed by Matilda and Alfred when Dr. B—— pronounced his opinion, Leila felt more difficult to bear than their former sorrow; and Mr. Howard now expressed a wish, which was immediately complied with, that Leila should be left alone with him for the rest of the evening.

Before night the oculist from London also arrived. He confirmed all that the physician had said; he could pronounce nothing positive as to Leila’s recovering her sight, but he had hope; and he enforced still more strictly, if possible, that every thing should be done to strengthen her general health, and agitation and excitement of every kind carefully avoided. “Don’t let any one be with her,” he said, “who is likely to agitate her; there is an old woman in the passage in such a state of distress; she is clamorous for admittance, but it must not be yielded to.” This was spoken aside to Mr. Howard, but Leila caught the words, “old woman.” “It is Peggy Dobie,” she said, “my dear Peggy; oh, papa, let her come in for a moment, only one moment, papa, and then I shall keep myself quite still, and not be agitated again.”

Mr. Howard thought she ought to be gratified; he knew better than the oculist the command which Leila could maintain over herself: he spoke to Peggy himself—she came in, knelt down by Leila’s bed, took her hand, and with a voice which trembled with emotion, she said, “My dear, dear bairn, your poor old Peggy will pray for you, and there is a merciful God above.” Her voice sank to a whisper; she seemed unable to add another word; but Leila seemed calmed and comforted. Poor Peggy left the room, but she lingered till a late hour in the house, and was back again in the first dawn of the morning.

The sad news had spread rapidly through the village: Leila was so beloved by old and young, that the inquiries during the whole day had been numerous. The children of the village, as well as her little scholars, came in troops, and Amy had many a sorrowful scene to go through with them. Nurse sat by Leila’s side during the whole night, and Mr. Howard visited her every hour. Her sleep was very broken, and next day she was so feverish that no one but her papa and Nurse were allowed to see her—not even Selina; but by another day, the feverish symptoms entirely left her; she felt weak and easily fluttered, but was generally quite calm, and at times even cheerful. For some days Matilda, though in the house, was only allowed to come into the room at short intervals. Matilda had not sufficient control over her feelings, and the warm expression of an affection, which was now greater than ever, was too much for poor Leila. She was desired to be as much as possible in the open air, and she was carried out every day into the garden, and sat for hours in the shade, taking a little turn now and then, leaning upon her papa. The first time she went out was a great trial to her, and for some time she wept silently; then taking her papa’s hand as they sat together under a tree in the garden, she said:—

“Papa, I have made you more sorry, but it is over now; it was just at first—indeed I could not help it, for the air brought to me the sweet smell of the flowers which I can no longer see, and from the feeling on my eyelids I know the sun must be shining gloriously. O, how I used to like to gaze on the rising sun, and to watch the soft grey of the morning fading before his golden light! and it brought grand feelings to my mind, and good feelings too, papa, for it made me think of Him who is more glorious than the sun.”

“Yes, my child, but that feeling can still be yours, and even in a higher degree, for this trial may lead you to raise your mind more constantly to Him in whose presence there is everlasting light.”

“Yes, papa, I know it, and I will pray for this. Do you remember the text in Isaiah which says, ‘I will bring the blind by a way that they know not, I will lead them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight; these things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.’ And God may do this to me, papa; He may open the eyes of my mind, and make it all more light to me. And I have many pleasures yet, you know: I have you, papa; and that is more than a pleasure, it is my happiness. O you don’t know what I feel when you are near me; I am not melancholy then; indeed I am never so melancholy as I thought I should be; I know when it is light and when it is dark quite well; and once you know I saw your face for a moment; I think I should be quite happy if I got leave to see you for a moment every day, but Dr. B—— says I must not—why, papa?”

“Because, my love, nothing must be done to increase the injury on the nerves; therefore you must not try to force your eyelids up.”

“Well, papa, I will try to be patient; but I may hope not to be always blind. You know Jesus Christ opened the eyes of many that were blind: He was full of pity, and I may pray to Him to open my eyes,—that is, if He thinks it good for me.”

“Yes, my child, such prayers, leaving all to Him, cannot fail to be acceptable in His sight. He has loved you, Leila, from your birth, with more than an earthly love; and never more, I feel sure, than at this moment, when you are bowing meekly to His will. His deathless love is around, and above you, even now; He can wipe all tears from your eyes with a hand that never comforted in vain; He can give you happy dreams of green pastures and still waters, and brighter and brighter hopes of that dear home, where no darkness, no grief, no fear can enter; only the eternal shining of a light divine, and joy unspeakable! Now, sweet one, we must walk a little, I must not talk to you too much.”

“But, papa, such talk as this!”

“No, not even such talk as this; I must not strain your mind in any way, my Leila.”

“Then, papa, take me to the bee-hives, I think I should like to hear the bees humming.”