MORE than a fortnight had passed away, and Leila’s general health was greatly strengthened, though she had had many agitating scenes to go through. The meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Herbert and Mina had at first affected her much, but she had now great pleasure in their society, and they came frequently, and spent the whole day, for Leila clung more to Mrs. Herbert than ever. It was a great pleasure to her to lie on the sofa with her knitting, and to listen to general conversation; and Mr. Howard was most desirous in every way to promote her cheerfulness. Charles’s visits had been almost daily; though he had been permitted to see Leila only for a few minutes at a time. He was now, however, frequently allowed to lead her on Selim for a short ride, and Leila assured her papa that each time she felt her courage increase so much, that she was sure before long she should be able to ride out with him as usual.

“Yes, papa,” she said, “you must not be melancholy about me, for I am not unhappy. Nurse sometimes thinks I am, but indeed I am not; she fancies it, I believe, because I do not speak so much now; I like to think and be still; you know, papa, my world is more within me now—I do not see its beautiful sunsets, its woods, its flowers; its broad river with its green banks, which I used to love so much; and so I picture them in my own mind, and seem to dream of them, though I am awake. It is that which makes me often still, papa; and I like those dreams, they make me happy now.”

“Yes, my own Leila, I can understand all this; but those day-dreams must not be too much indulged in; there might be danger then of your finding your pleasures in life more in reverie, than in useful exertion and in active duty; for you must not fancy, my dear child, that you have not the same duties to perform now as you formerly had; as your health strengthens, I should wish you to return as much as possible to your former habits.”

“But, papa, I can do so little now.”

“Not so, my love; in a very short time you will be surprised to find how much you can do, and how independent you have become. Do you remember, at first you were afraid to move across the room, and now you seem to walk fearlessly over almost every part of the house.”

“Yes, papa, I am not the least afraid now, and since I have been blind, God seems to have opened my ears more and more; before, I always knew your footstep, and it made me glad; but now, I know the step of every one in the house, and yours though ever so far off; and when you are quite still, I know your breathing, and I like to listen to it so much. O, I have many pleasures—why do you sigh, papa?—you must not do that, it makes me sorry; Selina often sighs when I talk to her, and even Matilda; and sometimes when Matilda begins to laugh, she stops herself quite suddenly—I wish she would not, I like to hear her laugh. Papa, I have never heard you laugh since that day; my own papa, you must try—you must be merry with me again;”—and she held out her hand.

Mr. Howard pressed it fondly. “My Leila, my precious one!” was all he could say.

“Yes, your precious one; how I like you to call me that! Come, let me sing to you; now don’t say, ‘Another day, Leila, not now,’—for it is not to be another day, I am quite able for it now—so let your precious one have her guitar again.”

She rose to search for it in its accustomed corner: Mr. Howard had had it removed, but he placed it in her hands again, and she seated herself by his side, and began to sing one of his most favourite airs. At first her voice was weak and tremulous; but gradually it acquired more firmness, though there was so much of unusual melancholy in its rich and liquid tones, that filled Mr. Howard’s eyes with tears. She evidently found it a great effort to continue, and her next choice was a more lively air.

“Now, papa,” she said, as the second song was ended, “I hope I have cheered you again; I should not have tried to sing that melancholy song.”

Alas! dear child, she could not see that her second attempt had only increased Mr. Howard’s agitation; but hastily brushing his hand across his eyes, he said, in a steady and even cheerful voice, “No more at present, my sweet child; but now every day you shall sing to your papa as usual, and cheer him as you have ever done; but what does Amy want?—this is the second time she has looked into the room.”

“Oh, I know,” Leila answered. “Yes, Amy, I am coming presently—I know, papa, what she wants; at this hour she always takes me to visit my pets, and they are getting quite fond of me again, which makes me so happy. At first they did not like me so much, because I was blind; they fluttered about, and seemed afraid of me—not Dash nor Selina, they were always kind; Selina seems getting quite young again, for she frisks about me always, jumps up when I am passing by, and purs so loud, that I am afraid she will make herself quite hoarse; and as to Dash, you don’t know what a dog he is—wherever I am now, he lies outside the door, and the moment I go out he follows; he does not think it is enough that I should be alone with Amy, and looks at her she says quite suspiciously;—when you are there he does not follow me quite so close, but when I am alone with her he is touching me the whole time. Yesterday he pulled me aside by my dress; Amy said it was because there was a stone in my path, and he was afraid I might strike my foot against it; and another day he seized a large branch of a tree in his mouth, (which had fallen down,) and threw it aside with such indignation, and looked at her quite angrily, as if she were leading me into danger. Poor Dash, he does not know how very kind Amy is to me, papa; I cannot persuade her yet to return to her own room at night; she still lies on that little hard mattress at the foot of my bed, and when I tell her not to do it, it makes her sorry.”

“Yes, my child, I know she does; and I am sure she prefers doing so.”

“I think so too, papa, and for many days I am sure she never slept, for always when I awoke I found her standing by my bed, ready to give me my lemonade, or to rub my feet, or do whatever I wished, to make me sleep again. Papa, if this trial had not come to me, I never should have known the love that is in many hearts for me; I cannot speak about Selina, I cannot tell you what she is to me; and Matilda, so gentle to me and so kind; and Mrs. Roberts also; then Mrs. Herbert, Charles, and Mina; but it would take me all the day to tell you of all the kindnesses to me,—and I am forgetting that Amy is waiting, for I could chat away with you, papa, for ever; but now I must go and chat a little to my parrots, or they will be quite jealous. And then Amy has to give me my lesson of flowers; she is teaching me to know them all by the touch, for you know it is better to be prepared for what may be. I hope you are not looking melancholy because I am saying this. Good-bye, dear papa.” She was gone, or a long and deep-drawn sigh would have reached her ear.

Weeks and months passed on, and though Leila had no fixed complaint, her health was not what it had been before, and the prospect of her recovering her sight seemed gradually to be becoming more uncertain. It was well for her, dear child, that she could not see the mournful looks with which her papa often now regarded her, as she, with increased anxiety to acquire habits of independence, performed her daily duties.

It was evident that Leila was preparing her mind to meet, not only with resignation, but with cheerfulness, what but a few short months before would have weighed her to the ground. How deeply had she felt poor Susan’s state; how often had she looked at the sightless eyes of the blind girl, and said to herself, “How can she bear it? O any trial but this!” And this trial was now hers; it came upon her in a moment. Suddenly was the whole face of nature shut out from her sight; yet, after the first natural anguish was over, there came also to her young heart that faith, that reliance, which shed peace and light on her darkest moments.

Her little scholars now came to her as usual; they daily read the Bible to her, and also other books suited to their age, and in this occupation she took much interest. Susan also came frequently, and either Selina or Matilda read to her while Leila listened.

“I wish Susan were nearer us,” she said one morning to Selina, as Susan left the room; “how kind in you both to take such pains with her; she says it is her happiest time when she is with us; and do you know what I have been wishing for a long time, and making a little plan in my own mind about? I have been wishing that we could find a house in our village for Susan’s mother, and then poor Susan would come oftener, for she would not have so far to walk; and yesterday I spoke to papa about it; he said he did not quite see how it could be managed, but that he would turn it in his mind. When papa says he will turn it in his mind, he is sure to turn and twist it into the right thing.”

“But how,” Matilda inquired, “can Uncle Howard twist Susan’s mother and all her five brothers and sisters into a house in the village, when there is not one empty, and all the people quite healthy, not the least likely to die? He must twist them out first, and that would not be civil.”

“I don’t know, Matilda, but I am sure my papa will not do any thing unkind, and yet I think he will manage it; I knew by the sound of his voice that he thought it possible, and I have been thinking a great deal of all I could do for Susan to make her happier; for she has not all my comforts and pleasures, and she has not a Selina and a Matilda to be eyes to her, and to make every thing cheerful to her, and even light; for when I am with you, I scarcely feel that I am blind at all.”

Selina sighed deeply, but did not answer.

“Now, why do you sigh, Selina? that must not be. Do not pity me; you must get reconciled as I am doing—you must, both of you, help me to be cheerful; and you, Matilda, must try to laugh a great deal more than you do now, for I like so much to hear you merry. And look, Selina, what a pretty nosegay I am tying up for you; is it not very well arranged for a little blind girl? Amy says I am improving every day now; you see I arrange the green leaves and the different colours of the flowers, so as to have a grand effect. At first they used to be all higgledy piggledy, as Peggie Dobie would say. What excellent words Peggie Dobie has; don’t you think higgledy piggledy delightful? I am sure any one must know it means confusion. And I shall teach Susan to make nosegays, for I hope there will be a garden to the cottage.”

“And what would Susan do with so many nosegays?” Matilda inquired.

“Perhaps she might sell the nosegays at Richmond, and make a little more money for her mother, which would make her so happy. She might sit under the trees on the terrace early in the mornings before she came to us, and she could knit all the time, and be as busy as if she were at home. I daresay every one would like to buy nosegays from a blind girl, I am sure I should; and I think Nurse would perhaps allow me to give her my second best bonnet, to keep the hot sun off her eyelids; I am sure it must be looking very old now, though I am afraid Nurse does not think so, for she makes me stretch out the strings every day, and says it is wonderful how long things will look respectable with proper management.”

“Yes,” Matilda said, “and you are so terribly conscientious, Leila, and stretch away so every morning, that I am afraid your strings never will look disrespectable; if I were you I would begin to crumple them a little now. Do begin to-morrow.”

Selina looked up. “How you talk, Matilda; you know very well you would not do so now.”

“Then you do think me a little improved, Selina?”

“Not a little, but a great deal improved.”

“O, I am so glad; and you, Cousin Leila, should be glad also, for it is all owing to you. When I saw you so good and patient, and trying always to bear your trial so well, I prayed a great deal to be made good and patient too, for you know I have my little trials; always the holding up my head, and the never putting my elbows on the table, or being the least comfortable, all those hundred little botherations that used to put me wild; I do think I bear them a little better now. But you will be rewarded for bearing your great trials as you do, for I am sure God must love you so much; that very soon now He will open your eyes, and you will see as well as we do. O what joy then—what joy!”

“Hush! Matilda, hush! do not say it,” Leila hastily answered. “God does love me, I feel He does, for He gives me sweet, peaceful feelings now, and makes me happy; but His ways are different. He does what is best for me, and I am making up my mind, for I feel as if I were to be always blind. Selina knows it, for I have told her; and now that I have told you, I shall be happier. I wish I could speak about it to papa too, but I can’t just yet. Don’t cry, Matilda, don’t, my own dear Matilda.” She threw her arms round her and kissed her fondly. “Now there is a dear one; you will be good, you will be patient, and say it is all quite, quite right. You know, Matilda it must be so.” Her soft soothing voice was silent; she gently disengaged herself from Matilda, and left the room.

And it was really so; Leila had struggled hard with herself, and had all but conquered. She now strongly felt that entire dependence on her heavenly Father’s love which she had so fervently prayed for; the idea that she was to be for ever blind had taken strong possession of her, and she was resigned. Yet one earthly wish was still unsubdued: it was to gaze once more upon her father’s face. “Yes,” she said to herself, “once, only once again, and then I feel I shall be able to say from my very heart, ‘Thy will be done.’”

But how was this to be accomplished? She felt she could never tell her father that she wished to see him for the last time; she could never give him that bitter pang. And there were other difficulties. She could see him only when looking down upon him; how was this to be managed? She thought of it constantly; no way presented itself. Yet time pressed, for she felt as if every day her eyelids were getting more stiff and depressed; in fact, the struggle in her mind was affecting her general health. Circumstances, however, favoured her unexpectedly. Mr. Howard had spent a whole forenoon in London; Leila had for hours expected him, and he returned fatigued and dispirited. He had been to arrange a consultation for the following day with regard to Leila’s health, which was now daily giving him much uneasiness. Leila immediately became aware that he was out of spirits.

“Dear papa,” she said, “I am sure you are feeling unwell, you have over-fatigued yourself. Do let me take care of you and make you better. You shall lie down on the sofa, and I will sing you to sleep. Sleep is the very thing you want. Now, there is a dear papa, stretch yourself out; now then let me arrange the pillows comfortably.” She passed her little hand below her papa’s head, and raised it gently, “There now,—so; is not that comfortable? Now I shall take my guitar, and sing you a sweet lullaby; but you must shut your dear eyes first. Are you shutting them, papa?” She passed her hand across Mr. Howard’s eyes. “O you naughty papa, they are wide open.”

They were indeed open, they were earnestly fixed upon the pale countenance of his child. Softly drawing down his eyelids, she drew a chair close to the sofa, and striking a few chords, she began to sing in a sweet low voice, and after a little while Mr. Howard dropped asleep. Leila was immediately aware of this; she continued singing for a few minutes, as she watched his regular breathing; by degrees her voice sunk to the lowest whisper, then altogether ceased. For a moment she bent over him and listened. “Now is the time,” she said; and mounting upon the chair on which she had been seated, she gently raised her eyelids, and stood gazing down upon him.

Was she looking upon that much loved face for the last time? She felt as if it were so. “O my Father in Heaven,” she said, “give me of thy strength! I thought I had been resigned; O pardon a poor weak child, and make me strong!”

A deep sigh awoke Mr. Howard; he opened his eyes. Was it a deep spirit from a world unseen, who stood gazing upon him with a look of more than earthly love, or was it indeed his child? He started up, and Leila threw herself into his arms.

“Forgive me, dearest papa,” she said, “I could not help it; once more to see your face, papa, only once more;” then gradually becoming more calm, she entered fully on the subject, and poured out all that had been so long struggling in her heart. “And now, papa, I feel that God will strengthen me to be resigned. You know He says,—‘When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the fire kindle upon thee.’ And has it not come true with me, papa? He saved me in the waters, and in the fire; and shall I not trust in Him? I feel now as if He did not mean to open my eyes, but it must be right.”

Mr. Howard did not attempt to conceal from Leila that of late he too had felt less sanguine as to her recovering her eyesight, but still he said that he felt it a duty to employ every human means; and he informed her of the meeting he had appointed for next day. She struggled to conceal her emotion from him; but it was evident that this intelligence made the effort still more difficult.

The consultation took place as had been appointed, and the result was more favourable than either Mr. Howard or Leila had dared to hope. The physicians by no means despaired of Leila recovering the power of raising her eyelids. They thought that the weakened state of her general health, and the excitement of her too sensitive mind in the continual effort she had made to conceal her feelings, had probably hitherto retarded her recovery. They recommended her instantly being removed to Brighton, with only her papa and Selina, and that sea-baths and galvanism should be tried. Poor Matilda! what a trial was this separation to her. How often did she resolve to bear it heroically, and how often did her good resolutions give way to tears and lamentations! In vain Selina reminded her that she had resolved to bear her trials well. “My little trials,” she answered, “but a great trial like this! No, no, Selina; how can you be so unreasonable? I said nothing about a great one, and I am not like Leila, or you, I must cry, and I should.”

Yet even in her most sorrowful moments Matilda kept constantly saying she felt sure Leila would get quite well. She had always thought so, and now she saw those excellent wise physicians thought so too, and Leila would return to them seeing as well as she ever had done.