man, and as
she gazed upon the two she resolved that so long as she should live,
so long should the helpless children of Matty Remington have a
steadfast friend. Hearing her husband's voice below she glided down
the stairs, leaving Louis and Maude really alone.

"Sister," said Louis, after a moment, "what of Mr. De Vere? Is he
true to the last?"

"I have released him," answered Maude. "I am nothing to him now,"
and very calmly she proceeded to tell him of the night when she had
said to Mr. De Vere, "My money is gone--my sight is going too, and I
give you back your troth, making you free to marry another--Nellie,
if you choose. She is better suited to you than I have ever been."

Though secretly pleased at her offering to give him up, J.C. made a
show of resistance, but she had prevailed at last, and with the
assurance that he should always esteem her highly, he consented to
the breaking of the engagement, and the very, next afternoon, rode
out with Nellie Kennedy.

"He will marry her, I think," Maude said, as she finished narrating
the circumstances, and looking into her calm, unruffled face Louis
felt sure that she had outlived her love for one who had proved
himself as fickle as J.C. De Vere.

"And what of James?" he asked. "Is he still in New Orleans."

"He is," answered Maude. "He has a large wholesale establishment
there, and as one of the partners is sick, he has taken his place
for the winter. He wrote to his cousin often, bidding him spare no
expense for me, and offering to pay the bills if J.C. was not able."

A while longer they conversed, and then they were summoned to
supper, Mrs. Kennedy coming herself for Maude, who did not refuse to
be assisted by her.

"The wind hurt my eyes--they will be better to-morrow," she said,
and with her old sunny smile she greeted her stepfather, and then
turned to Hannah and John, who had come in to see her.

But alas for the delusion! The morrow brought no improvement,
neither the next day, nor the next, and as the world grew dim there
crept into her heart a sense of utter desolation which neither the
tender love of Maude Glendower nor yet the untiring devotion of
Louis could in any degree dispel. All day would she sit opposite the
window, her eyes fixed on the light with a longing, eager gaze, as
if she feared that the next moment it might leave her forever.
Whatever he could do for her Louis did, going to her room each
morning and arranging her dress and hair ju