clear, cloudless, and serene. 'They tell me that Glaucus is
here,' said she; 'may I come in?'

'Ah, my Nydia,' said the Greek, 'is that you I knew you would not
neglect my invitation.'

'Glaucus did but justice to himself,' answered Nydia, with a blush; 'for
he has always been kind to the poor blind girl.'

'Who could be otherwise?' said Glaucus, tenderly, and in the voice of a
compassionate brother.

Nydia sighed and paused before she resumed, without replying to his
remark. 'You have but lately returned?'

'This is the sixth sun that hath shone upon me at Pompeii.'

'And you are well? Ah, I need not ask--for who that sees the earth,
which they tell me is so beautiful, can be ill?'

'I am well. And you, Nydia--how you have grown! Next year you will be
thinking what answer to make your lovers.'

A second blush passed over the cheek of Nydia, but this time she frowned
as she blushed. 'I have brought you some flowers,' said she, without
replying to a remark that she seemed to resent; and feeling about the
room till she found the table that stood by Glaucus, she laid the basket
upon it: 'they are poor, but they are fresh-gathered.'

'They might come from Flora herself,' said he, kindly; 'and I renew
again my vow to the Graces, that I will wear no other garlands while thy
hands can weave me such as these.'

'And how find you the flowers in your viridarium?--are they thriving?'

'Wonderfully so--the Lares themselves must have tended them.'

'Ah, now you give me pleasure; for I came, as often as I could steal the
leisure, to water and tend them in your absence.'

'How shall I thank thee, fair Nydia?' said the Greek. 'Glaucus little
dreamed that he left one memory so watchful over his favorites at
Pompeii.'

The hand of the child trembled, and her breast heaved beneath her tunic.
She turned round in embarrassment. 'The sun is hot for the poor
flowers,' said she, 'to-day and they will miss me; for I have been ill
lately, and it is nine days since I visited them.'

'Ill, Nydia!--yet your cheek has more color than it had last year.'

'I am often ailing,' said the blind girl, touchingly; 'and as I grow up
I grieve more that I am blind. But now to the flowers!' So saying, she
made a slight reverence with her head, and passing into the viridarium,
busied herself with watering the flowers.

'Poor Nydia,' thought Glaucus, gazing on her; 'thine is a hard doom!
Thou seest not the earth--nor the sun--nor the oc