Mr. Gleason went for the children, as he continued to call them, and when the time for his arrival drew near, there was more than the usual excitement on such occasions. Mittie could never think of her sister’s coming without a fluctuating cheek and a throbbing heart. Mrs. Gleason wondered at this sensibility, unknowing its latent source, and rejoiced that all her affections seemed blooming in the fervid atmosphere that now surrounded her. Perhaps even she might yet be loved. But it was to Helen the heart of the step-mother went forth, whom she remembered as so gentle, so timid, so grateful and endearing. Would she return the same sweet child of nature, unspoiled by contact with other grosser elements?
Clinton felt an eager curiosity to see the sister of Mittie, for whom she cherished such precocious jealousy, yet who, according to her own description, was neither beautiful nor lovely. Louis was all impatience, not only to see his favorite Helen, but the lovely blind girl, who had made such an impression on his young imagination. It is true her image had faded in the sultry, worldly atmosphere to which he had been exposed; but as he thought of the blue, sightless orbs, so beautiful yet soulless, the desire to loosen the fillet of darkness which the hand of God had bound around her brow, and to pour upon her awakening vision the noontide glories of creation, rekindled in his bosom.
For many days Mrs. Gleason had filled the vases with fresh flowers, for she remembered how Helen delighted in their beauty, and Alice in their fragrance. There was a room prepared for Helen and Alice, while the latter remained her guest, and Mittie resolved that if possible, she would exclude her permanently from the chamber which Mrs. Gleason had so carefully furnished for both. She could not bear the idea of such close companionship with any one. She wanted to indulge in solitude her wild, passionate dreams, her secret, deep, incommunicable thoughts.
At length the travelers arrived; weary, dusty and exhausted from sleepless nights, and hurried, rapid days. No magnificent sun-burst glorified their coming. It was a dull, grayish, dingy day, such as often comes, the herald of approaching autumn. Mittie could not help rejoicing, for she knew the power of first impressions. She knew it by the raptures which Clinton always expressed when he alluded to her first appearance on the rustic bridge, as the youthful goddess of the blooming season. She knew it by her own experience, when she first beheld Clinton in all the witchery of his noble horsemanship.
Helen was unfortunately made very sick by traveling, sea-sick, and when she reached home she was exactly in that state of passive endurance which would have caused her to lie under the carriage wheels unresistingly had she been placed perchance in that position. The weather was close and sultry, and the dust gathered on the folds of her riding-dross added to the warmth and discomfort of her appearance. Her father carried her in his arms into the house, her head reclining languidly on his shoulder, her cheeks white as her muslin collar. Mittie caught a glimpse of Clinton’s countenance as he stood in the back-ground, and read with exultation an expression of blank disappointment. After gazing fixedly at Helen, he turned towards Mittie, and his glance said as plainly as words could speak—
“You beautiful and radiant creature, can you fear the influence of such a little, spiritless, sickly dowdy as this?”
Relieved of the most intolerable apprehensions, her greeting of Helen was affectionate beyond the most sanguine hopes of the latter. She took off her bonnet with assiduous kindness, (though Helen would have preferred wearing it to her room, to displaying her disordered hair and dusty raiment,) leaving to Mrs. Gleason the task of ministering to the lovely blind girl.
“Where’s brother? I do not hear his step,” said Alice, looking round as earnestly as if she expected to see his advancing figure.
“He has just been called away,” said Louis, “or he would be here to greet you. My poor little Helen, you do indeed look dreadfully used up. You were never made for a traveler. Why Alice’s roses are scarcely wilted.”
“Nothing but fatigue and a little sea-sickness,” cried her father, “a good night’s sleep is all she needs. You will see a very different looking girl to-morrow, I assure you.”