There was a fierce struggle in the breast of Minnette. It was but momentary, however, as, shading her face with one hand, she said:
"Be it so; I will endure the humiliation; let him come."
Sister Beatrice pressed her lips to the brow of the invalid, and left the room. A moment later, and Louis, pale, thin, and careworn, entered. He started, and grew a shade paler, as his eyes fell on that poor, pale face, robbed of all its beauty, and with a suppressed groan, sank on his knees by the bedside.
"Minnette! Minnette!" he said, hoarsely. "Can you ever forgive me?"
The sightless eyes were turned toward him, in the vain effort to see. Alas! All was darkness. She held out one little, transparent hand, which he took between both of his.
"I have nothing to forgive," she said, meekly. "All that has happened to me I deserved. Do not grieve for me, Louis, you have nothing to reproach yourself with; it was all my own fault."
He bowed his forehead on her hand, and tears, that did honor to his generous heart, fell from his eyes.
"Tell Celeste, when you see her, how sorry I am for all my cruelty and injustice toward her. Ask her to forgive me; she is good and gentle, I feel she will do it. If I only had her pardon, I feel I could die content. And, Oh Louis! when she is happy with you, will you both sometimes think of Minnette, blind, and alone in a foreign land?"
"Oh, poor Minnette!" he said, in a choking voice.
"Do not pity me, Louis; I am very happy," but the pale lips trembled as she spoke; "happier than I ever was when I was full of life and health. Oh, Louis, when I look back and think of what I have been—so selfish, and hard-hearted, and cruel—I tremble to think what I might yet have been if God in his mercy had not sent me this affliction. And Celeste; no words can ever tell how I have wronged her. You know how I struck her, in my blind rage, and the angelic patience and forgiveness with which she afterward sought to love me, and make me happy. Oh, Louis! all her sweetness and meekness will haunt me to my dying day."