the man she loved, and came home to her sister; and they had never
been separated for a day since. Once, when the bitter pain began to
abate, and the sufferer could realize that she was still a living
creature and not a condemned spirit, suffering for the sins of some
one else (she had thought of all her own, and could not feel that they
were bad enough to merit such suffering, if God was the person she
supposed),--in those first days Miss Rejoice ventured to question her
sister about her engagement. She was afraid--she did hope the breaking
of it had nothing to do with her. "It has to do with myself!" said
Miss Vesta, briefly, and nothing more was said. The sisters had lived
their life together, without a thought save for each other, till
Melody came into their world.

But here is Melody at the door; she shall introduce herself. A girl of
twelve years old, with a face like a flower. A broad white forehead,
with dark hair curling round it in rings and tendrils as delicate as
those of a vine; a sweet, steadfast mouth, large blue eyes, clear and
calm under the long dark lashes, but with a something in them which
makes the stranger turn to look at them again. He may look several
times before he discovers the reason of their fixed, unchanging calm.
The lovely mouth smiles, the exquisite face lights up with gladness or
softens into sympathy or pity; but the blue eyes do not flash or
soften, for Melody is blind.

She came into the room, walking lightly, with a firm, assured tread,
which gave no hint of hesitation or uncertainty.

"See, Aunt Joy," she said brightly, "here is the first rose. You were
saying yesterday that it was time for cinnamon-roses; now here is one
for you." She stooped to kiss the sweet white face, and laid the