Family Pride

It was very pleasant that afternoon, and Morris enjoyed the drive so much, assuring Uncle Ephraim that he was growing better every moment. He did seem stronger when at last the carriage stopped at Linwood, and his step was more rapid as he went up the steps where Helen, Katy and Mrs. Hull were waiting for him. He could not see them sufficiently to distinguish one from the other, but even without the aid of her voice he would have known when Katy's hand was put in his, it was so small, so soft, and trembled so as he held it. Her cap had been worn for nothing, nor did she think of it in her sorrow at finding him so helpless. Pity was the strongest feeling of which she was conscious, and it manifested itself in various ways.

"Let me lead you, Cousin Morris," she said, as she saw him groping his way to his room, and without waiting for his reply, she held his hand again in hers and led him to his room, where the sweet English violets were.

"I used to lead you, Katy," Morris said, as he took his seat by the window, "and I little thought then that you would one day return the compliment. It is very hard to be blind."

The tone of his voice was inexpressibly sad, but his smile was as cheerful as ever as his face turned toward Katy, who could not answer for her tears. It seemed so terrible to see a strong man so stricken, and that strong man Morris--terrible to watch him in his helplessness, trying to appear as of old, so as to cast on others no part of the shadow resting so darkly on himself. When dinner was over and the sun began to decline, many of his former friends came in, but he looked so pale and weary that they did not tarry long, and when the last one was gone, Morris was led back to his room, which he did not leave again until the summer was over and the luscious fruits of September were ripening upon the trees.

Toward the middle of July, Helen, whose health was suffering from her restless anxiety concerning Mark, was taken by Mrs. Banker to Nahant, where Mark's sister, Mrs. Ernst, was spending the summer, and thus on Katy alone fell the duty of paying to Morris those little acts of sisterly attentions such as no other member of the family knew how to pay. In the room where he lay so helpless Katy was not afraid of him, nor did she deem herself faithless to Wilford's memory, because each day found her at Linwood, sometimes bathing Morris' inflamed eyes, sometimes bringing him the cooling drink, and again reading to him by the hour, until, soothed by the music of her voice, he would fall away to sleep and dream it was an angel there with him.