hour.’
“‘Of course, of course; I am obliged to you for not noticing my laziness.’
“Raesel was much more lively than the preceding evening; she had a fresh colour in her cheeks.
“‘The wind has gone down,’ said she; ‘the storm has passed away without doing any harm.’
“‘Shall I open the apiary?’ asked Young.
“‘No, not yet; the bees would lose themselves in this mist. Besides, everything is drenched with rain; the brambles and mosses are full of water; the least puff of wind would drown many of them. We must wait a little while. I know what is the matter: they feel dull, they want to work; they are tormented at the idea of devouring their honey instead of making it. But I cannot afford to lose them. Many of the hives are weak—they would starve in winter. We will see what the weather is like to-morrow.’
“The two old people sat and listened without making any observations.
“About nine the blind girl proposed to go and visit her bees; Young and Catherine followed her, and I did the same, from a very natural feeling of curiosity.
“We passed through the kitchen by a door which opened on to a terrace. Above us was the roof of the apiary; it was of thatch, and from its ledge honeysuckle and wild grapes hung in magnificent festoons. The hives were arranged on three shelves.
“Raesel went from one to the other, patting them, and murmuring—
“‘Have a little patience; there is too much mist this morning. Ah! the greedy ones, how they grumble!’
“And we could hear a vague humming inside the hive, which increased in intensity until she had passed.
“That awoke all my curiosity once more. I felt there was some strange mystery which I could not fathom, but what was my surprise, when, as I went into the sitting-room, I heard the blind girl say in a melancholy tone of voice—
“‘No, father, I would rather not see at all to-day than lose my eyes. I will sing, I will do something or other to pass the time, never mind what; but I will not let the bees out.’
“While she was speaking in this strange manner I looked at Walter Young, who glanced out of the window and then quietly replied—
“‘You are right, child; I think you are right. Besides, there is nothing to see; the valley is quite white. It is not worth looking at.’
“And while I sat astounded at what I heard, the child continued—
“‘What lovely weather we had the day before yesterday! Who would have thought that a storm on the lake would have caused all this mist? Now one must fold up its wings and crawl about like a wretched caterpillar.’
“Then again, after a few moments’ silence—
“‘How I enjoyed myself under the lofty pines on the Grinderwald! How the honey-dew dropped from the sky! It fell from every branch. What a harvest we made, and how sweet the air was on the shores of the lake, and in the rich Tannemath pastures—the green moss, and the sweet-smelling herbs! I sang, I laughed, and we filled our cells with wax and honey. How delightful to be everywhere, see everything, to fly humming about the woods, the mountains, and the valleys!’
“There was a fresh silence, while I sat, with mouth and eyes open, listening with the greatest attention, not knowing what to think or what to say.
“‘And when the shower came,’ she went on, ‘how frightened we were! A great humble-bee, sheltered under the same fern as myself, shut his eyes at every flash; a grasshopper had sheltered itself under its great green branches, and some poor little crickets had scrambled up a poppy to save themselves from drowning. But what was most frightful was a nest of warblers quite close to us in a bush. The mother hovered round about us, and the little ones opened their beaks, yellow as far as their windpipes. How frightened we were! Good Lord, we were frightened indeed! Thanks be to Heaven, a puff of wind carried us off to the mountain side; and now the vintage is over we must not expect to get out again so soon.’
“On hearing these descriptions of Nature so true, at this worship of day and light, I could no longer entertain the least doubt on the subject.
“‘The blind girl sees,’ said I to myself; ‘she sees through thousands of eyes; the apiary is her life, her soul. Every bee carries a part of her away into space, and then returns drawn to her by thousands of invisible threads. The blind girl penetrates the flowers and the mosses; she revels in their perfume; when the sun shines she is everywhere; in the mountain side, in the valleys, in the forests, as far as her sphere of attraction extends.’
“I sat confounded at this strange magnetic influence, and felt tempted to exclaim—
“‘Honour, glory, honour to the power, the wisdom, and the infinite goodness of the Eternal God! For Him nothing is impossible. Every day, every instant of our lives reveals to us His magnificence.’
“While I was lost in these enthusiastic reflections, Raesel addressed me with a quiet smile.
“‘Sir,’ said she.
“‘What, my child?’
“‘You are very much surprised at me, and you are not the first person who has been so. The rector Hegel, of Neufchatel, and other travellers have been here on purpose to see me: they thought I was blind. You thought so too, did you not?’
“‘I did indeed, my dear child, and I thank the Lord that I was mistaken.’
“‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I know you are a good man—I can tell it by your voice. When the sun shines I shall open my eyes to look at you, and when you leave here I will accompany you to the foot of the mountain.’
“Then she began to laugh most artlessly.
“‘Yes,’ said she, ‘you shall have music in your ears, and I will seat myself on your cheek; but you must take care—take care. You must not touch me, or I should sting you. You must promise not to be angry.’
“‘I promise you, Raesel, I promise you I will not,’ I said with tears in my eyes, ‘and, moreover, I promise you never to kill a bee or any other insect except those which do harm.’
“‘They are the eyes of the Lord,’ she murmured. ‘I can only see by my own poor bees, but He has every hive, every ant’s nest, every leaf, every blade of grass. He lives, He feels, He loves, He suffers, He does good by means of all these. Oh, Monsieur Hennetius, you are right not to pain the Lord, who loves us so much!’
“Never in my life had I been so moved and affected, and it was a full minute before I could ask her—
“‘So, my dear child, you see by your bees; will you explain to me how that is?’
“‘I cannot tell, Monsieur Hennetius; it may be because I am so fond of them. When I was quite a little child they adopted me, and they have never once hurt me. At first I liked to sit for hours in the apiary all alone and listen to their humming for hours together. I could see nothing then, everything was dark to me; but insensibly light came upon me. At first I could see the sun a little, when it was very hot, then a little more, with the wild vine and the honeysuckle like a shade over me, then the full light of
