But did that look still inhabit the eyes of
the soul?
He answered the question himself. "I'd start again in a different way if
I could," he said musingly, his face towards the girl. "It's easy to say
that, but I would. It isn't only the things you get, it's how you use
them. It isn't only the things you do, it's why you do them. But I'll
never have a chance now; I'll never have a chance to try the new way. I'm
done."
Something almost savage leaped into her eyes--a wild, bitter protest, for
it was her tragedy, too, if he was not to regain his sight. The great
impulse of a nature which had been disciplined into reserve broke forth.
"It isn't so," she said with a tremor in her voice. All that he--and
she--was in danger of losing came home to her. "It isn't so. You shall
get well again. Your sight will come back. To-morrow; perhaps to-day,
Hindlip, the great oculist comes from New York. Mr. Warbeck, the Montreal
man, holds out hopes. If the New York man says the same, why despair?
Perhaps in another month you will be on your feet again, out in the
world, fighting, working, mastering, just as you used to do."
A sudden stillness seemed to take possession of him. His lips parted; his
head was thrust forwards slightly as though he saw something in the
distance.
Pages:
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362