It may be that
he is fretful in his blindness, which is in itself so trying to a strong
man. But besides, the treatment is not calculated to have a very buoyant
effect. It is apt to make a man fretful to lie in the dark, and know
that he has to do so for indefinite weeks. Pilocarpin, and salicylate of
soda, and mercury do not tend towards cheerfulness. Nor do blisters on
the forehead add to the content of life!' 'I quite understand,' said Stephen, 'and I will be careful not to go near
him till he is well. Please God! it may bring him back his sight. Thank
you a thousand times for your determination to stay with him.' So it was that for more than two weeks Harold was kept all alone. No one
attended him but the Doctor. He slept in the patient's room for the
whole of the first week, and never had him out of sight for more than a
few minutes at a time. He was then able to leave him alone for longer
periods, and settled himself in the bedroom next to him. Every hour or
two he would visit him. Occasionally he would be away for half a day,
but never for more. Stephen rigidly observed the Doctor's advice
herself, and gave strict orders that his instructions were to be obeyed. Harold himself went through a period of mental suffering. It was agony
to him to think of Stephen being so near at hand, and yet not to be able
to see her, or even to hear her voice. All the pain of his loss of her
affection seemed to crowd back on him, and with it the new need of
escaping from her unknown. More than ever he felt it would not do that
she should ever learn his identity. Her pity for him, and possibly her
woman's regard for a man's effort in time of stress, might lead through
the gates of her own self-sacrifice to his restoration to his old place
in her affections. Nay! it could not be his old place; for at the close
of those days she had learned of his love for her. CHAPTER XXXV--A CRY


The third week had nearly elapsed, and as yet no one was allowed to see
the patient. For a time Stephen was inclined to be chagrined. It is not pleasant to
have even the most generous and benevolent intentions thwarted; and she
had set her mind on making much of this man whom fate and his own bravery
had thrown athwart her life. But in these days Stephen was in some ways
a changed woman. She had so much that she wished to forget and that she
would have given worlds to recall, that she could not bear even to think
of any militant or even questioning attitude. She even began to take
herself to task more seriously than she had ever done with regard to
social and conventional duties. When she found her house full of so many
and so varied guests, it was borne in upon her that such a position as
her own, with such consequent duties, called for the presence of some
elder person of her own sex and of her own class. No better proof of Stephen's intellectual process and its result could be
adduced than her first act of recognition: she summoned an elderly lady
to live with her and matronise her house. This lady, the widow of a
distant relation, complied with all the charted requirements of
respectability, and had what to Stephen's eyes was a positive gift: that
of minding her own business and not interfering in any matter whatever. Lady de Lannoy, she felt, was her own master and quite able to take care
of herself. Her own presence was all that convention required. So she
limited herself to this duty, with admirable result to all, herself
included. After a few days Stephen would almost forget that she was
present. Mr. Hilton kept bravely to his undertaking. He never gave even a hint of
his hopes of the restoration of sight; and he was so assiduous in his
attention that there arose no opportunity of accidental discovery of the
secret. He knew that when the time did come he would find himself in a
very unpleasant situation. Want of confidence, and even of intentional
deceit, might be attributed to him; and he would not be able to deny nor
explain. He was, however; determined to stick to his word. If he could
but save his patient's sight he would be satisfied. But to Stephen all the mystery seemed to grow out of its first shadowy
importance into something real. There was coming to her a vague idea
that she would do well not to manifest any concern, any anxiety, any
curiosity. Instinct was at work; she was content to trust it, and wait. One forenoon she received by messenger a letter which interested her
much. So much that at first she was unwilling to show it to anyone, and
took it to her own boudoir to read over again in privacy. She had a sort
of feeling of expectancy with regard to it; such as sensitive natures
feel before a thunderstorm. The letter was natural enough in itself. It
was dated that morning from Varilands, a neighbouring estate which
marched with Lannoy to the south. 'MY DEAR MADAM,--Will you pardon me a great liberty, and allow my
   little girl and me to come to see you to-day? I shall explain when we
   meet. When I say that we are Americans and have come seven thousand
   miles for the purpose, you will, I am sure, understand that it is no
   common interest which has brought us, and it will be the excuse for
   our eagerness. I should write you more fully, but as the matter is a
   confidential one I thought it would be better to speak. We shall be
   doubly grateful if you will have the kindness to see us alone. I
   write as a mother in making this appeal to your kindness; for my
   child--she is only a little over eight years old--has the matter so
   deeply in her heart that any disappointment or undue delay would I
   fear affect her health. We presume to take your kindness for granted
   and will call a little before twelve o'clock. 'I may perhaps say (in case you should feel any hesitation as to my
   _bona fides_) that my husband purchased some years ago this estate. We
   were to have come here to live in the early summer, but were kept in
   the West by some important business of his. 'Believe me, yours sincerely,
   'ALICE STONEHOUSE.' Stephen had, of course, no hesitation as to receiving the lady. Even had
there been objection, the curiosity she had in common with her kind would
have swept difficulties aside. She gave orders that when Mrs. Stonehouse
arrived with her daughter they were to be shown at once into the Mandarin
drawing-room. That they would probably stay for lunch. She would see
them alone. A little before twelve o'clock Mrs. Stonehouse and Pearl arrived, and
were shown into the room where Lady de Lannoy awaited them. The high
sun, streaming in from the side, shone on her beautiful hair, making it
look like living gold. When the Americans came in they were for an
instant entranced by her beauty. One glance at Mrs. Stonehouse's sweet
sympathetic face was enough to establish her in Stephen's good graces
forever. As for Pearl, she was like one who has unexpectedly seen a
fairy or a goddess.