old Ron," she said tenderly. "I believe it's worse for you than
it is for me. And now that Mary has left us for a bit I want to say
something to you, dear, while I can. You mustn't think I don't
understand what this will mean to you, dear. I want you to know,
darling, that I hope always to be your very great friend, but I don't
expect you to marry a blind girl."

I shall certainly not tell the reader what I said in reply to that
generous and noble statement.

"Besides, dear," I concluded eventually, "you will soon be able to see
again." And so I tried to assure her, till presently Mary returned.
And then we made her comfortable, and I read to her in the darkened
carriage until at last my poor darling fell into a gentle sleep.

But twenty-six hours later, when I had seen Myra safely back to her
aunt's house from Harley Street, I staggered up the stairs to Dennis's
rooms in Panton Street a broken man.

Dennis opened the door to me himself.

"Ronald!" he cried, "what has happened?"

"Hello, old man," I said weakly; "I'm very, very tired."

My friend took my arm and led me into his sitting-room, and pressed me
gently on the sofa. Then he brought me a stiff brandy and soda, and
sat beside me in silence for a few minutes.

"Feel better, old boy?" he asked presently.

"Yes, thanks, Den," I answered. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."

"Tell me," he said, "when you feel well enough." But I lay, and closed
my eyes, for I was dog-tired, and could not bring myself to speak even
to Dennis of the specialist's terrible verdict. And soon Nature
asserted herself, and I fell into a deep sleep, which was the best
thing I could have done. When I awoke I was lying in bed, in total
darkness, in Dennis's extra room. I sat up, and called out in my
surprise, for I had been many miles away in my slumbers, and my first
hope was that the whole adventure had been a hideous nightmare. But
Dennis, hearing my shout, walked in to see if I wanted anything.

"Now, how do you feel?" he asked, as he sat on the side of the bed.

"Did you carry me in here and put me to bed?" I asked idly.

"You certainly didn't look like walking, and I thought you'd be more
comfortable in here," he laughed.

"Great Scott, man!" I cried, suddenly remembering his heart trouble,
"you shouldn't have done that, Dennis. You promised me you'd take no
risks."

"Heavens! that was nothing," he declared emphatically. "You're as
light as a feather. There was no risk