e no difference then. I
was not the insensible creature in those days that I have become since.

I can only account for it in one way. The restoration of my sight has
made a new creature of me. I have gained a sense--I am no longer the same
woman. This great change must have had some influence over me that I
never suspected until Oscar came here. Can the loss of my sense of
feeling be the price that I have paid for the recovery of my sense of
sight?

When Grosse comes next, I shall put that question to him.

In the meanwhile, I have had a second disappointment. He is not nearly so
beautiful as I thought he was when I was blind.

On the day when my bandage was taken off for the first time, I could only
see indistinctly. When I ran into the room at the rectory, I guessed it
was Oscar rather than knew it was Oscar. My father's grey head, and Mrs.
Finch's woman's dress, would no doubt have helped anybody in my place to
fix as I did on the right man. But this is all different now. I can see
his features in detail--and the result is (though I won't own it to any
of them) that I find my idea of him in the days of my blindness--oh, so
unlike the reality! The one thing that is not a disappointment to me, is
his voice. When he cannot see me, I close my eyes, and let my ears feel
the old charm again--so far.

And this is what I have gained, by submitting to the operation, and
enduring my imprisonment in the darkened room!

What am I writing? I ought to be ashamed of myself! Is it nothing to have
had all the beauty of land and sea, all the glory of cloud and sunshine,
revealed to me? Is it nothing to be able to look at my
fellow-creatures--to see the bright faces of children smile at me when I
speak to them? Enough of myself! I am unhappy and ungrateful when I think
of myself.

Let me write about Oscar.

My aunt approves of him. She thinks him handsome, and says he has the
manners of a gentleman. This last is high praise from Miss Batchford. She
despises the present generation of young men. "In my time," she said the
other day, "I used to see young gentlemen. I only see young animals now;
well-fed, well-washed, well-dressed; riding animals, rowing animals,
betting animals--nothing more."

Oscar, on his side, seems to like Miss Batchford on better acquaintance.
When I first presented him to her, he rather surprised me by changing
color and looking very uneasy. He is almost distressingly nervous, on
certain occasions. I su