Yacob was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable,
and, besides--what made it more distressing--he liked Nunez for
many things. So he went and sat in the windowless council-chamber
with the other elders and watched the trend of the talk, and said,
at the proper time, "He's better than he was. Very likely, some
day, we shall find him as sane as ourselves."

Then afterwards one of the elders, who thought deeply, had
an idea. He was a great doctor among these people, their
medicine-man, and he had a very philosophical and inventive mind,
and the idea of curing Nunez of his peculiarities appealed to him.
One day when Yacob was present he returned to the topic of Nunez.
"I have examined Nunez," he said, "and the case is clearer to me.
I think very probably he might be cured."

"This is what I have always hoped," said old Yacob.

"His brain is affected," said the blind doctor.

The elders murmured assent.

"Now, _what_ affects it?"

"Ah!" said old Yacob.

"_This_," said the doctor, answering his own question. "Those
queer things that are called the eyes, and which exist to make
an agreeable depression in the face, are diseased, in the case
of Nunez, in such a way as to affect his brain. They are greatly
distended, he has eyelashes, and his eyelids move, and consequently
his brain is in a state of constant irritation and distraction."

"Yes?" said old Yacob. "Yes?"

"And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in
order to cure him complete, all that we need to do is a simple and
easy surgical operation--namely, to remove these irritant bodies."

"And then he will be sane?"

"Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable
citizen."

"Thank Heaven for science!" said old Yacob, and went forth at
once to tell Nunez of his happy hopes.

But Nunez's manner of receiving the good news struck him as
being cold and disappointing.

"One might think," he said, "from the tone you take that you
did not care for my daughter."

It was Medina-sarote who persuaded Nunez to face the blind
surgeons.

"_You_ do not want me," he said, "to lose my gift of sight?"

She shook her head.

"My world is sight."

Her head drooped lower.

"There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little
things--the flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and
softness on a piece of fur, the far sky with its drifting dawn of
clouds, the sunsets and the stars. And there is _you_. For
you alone it is good