ed him to reflect upon the contour of her
throat without interruption from its skin. For it had a contour by
moonlight. Well!--sufficient to the day is the evil thereof; daylight
might have its say to-morrow. Consider the clock put back a dozen years!

* * * * *

"Oh yes, he's asleep still, but I've seen him--looked in on my way down.
Do you know, I really believe he will be quite fit for the journey
to-morrow. He's getting such a much better colour, and last night he
seemed so much stronger." Thus the last comer to the morning-rally of
breakfast claimants, in its ante-room, awaiting its herald. Miss Irene
Torrens is a robust beauty with her brother's eyes. She has been with
him constantly since she came with her father three weeks ago, and the
two of them watched his every breath through the terrible day and night
that followed.

"Then perhaps he will let us see him," says Lady Gwen. "At last!"

"You must not expect too much," says Miss Torrens. She does not like
saying it, but facts are overpowering. Her brother has exacted a pledge
from her to say nothing, even now, about his blindness--merely to treat
him as weak-eyed temporarily. He will pass muster, he says--will squeak
through somehow. "I can't have that glorious girl made miserable," were
the words he had used to her, half an hour since. This Irene will be all
on tenterhooks till the interview is safely over. Meanwhile it is only
prudent not to sound too hopeful a note. It is as well to keep a margin
in reserve in case the performance should fall through.

Irene's response to her brother's words had been, "She is a glorious
girl," and she was on the way to "You should have seen her eyes last
night over that Beethoven!" But she broke down on the word _eyes_. How
else could it have been? Then the blind man had laughed, in the courage
of his heart, as big a laugh as his pitiable weakness could sustain, and
had made light of his affliction. He had never given way from the first
hour of his revival, when he had asked to have the shutters open, and
had been told they were already wide open, and the July sun streaming
into the room.

It was the Countess who answered Irene's caution, as accompaniment to
her morning salute. "We are not to expect _anything_, my dear. That is
quite understood. It would be unreasonable. And we won't stop long and
tire him. But this girl of mine will never be happy if he goes away
without our--well!--beco