e, dear," she said, "I don't know, darling. I don't
understand." Her voice broke as she lifted her beautiful face to me. I
looked into those wonderful eyes, and they gazed back at me with a
dull, meaningless stare. She stretched out her arm to grasp my hand,
and her own hand clutched aimlessly on my collar.

In a flash I realised the hideous truth.

Myra was blind!

CHAPTER IV.

THE BLACK BLOW.

"Oh, Ronnie, darling," Myra asked, in a pitiful voice that went to my
heart. "What can it mean? I--I--I can't see--anything at all."

"It's the sun, darling; it will be all right in a minute or two.
There, lie in my arms, dear, and close your poor eyes. It will be all
right soon, dearest."

I tried to comfort her, to assure her that it was just the glare on
the water, that she would be able to see again in a moment, but I felt
the pitiful inadequacy of my empty words, and it seemed that the light
had gone out of my life. I pray that I may never again witness such a
harrowing sight as that of Myra, leaning her beautiful head on my
shoulder, suddenly stricken blind, doing her best to pacify her dog,
who was heart-broken in the instinctive knowledge of a new, swift
grief which he could not understand.

I must ask the reader to spare me from describing in detail the
terrible agony of the next few days, when the hideous tragedy of
Myra's blindness overcame us all in its naked freshness. I cannot
bring myself to speak of it even yet. I would at any time give my life
to save Myra's sight, her most priceless possession. I make this as a
simple statement of fact, and in no spirit of romantic arrogance, and
I think I would rather die than live again the gnawing agony of those
days.

I took Myra in my arms, and carried her back to the house. Poor child;
she realised almost immediately that I was as dumbfounded as she was
herself at the terrible blow which had befallen her, and that I had no
faith in my empty assurances that it would soon be all right again,
and she would be able to see as well as ever in an hour or two, at
most. So she at once began to comfort me! I marvelled at her bravery,
but she made me more miserable than ever. I felt that she might have a
sort of premonition that she would never see again. As we crossed the
stream above the fall I saw again the reflected light from Hilderman's
window, and a pang shot through me as I remembered her words on that
very spot--that she would rather die than be unable t