n saw the difficulties! On his way upstairs a vivid scene
passed through his head, in which an image of the Countess addressed
him thus:--"My dear Mr. Torrens, Gwen does not really love you. She
is only pretending, because she considers her family are responsible
for your blindness. All her assurances of affection for you are
untrustworthy--just her fibs! She could not play her part without them.
I appeal to you as an honourable man to disbelieve every word she says,
and to respect the true instinct of a maternal parent. No one grieves
more sincerely than I do for your great misfortune, or is more contrite
than my husband and myself because it was our keeper that shot you, but
there are limits! We must draw the line at our daughter marrying a
scribbler with his eyes out, on high principles." At this point the
image may be said to have got the bit in its teeth, for it added:--"If
Gwen squinted and had a wooden leg, nothing would please us better.
But...!"

How did the growing hope of a revival of sight bear on the question?
Well--both ways! May not Gwen's pity for his calamity have had
_something_ to do with her feelings towards him, without any motive that
the most stodgy prose could call Quixotic?

CHAPTER XVIII

A DABBLER IN IMMORTALITY. _ALL_ THEIR LIVES! WILL PHOEBE KNOW ME?
STAY TO TELL HER THIS IS ME. THAT POOR OLD PERSON. HOW GWEN MET
GRANNY MARRABLE ON HER WAY HOME. HER DREAD OF MORE DISCLOSINGS, AND
A GREAT RELIEF. _MACTE VIRTUTE_, DR. NASH! GRANNY MARRABLE'S
FORTITUDE. HOW GWEN NOTICED THE LIKENESS TOO, FOR THE FIRST TIME! A
SHORT CHAT THE COUNTESS HAD HAD WITH SIR HAMILTON. HOW SHE WAS
UNFEELING ABOUT THE OLD TWINS. WHY NOT SETTLE DOWN AND TALK IT
OVER? NO AUTHENTICATED GHOST APPEARS TO A PERFECT STRANGER. A
DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT. SIR SPENCER DERRICK AND THE OPENSHAWS.
GWEN'S LETTER TO HER FATHER. HOW SHE DID NOT GO TO PENSHAM, BUT
BACK TO STRIDES COTTAGE

When Gwen's task came to an end, she had to think of herself. The day
had been more trying even than her worst anticipations of it. But now at
last she had stormed that citadel of Impossible Belief in the mind of
both mother and daughter, and nothing she could do could bring them,
strained and distracted by the incredible revelation, nearer to a haven
of repose. She had spoken the word: the rest lay with the powers of
Nature. Probably she felt what far different circumstances have caused