quake over her resolution to marry a young
Dragoon, with three good lives between him and his inheritance! She was
taken aback to find herself still so sensitive about that old story.

She had not succeeded in ridding herself of her disquieting memories
when her daughter followed her, choking back tense excitement until she
had fairly closed the door behind her. Then her words came with a rush,
for all that she kept her voice in check to say them.

"He cannot _see_, mamma--he cannot see _at all_! He is dead
stone-blind--for life--for life! And _we_ have done it--_we_ have done
it!" Then she broke down utterly, throwing herself on a sofa to hide in
its cushions the torrent of tears she could no longer keep back. "_We_
have done it--_we_ have done it!" she kept on crying. "_We_ have ruined
his life, and the guilt is ours--ours--_all_!"

The Countess, good woman, tried to mix consolation with protest against
such outrageous pessimism. She pointed out that there was no medical
authority for such an extreme view as Gwen's. On the contrary, Sir
Coupland had spoken most hopefully. And, after all, if Mr. Torrens could
see Arthur's Bridge he could not be absolutely blind.

"He could not see Arthur's Bridge _at all_," said Gwen, sitting up and
wiping her tears, self-possessed again for the moment from the stimulus
of contradiction, always a great help. "I stood facing him for five
minutes holding out my hand for him to shake, and he never--_never_--saw
it!"

"Perhaps he doesn't like shaking hands," said her mother weakly. "Some
people don't."

"They do mine," said Gwen. "Besides, he did in the end, and...."

"And what?"

"And nothing." At which point Gwen broke down again, crying out as
before that he was blind, and she knew it. The doctors were only talking
against hope, and _they_ knew it. "Oh, mother, mother," she cried out,
addressing her mother as she would often do when in trouble or excited,
"how shall we bear it, years from now, to know that he can see
nothing--_nothing!_--and to know that the guilt of his darkness lies
with us--is ours--is yours and mine? Have we ever either of us said a
word of protest against that wicked dog-shooting order? It was in the
attempt to commit a crime that we sanctioned, that old Stephen tried to
shoot that darling Achilles. Oh, I know it was no fault of old
Stephen's!" She became a little calmer from indulgence of speech that
had fought for hearing. "Oh no, mother dear, it's no us