om. Walk over to the fireplace and remain
there. I desire that you should hear, that when he chooses to rouse and
make an effort, he is perfectly well able to do so. The most important
part of your duties, Nurse Gray, will be the aiding him day by day to
resume life,--the life of a blind man, it is true; but not therefore
necessarily an inactive life. Now that all danger of inflammation from
the wounds has subsided, he may get up, move about, learn to find his
way by sound and touch. He was an artist by profession. He will never
paint again. But there are other gifts which may form reasonable
outlets to an artistic nature."

He paused suddenly, having apparently caught sight of another grease
spot, and walked over to the table; but the next instant jumped round
on Jane, quick as lightning, with a question.

"Does he play?" said Dr. Rob.

But Jane was on her guard, even against accidental surprises.

"Sir Deryck did not happen to mention to me, Dr. Mackenzie, whether Mr.
Dalmain is musical or not."

"Ah, well," said the little doctor, resuming his Napoleonic attitude in
the centre of the hearth-rug; "you must make it your business to find
out. And, by the way, Nurse, do you play yourself?"

"A little," said Jane.

"Ah," said Dr. Rob. "And I dare say you sing a little, too?"

Jane acquiesced.

"In that case, my dear lady, I leave most explicit orders that you
neither sing a little nor play a little to Mr. Dalmain. We, who have
our sight, can just endure while people who 'play a little' show us how
little they can play; because we are able to look round about us and
think of other things. But to a blind man, with an artist's sensitive
soul, the experience might culminate in madness. We must not risk it. I
regret to appear uncomplimentary, but a patient's welfare must take
precedence of all other considerations."

Jane smiled. She was beginning to like Dr. Rob.

"I will be most careful," she said, "neither to play nor to sing to Mr.
Dalmain."

"Good," said Dr. Mackenzie. "But now let me tell you what you most
certainly may do, by-and-by. Lead him to the piano. Place him there
upon a seat where he will feel secure; none of your twirly, rickety
stools. Make a little notch on the key-board by which he can easily
find middle C. Then let him relieve his pent-up soul by the painting of
sound-pictures. You will find this will soon keep him happy for hours.
And, if he is already something of a musician,--as that huge