r to me. Go and get us lights, will you?"

When she was gone, John took his baby to the window, gazed long and
intently into her little face, then at Dr. Jessop. "Do you
think--no--it's not possible--that there can be anything the matter
with the child's eyes?"

Ursula coming in, heard the last words.

"What was that you said about baby's eyes?"

No one answered her. All were gathered in a group at the window, the
child being held on her father's lap, while Dr. Jessop was trying to
open the small white lids, kept so continually closed. At last the
baby uttered a little cry of pain--the mother darted forward, and
clasped it almost savagely to her breast.

"I will not have my baby hurt! There is nothing wrong with her sweet
eyes. Go away; you shall not touch her, John."

"Love!"

She melted at that low, fond word; leaning against his shoulder--trying
to control her tears.

"It shocked me so--the bare thought of such a thing. Oh! husband,
don't let her be looked at again."

"Only once again, my darling. It is best. Then we shall be quite
satisfied. Phineas, give me the candle."

The words--caressing, and by strong constraint made calm and
soothing--were yet firm. Ursula resisted no more, but let him take
Muriel--little, unconscious, cooing dove! Lulled by her father's voice
she once more opened her eyes wide. Dr. Jessop passed the candle
before them many times, once so close that it almost touched her face;
but the full, quiet eyes, never blenched nor closed. He set the light
down.

"Doctor!" whispered the father, in a wild appeal against--ay, it was
against certainty. He snatched the candle, and tried the experiment
himself.

"She does not see at all. Can she be blind?"

"Born blind."

Yes, those pretty baby-eyes were dark--quite dark. There was nothing
painful nor unnatural in their look, save, perhaps, the blankness of
gaze which I have before noticed. Outwardly, their organization was
perfect; but in the fine inner mechanism was something wrong--something
wanting. She never had seen--never would see--in this world.

"BLIND!" The word was uttered softly, hardly above a breath, yet the
mother heard it. She pushed every one aside, and took the child
herself. Herself, with a desperate incredulity, she looked into those
eyes, which never could look back either her agony or her love. Poor
mother!

"John! John! oh, John!"--the name rising into a cry, as if he could
surely help her.