"'But listen, old man,' I said, 'supposing you should die suddenly. Life is very uncertain, you know. This will should be left where it can be easily found, don't you see?"
"'That's just where I don't want it left,' he says. 'I want it kept safe. I'll take a chance on dying suddenly.' And by George! the old fellow got up and shambled out, leaving a twenty-dollar gold piece on the table."
"Then," said Frank, moistening his dry lips, "you have the will, Mr. Maddoc?"
"I have!" cried the delighted lawyer, "and whether he left you much or little nobody can dispute your claim. Young man, shake hands again!"
But Stanhope had sunk on a chair, his face in his hands. Doctor Cavinalt went softly over and stood beside him. "My friend," he said gently, "good news often bowls us over, but perhaps there's even better news in store for you. Fortune is a good thing, but with fortune and your eye-sight restored——"
Frank lifted a wan face. "You mean——?" his dry lips formed the words.
The slender sensitive fingers of the specialist lifted the lids of the unseeing eyes. Intently he examined them, then with a quick smile that transformed his grave face to almost boyish gladness, he spoke.
"It is as I thought, Mr. Stanhope. Your sight is quite unimpaired and can be restored to you by a simple operation. Your blindness was caused either from a blow or a fall, was it not?"
Frank nodded. "A beam struck me," he whispered, "I thought—I thought—"
"Tomorrow," said the doctor, retiring once more into his professional shell, "I shall remove the pressure that obstructs your vision. The operation, which will be most simple, can be performed here. We have but to remove all pressure on the nerve centres that refuse their function now—and you will see."