"It is not Mr. Murray this time."
"Oh, Edna! I am so glad you happened to come. He would not let me tell you; he said he did not wish it known. But now you are here, you will stay with me, won't you, till it is over?"
Huldah was kneeling at the side of her father's cot, and Edna was startled by the look of eager, breathless anxiety printed on her white, trembling face.
"What does she mean, Mr. Reed?"
"Poor little lamb, she is so excited she can hardly speak, and I am not strong enough to talk much. Huldah, daughter, tell Miss Edna all about it."
"Mr. Murray heard all I said to you about praying to have my eyes opened, and he went to town that same evening, and telegraphed to some doctor in Philadelphia, who cures blindness, to come on and see if he could do anything for my eyes. Mr. Murray was here this morning, and said he had heard from the doctor, and that he would come this afternoon. He said he could only stay till the cars left for Chattanooga, as he must go back at once. You know he—hush! There! there! I hear the carriage now. Oh, Edna! pray for me! Pa, pray for my poor eyes!"
The sweet, childish face was colorless, and tears filled the filmy, hazel eyes as Huldah clasped her hands. Her lips moved rapidly, though no sound was audible.
Edna stepped behind the door, and peeped through a crack in the planks.
Mr. Murray entered first and beckoned to the stranger, who paused at the threshold, with a case of instruments in his hand.
"Come in, Hugh; here is your patient, very much frightened, too, I am afraid. Huldah, come to the light."