He drew her to the window, lifted her to a chair, and the doctor bent down, pushed back his spectacles, and cautiously examined the child's eyes.
"Don't tremble so, Huldah; there is nothing to be afraid of. The doctor will not hurt you."
"Oh! it is not that I fear to be hurt! Edna, are you praying for me?"
"Edna is not here," answered Mr. Murray, glancing round the room.
"Yes, she is here. I did not tell her, but she happened to come a little while ago. Edna, won't you hold one of my hands? Oh, Edna! Edna!"
Reluctantly the orphan came forward, and, without lifting her eyes, took one of the little outstretched hands firmly in both her own. While Mr. Murray silently appropriated the other, Huldah whispered:
"Please both of you pray for me."
The doctor raised the eyelids several times, peered long and curiously at the eyeballs, and opened his case of instruments.
"This is one of those instances of congenital cataract which might have been relieved long ago. A slight operation will remove the difficulty. St. Elmo, you asked me about the probability of an instantaneous restoration, and I had begun to tell you about that case which Wardrop mentions of a woman, blind from her birth till she was forty-six years of age. She could not distinguish objects for several days—"
"Oh, sir! will I see? Will I see my father?" Her fingers closed spasmodically over those that clasped them, and the agonizing suspense written in her countenance was pitiable to contemplate.