Her hands trembled in his, and a thrill of sympathy seemed to pass between them.
“Oh,” she said, gently, “I know you are good—so good! And I want to thank you for defending me from that—that person.”
“Don’t speak of that,” murmured Frank. “It was a great satisfaction. You are looking straight at me now. Can’t you see me at all?”
“No, sir.”
“It is strange. Your eyes look all right save for an uncertain expression in them. Some time your sight will be restored. I feel sure of that.”
A look of happiness came to her sweet face, and she almost panted as she answered:
“I am so glad to hear you say so! I don’t know why, but it seems that you must be right. It is so strange, for I feel as if I had known you always. What is your name?”
“Frank Merriwell.”
“My name is Nellie Norton. I wish I could see you, Mr. Merriwell.”
“We are trying to get money enough together to have her eyes treated by a great oculist,” explained the boy; “but times are hard, and people do not have much money to spare.”