She reached up her hands and placed them on either side of his face, holding them there.
“There,” she softly breathed, “now I know I am looking straight at you, and I fancy I can see you. You are so manly and so noble! Your eyes are dark brown, and so is your hair. Your mouth is tender, but firm, without a hard line about it. You have a high, wide forehead, which is fair and unlined. You are young, and you will always remain young, for your heart will not let you grow old.”
“Why, Nellie, how do you know my eyes are brown—my hair is brown?”
“Ah-a!” she laughed. “A little bird told me. And I have dreamed of you. I saw you in my dream, and I am sure I saw you as you really are. When I can really see again, I shall know you without having you pointed out to me.”
He began to realize how much she loved him—how much time she had spent thinking and dreaming of him.
Still he regarded her as a mere child, nothing more.
“I know how you learned so much,” he laughed. “Jack told you.”
“Yes,” she confessed; “I have had him describe you to me many times.”
“Jack is a good boy.”
“He has always been good to me, and I love him; but, oh, Frank! it does not seem that I care for—anybody—else—as much as—I care—for you!”