"And never come back to it again?"
"That is a harder thing to promise, Marice," he said. "One never knows what life and fate may demand of one. My work might call me back here."
"Yes, yes; that is true," she said peevishly. "The main thing is that you will never expect me to come back. But, of course, if you are blind, it will not be much use your coming either."
The blow was unexpected, but he did not flinch.
She was the first person who had taken such a probability for granted; but he had long faced the contingency himself.
"If I am to be blind, we must reconstruct plans and promises, Marice.
They are made, as far as I am concerned, conditionally."
"No; no conditions!" she cried feverishly. "I am going to marry you, whether your eyes recover or not. Promise me you won't draw back, if the worst comes?"
She could not bear to lose him—this one man in all the world who would still think her beautiful. All her soul which was her vanity cried out passionately to him.
"Of course I will promise you, dear, if you think it good enough," he said, "if you still want me and think a blind man can make you happy."
"Yes; I want you blind," she answered strangely. "You can make me very happy." Then she reached for the bell-button and pressed it. Her nerves were giving out, and she needed to be alone. But the future was arranged for now, and she could rest. She made a subtle sign to the entering nurse, and Druro never guessed that he was being evicted by any one but the latter in her professional capacity. To be deceived is doubtless part of the terrible fate of the blind.