"Love, give her to me. Go and get us lights, will you?"
When she was gone, John took his baby to the window, gazed long and intently into her little face, then at Dr. Jessop. "Do you think—no—it's not possible—that there can be anything the matter with the child's eyes?"
Ursula coming in, heard the last words.
"What was that you said about baby's eyes?"
No one answered her. All were gathered in a group at the window, the child being held on her father's lap, while Dr. Jessop was trying to open the small white lids, kept so continually closed. At last the baby uttered a little cry of pain—the mother darted forward, and clasped it almost savagely to her breast.
"I will not have my baby hurt! There is nothing wrong with her sweet eyes. Go away; you shall not touch her, John."
"Love!"
She melted at that low, fond word; leaning against his shoulder—trying to control her tears.
"It shocked me so—the bare thought of such a thing. Oh! husband, don't let her be looked at again."
"Only once again, my darling. It is best. Then we shall be quite satisfied. Phineas, give me the candle."