But she did—who could ever blindfold a mother? For a moment I saw her recoil—then turn to her husband with a dumb, piteous, desperate look, as though to say, "Help me—my sorrow is more than I can bear!"
But Muriel, hearing the step, cried with a joyful cry, "Mother! it's my mother!"
The mother folded her to her breast.
Muriel shed a tear or two there—in a satisfied, peaceful way; the mother did not weep at all. Her self-command, so far as speech went, was miraculous. For her look—but then she knew the child was blind.
"Now," she said, "my pet will be good and not cry? It would do her harm. We must be very happy to-day."
"Oh, yes." Then, in a fond whisper, "Please, I do so want to see little Maud."
"Who?" with an absent gaze.
"My little sister Maud—Maud that is to take my place, and be everybody's darling now."
"Hush, Muriel," said the father, hoarsely.
A strangely soft smile broke over her face—and she was silent.