“My God!” exclaimed Carlyle bitterly, “don’t remind me of what we were going to do in those days.” He looked round the well-furnished, handsome room and recalled the other signs of wealth that he had noticed. “At all events, you seem fairly comfortable, Wynn.”
“I am alternately envied and pitied,” replied Carrados, with a placid tolerance of circumstance that seemed characteristic of him. “Still, as you say, I am fairly comfortable.”
“Envied, I can understand. But why are you pitied?”
“Because I am blind,” was the tranquil reply.
“Blind!” exclaimed Mr Carlyle, using his own eyes superlatively. “Do you mean—literally blind?”
“Literally.... I was riding along a bridle-path through a wood about a dozen years ago with a friend. He was in front. At one point a twig sprang back—you know how easily a thing like that happens. It just flicked my eye—nothing to think twice about.”
“And that blinded you?”
“Yes, ultimately. It’s called amaurosis.”
“I can scarcely believe it. You seem so sure and self-reliant. Your eyes are full of expression—only a little quieter than they used to be. I believe you were typing when I came.... Aren’t you having me?”
“You miss the dog and the stick?” smiled Carrados. “No; it’s a fact.”