"But I acted for the best," said Jane. "I thought of him before I thought of myself. It would have been far easier to have accepted the happiness of the moment, and chanced the future."
"That is not honest, Jeanette. You thought of yourself first. You dared not face the possibility of the pain to you if his love cooled or his admiration waned. When one comes to think of it, I believe every form of human love—a mother's only excepted—is primarily selfish. The best chance for Dalmain is that his helpless blindness may awaken the mother love in you. Then self will go to the wall."
"Ah me!" sighed Jane. "I am lost and weary and perplexed in this bewildering darkness. Nothing seems clear; nothing seems right. If I could see your kind eyes, Boy, your hard voice would hurt less."
"Well, take off the bandage and look," said the doctor.
"I will not!" cried Jane furiously. "Have I gone through all this to fail at the last?"
"My dear girl, this self-imposed darkness is getting on your nerves. Take care it does not do more harm than good. Strong remedies—"
"Hush!" whispered Jane. "I hear footsteps."
"You can always hear footsteps in a wood if you hearken for them," said the doctor; but he spoke low, and then sat quiet, listening.
"I hear Garth's step," whispered Jane. "Oh, Dicky, go to the edge and look over. You can see the windings of the path below."
The doctor stepped forward quietly and looked down upon the way they had ascended. Then he came back to Jane.