"My dream," she whispered. "It may be the hand of God. Oh, let him stay!"
"There is no place here for Ralph Ravenspur," the old man cried.
The outcast still fumbled his way forward. A sudden light of intelligence flashed over Gordon as he looked curiously at his brother.
"I think, sir," he said, "that my brother is suffering from some great affliction. Ralph, what is it? Why do you feel for things in that way?"
"I must," the wanderer replied. "I know every inch of the castle. I could find my way in the darkest night over every nook and corner. Father, I have come back to you. I was only to come back to you if I were in sore need or if I was deeply afflicted. Look at me! Does my face tell you nothing?"
"Your face is—is dreadful. And, as for your eyes, I cannot see them."
"You cannot see them," Ralph said in that dreadful, thrilling, strangled whisper, "because I have no sight; because I am blind."
Without a word Ravenspur caught his unhappy son by the hand and led him to the dining-hall, the family following in awed silence.