"With or without eyes," he admitted.
"You don't know what he's been through," she frowned. "Even he does n't know. When I came to him, there was so little of him left. I 'll never forget the first sight I had of him in the hospital. Thin and white and blind, he lay there as though dead."
He looked at the frail young woman by his side. She must have had fine courage too. There was something of Peter in her.
"And you nursed him back."
She blushed at the praise.
"Perhaps I helped a little; but, after all, it was the dreams he had that counted most. All I did was to listen and try to make them real to him. I tried to make him hope."
"That was fine."
"He loved so hard, with all there was in him, as he does everything," she explained.
"I suppose that was the trouble," he nodded.
She turned quickly. It was as if he said that was the mistake.