She was sitting on the verandah as the four rode up, with her eyes, which, save for a fixity of gaze, showed nothing of their affliction, staring away into the distance where the clump of trees stood out, purple-blue in their shade above the buff of the sun-dried grass and against the pure, transparent azure of the sky overhead.
Dickson mounted the steps leading on to the verandah, with Nellie close upon him and Ailleen further behind; while Bobby, not having outgrown the uneasiness of youth, remained in the saddle holding the bridles of the other three horses as well as his own.
"Here's Nellie," Dickson said abruptly, as he reached the chair where the sightless woman sat.
"How do you do, Nellie?" she said simply, as she held out her hand.
"And this is the other—Ailleen," he added, before Nellie could answer.
Ailleen, looking into the clear, open eyes which looked so steadily into hers, and were so different from what she had pictured to herself, took the extended hand.
"I am so glad to be able to see you. Oh, I forgot—I'm so sorry," she added quickly.
"Dearie, dearie," the blind woman said, in a gentle, caressing tone, placing her other hand over Ailleen's, "it's very kind of you to say that, very kind of you. There's many a one said far worse and never given a thought whether it hurt me or not. Come, sit ye down, dearie, and tell me all about yourself. Willy, bring a chair."
But Willy, convoyed by Nellie, had passed out of sight and hearing.
"I will sit here," Ailleen exclaimed, as she sat on the top of the steps leading to the ground from the verandah.