“I can see that there is light, sir, where you are; but you have your back to the west. It is the warm sunset.”
“Then you are not quite blind, my lad. Well, has Mrs Mostyn forgiven you about her orchids?”
“Ah! I remember you now, sir,” cried Grange. “You are the friend—the great doctor—who came to see them.”
“To be sure I am the doctor—I don’t know about great—who stayed the night—Doctor Renton, of the Gables, Dale-by-Lyndon.”
“Yes, sir, I know. I have heard tell of your beautiful garden.”
“Indeed? Well, look here, my man. Your mistress interested me in your case, and I thought I would ride over some evening and see you. I should like you to come to me, so that I could examine your eyes, and test them a little.”
John Grange turned ghastly and fell a-trembling, as he grasped at the window-sill to steady himself.
“Come, come, that will not do,” cried the doctor quickly. “Be a man! You are weak and nervous. Try and control your feelings.”
“But—then— oh, for Heaven’s sake, speak, sir,” said Grange, in a husky whisper. “You think there is hope?”
“I do not say that, my man, but since Mrs Mostyn told me about your case, I have thought of it a great deal. Come over and see me, saying nothing to any one, for fear of disappointment. Then, if I think it is worth while, you shall come up to London and stay.”