"Karen." He said it; he heard his voice.
"George! You made it!" Karen was there.
"Karen," he said again. A little quavering, but it was a voice. "Karen!" he sobbed. "I can't see!"
"Silly!" she laughed. "Of course not—there's a bandage over your eyes. The optic nerve is very delicate. The doctors have to give the nerve-endings—the nerve-graft—more time to heal. Another three days and you'll be able to see."
A low moan from his throat. "Then," he said, haltingly, "you're still only a voice."
"Not quite," she said. She touched his cheek. Cool, soft fingers. "That better? Now you're the one who needs some sleep."
"Karen," he said.
Silently, she took his hand in hers.
At noon of the fourth day, they removed the bandages from his eyes.