“And what would you say to any one who suffered this great unhappiness?”
The question was gravely, even sadly, asked. There was not the echo of mockery in his tone that had made Christie shrink during the first moments of his being there. She looked up wistfully into the face that was still bending over the child.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I cannot tell—except to
bid him ask, as the blind man asked, ‘Lord, that mine eyes might be opened!’”
He went slowly down the cedar walk, and Christie watched him with wistful eyes. Whether he asked the gift of sight or not, there was one who, after that day, did ask it for him.