"Thank you, ma'am," said she, "I will be glad to have you sit by me while my mother rests, if you will only open the window and give me some light."
Her mother groaned.
"I will open the window, my dear, and let you feel the breeze, and know that the light is around you, but your eyes are weak yet—so weak that it would hurt them very much—perhaps blind them entirely, if the light fell on them, so you must let me tie a handkerchief lightly over them before I open the window, and promise me you will not take it off while it is open."
In this I only told Alice the truth; for I knew if there was any hope of her recovering her sight it must be by keeping her from using her eyes for some time. She readily promised what I asked, and I then took my pocket-handkerchief, which was fine and thin, and passing it lightly over her eyes, tied it so as to cover them without pressing upon them. I then opened the window, and as she heard me open it and felt the breeze upon her, Alice said, "Oh, thank you, ma'am, it is so pleasant to know that the light is here, and I can almost see it; but indeed you need not be afraid of its hurting me, for I will keep my eyes shut all the time."
The poor mother had by this time risen up from the foot of the bed, and was trying to be calm; but when she heard her little girl speak in such cheerful tones, and especially when she heard her say that she could almost see, knowing as she did that this was only a fancy which would soon pass away, she was quite overcome, and bursting into tears she hurried out of the room. I thought it was best to let her go by herself, for I believed she would ask God to give her strength to bear this great sorrow, and I knew that "like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him," and that he could send into her heart such thoughts of his love and tender care for her and her dear child, as would comfort her more than any thing I could say to her.
I called Harriet in to see Alice. They were very glad to meet, and chatted cheerfully together, while I moved about the room, putting things in as neat order as I could. Harriet told Alice of every thing she had seen since she had been away, which she thought could amuse her, not forgetting the beautiful wax doll, nor was the gold piece left out, nor what she intended to do with it. Alice quite approved of Harriet's intention to buy books instead of a doll, and Harriet promised that she would lend them to her as soon as her eyes were strong enough to read; for Harriet never supposed that Alice was blind, but thought the handkerchief was bound over her eyes because the light pained them, as she remembered it had done hers when she was ill.
After a while, Mrs. Scott came in, and going straight up to Alice, pressed her lips tenderly over the places in the handkerchief which covered those dear eyes, and asked her gently how she was now. Alice answered cheerfully, "I feel a great deal better, and so glad to hear your voice again. You quite frightened me this morning, dear mother, when you would not speak to me. Have you slept?"
"Not slept, my love, but rested, and I too feel a great deal better."
"I am very glad;" then raising her hand she passed it softly over her mother's face, saying, "I will be satisfied while I can hear you and feel that it is you, though they will not let me look at you."
Mrs. Scott's lip trembled, and the tears came into her eyes again, but they did not run over. She kissed Alice, and then turning to me, thanked me for coming over, and asked how long I had been at home.