"It was all very nice," he said, "but wholly unnecessary for a blind girl. What was the price of this?" he asked, laying his hand upon the bedstead.
"Only twenty-five dollars. Wasn't it cheap?" and the wicked black eyes danced with merriment at the loud groan which succeeded the answer.
"Twenty-five dollars!" he exclaimed. "Why, the bedstead Matty and I slept on for seven years only cost three, and it is now as good as new."
"But times have changed," said the lady. "Everybody has nicer things; besides, do you know people used to talk dreadfully about a man of your standing being so stingy? But I have done considerable toward correcting that impression. You aint stingy, and in proof of it you'll give me fifty cents to buy cologne for this." And she took up a beautiful bottle which stood upon the bureau.
The doctor had not fifty cents in change, but a dollar bill would suit her exactly as well, she said, and secretly exulting in her mastery over the self-willed tyrant, she suffered him to depart, saying to himself as he descended the stair, "Twenty-five dollars for one bedstead. I won't stand it! I'll do something!"
"What are you saying, dear?" a melodious voice called after him, and so accelerated his movements that the extremity of his coat disappeared from view, just as the lady Maude reached the head of the stairs.
"Oh!" was the involuntary exclamation of Louis, who had been a spectator of the scene, and who felt intuitively that his father had found his mistress.
During her few weeks residence at Laurel Hill Maude Glendower had bound the crippled boy to herself by many a deed of love, and whatever she did was sure of meeting his approval. With him she had consulted concerning his sister's room, yielding often to his artist taste in the arrangement of the furniture, and now that the chamber was ready they both awaited impatiently the arrival of its occupant. Nellie's last letter had been rather encouraging, and Maude herself had appended her name at its close. The writing was tremulous and uncertain, but it brought hope to the heart of the brother, who had never really believed it possible for his sister to be blind. Very restless he seemed on the day when she was expected; and when, just as the sun was setting, the carriage drove to the gate, a faint sickness crept over him, and wheeling his chair to the window of her room he looked anxiously at her, as with John's assistance, she alighted from the carriage.
"If she walks alone I shall know she is not very blind," he said, and with clasped hands he watched her intently as she came slowly toward the house with Nellie a little in advance.
Nearer and nearer she came—closer and closer the burning forehead was pressed against the window pane, and hope beat high in Louis' heart, when suddenly she turned aside—her foot rested on the withered violets which grew outside the walk, and her hand groped in the empty air.