Just then the long train stopped at Silverton, and, led by his attendant, he stepped feebly into the crowd, which sent up deafening cheers for Dr. Grant come home again. At the sight of his helplessness, however; a feeling of awe fell upon them, and whispering to each other, “I did not suppose he was so bad,” they pressed around him, offering their hands and inquiring anxiously how he was.
“I have been sick, but I shall get better now. The very sound of your friendly voices does me good,” he said, as he went slowly to his carriage, led by Uncle Ephraim, who could not keep back his tears when he saw how weak Morris was, and how he panted for breath as he leaned back among the cushions.
It was very pleasant that afternoon, and Morris enjoyed the drive so much, assuring Uncle Ephraim, that he was growing better every moment. He did seem stronger when the carriage stopped at Linwood, and he went up the steps where Helen, Katy, and Mrs. Hull were waiting for him. He could not by sight distinguish one from the other, but without the aid of her voice he would have known when Katy’s hand was put in his, it was so small, so soft, and trembled so as he held it. She forgot Wilford in her excitement. Pity was the strongest feeling of which she was conscious, and it manifested itself in various ways.
“Let me lead you, Cousin Morris,” she said, as she saw him groping his way to his room, and without waiting for his reply, she held his hand again in hers and led him to his room, where the English violets were.
“I used to lead you,” Morris said, as he took his seat by the window, “and I little thought then that you would one day return the compliment. It is very hard to be blind.”
The tone of his voice was inexpressibly sad, but his smile was as cheerful as ever as his face turned towards Katy, who could not answer for her tears. It seemed so terrible to see a strong man so stricken, and that strong man Morris—terrible to watch him in his helplessness, trying to appear as of old, so as to cast on others no part of the shadow resting so darkly on himself. When dinner was over and the sun began to decline, many of his former friends came in; but he looked so pale and weary that they did not tarry long, and when the last one was gone, Morris was led back to his room, which he did not leave again until the summer was over, and the luscious fruits of September were ripening upon the trees.
Towards the middle of July, Helen, whose health was suffering from her anxiety concerning Mark, was taken by Mrs. Banker to Nahant, where Mark’s sister, Mrs. Ernst, was spending the summer, and thus on Katy fell the duty of paying to Morris those acts of sisterly attention such as no other member of the family knew how to pay. In the room where he lay so helpless Katy was not afraid of him, nor did she deem herself faithless to Wilford’s memory, because each day found her at Linwood, sometimes bathing Morris’s inflamed eyes, sometimes bringing him the cooling drink, and again reading to him by the hour, until, soothed by the music of her voice, he would fall away to sleep and dream he heard the angels sing.
“My eyes are getting better,” he said to her one day toward the latter part of August, when she came as usual to his room. “I knew last night that Mrs. Hull’s dress was blue, and I saw the sun shine through the shutters. Very soon, I hope to see you, Katy, and know if you have changed.”
She was standing close by him, and as he talked he raised his hand to rest it on her head, but, with a sudden movement, Katy eluded the touch, and stepped a little further from him.
When next she went to Linwood there was in her manner a shade of dignity, which both amused and interested Morris. He did not know for certain that Wilford had told Katy of the confession made that memorable night when her recovery seemed so doubtful, but he more than half suspected it from the shyness of her manner, and from the various excuses she began to make for not coming to Linwood as often as she had heretofore done.