“Yes,” said Roger gloomily. “I can see as well without it, as with it. Darkness and daylight are as one with me now. God help me!” He rose and Andrew passed his arm through his brother’s.
“Dear old boy don’t give way like this. The doctor’s decision may be favorable. Don’t borrow trouble.”
“Oh no, I’m not borrowing,” said Roger, with a laugh, sadder than any tears. “It is thrust upon me free gratis. There is no need to borrow. Come, tell me of yourself Andrew. Mother tells me you are up for Governor. Do you stand the ghost of a chance, think you?”
“Not so much as the tenth part of a ghost, dear fellow. The Whigs will carry the day in spite of our heavy electioneering, and I hope they will. I’d never consented to run if I had dreamed of getting elected. I’d make a fine Governor, wouldn’t I?”
“You’d be far better than the present one I reckon, even if you are but twenty-two. Cousin Victoria?”
“Victoria is not here,” replied Andrew. “She is out of sight, gone toward the lodge.”
“Then let us go to the house, Andrew. Great God! what an affliction is mine if I never regain my sight. I had rather lost a limb, aye, all of them, than to have lost my eyes. Ah, my brother, the doctor’s decision means everything to me!”
“Were you making love to Victoria as I came up?” asked Andrew, darting a glance at Roger, which fortunately he could not see.
“Not exactly,” replied Roger rather ironically, remembering the recent conversation. “It takes two to make love generally.”
Andrew’s dark face lightened. “Then she was not agreeable?”