“I asked them to come,” he said, very gravely. “I feel I am right, and that by a simple operation we will be able to make you see, as other people do, my child.”
The word appeared to trouble her.
“I see already, Tojin-san,” she said.
“What do you see, Tama?” he asked her huskily.
The words came floodingly, tumultuously to her lips. The misty eyes were blue as the sea and as beautiful.
“I see thee, Tojin-san. Thou art beautiful ad my sight, lig’ unto the gods.”
A look of suffering left its mark upon the face of the Tojin. He gazed at the kindling face of the girl before him, and the old strangling, yearning emotion swept over him.
“Give me more sight—if it is your honorable wish,” she said, “bud already I see—I know!” She pressed her fingers impetuously to her eyes.
“I see the light—the dark. It is a worl’ of shadows on my eyes, and shadows are lig’ unto our dream—mos’ beautiful of all!”
His voice was firm, almost solemn.