"Then this, this is the reason," she said. "Oh-h-h!"
"What are you doing here? Why did you come back?" he demanded, brutally.
"I forgot my—No! God sent me back!"
There was a pause, during which the man strove to master himself; then he asked, in the same harsh accents:
"How long have you been here?"
"Long enough to see—and to understand."
"Well, you know the truth at last. I—have gone—blind." The last word caused his lips to twitch. He knew from the sound that she was weeping bitterly. "Please don't. I've used my eyes too much, that is all. It is—nothing."
"No! No! No!" she said, brokenly. "Don't you think I understand? Don't you think I see it all now? But why—why didn't you tell me? Why?" When he did not answer she repeated: "God sent me back. I—I was not meant to be so unhappy."
Austin felt himself shaken as if by a panic. He cried, hurriedly: "You see, we've been such good friends. I knew it would distress you. I—wanted to spare you that! You were a good comrade to me; we were like chums. Yes, we were chums. No friend could have been dearer to me than you, Miss Moore. I never had a sister, you know. I—I thought of you that way, and I—" He was struggling desperately to save the girl, but his incoherent words died on his lips when he felt her come close and lay her cheek against his arm.
"You mustn't try to deceive me any more," she said, gently. "I was here. I know the truth, and—I want to be happy."