The older of the two men turned suddenly on his heel, the keen gray eyes scrutinizing the figure before him. It was but a moment till the same kindly smile that Harvey remembered so well broke over his face. Both hands were on the young man's shoulder in an instant.
"You don't mean to say—I know you, mind—but you don't mean to say you're that young fellow from, from Glenallen—that brought his mother to me about her eyes?"
By this time Harvey had possession of one of the hands. "I'm the very same," he said, his face beaming with the joy of being recognized.
"How is she?" the doctor asked like a flash.
The light faded a little from Harvey's face. "She can't see at all now, sir," he answered soberly. "She's quite blind—only she can tell when it's morning."
"Thank the Lord for that," said the other fervently; "that's always a gleam of hope." Then followed a brief exchange of questions and answers.
"How does your mother take it?" the doctor asked finally.
"Oh, she's lovely—she's just as sweet and patient as she can be; doesn't think of herself at all."
"Your mother must be a regular brick."
"She's a great Christian," quoth her son. "I think that's what keeps her up."