"Just think, it is quite certain that without an operation you will never regain your sight," continued the doctor. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Are you satisfied? Come, go away to your room quietly."
"Oh, oh, oh!" sobbed Mercy.
"Just imagine, only a few minutes' pain, and even of that you will scarcely be conscious. Before you know what is doing, it will be done."
Mercy clung closer to her child, and kissed it again and yet more fervently.
The doctors turned to each other. "Strange vanity!" muttered the one who had not spoken before. "Her eyes are useless, and yet she is afraid she may lose them."
Mercy's quick ears caught the whispered words. "It is not that," she said passionately.
"No, gentlemen," said Greta, "you have mistaken her thought. Tell her she runs no danger of her life."
The doctors smiled and laughed a little. "Oh, that's it, eh? Well, we can tell her that with certainty."
Then there was another interchange of half-amused glances.
"Ah, we that be men, sirs, don't know the depth and tenderness of a mother's heart," said Parson Christian. And Mercy turned toward him a face that was full of gratitude. Greta took the child out of her arms and hushed it to sleep in another room. Then she brought it back and put it in its cradle that stood in the ingle.