“No,” he answered, “she was not blind until her fourth year. Her blindness is the outcome of some juvenile complaint.”
“And can, I believe, be cured,” the doctor said, gently.
John’s heart gave a great leap. Nora’s blindness cured! That would mean that she would see him; look upon the man she had believed beautiful—see how he had deceived her—perhaps hate him!
“Cured!” he repeated, and Dr. Winter wondered why the man’s scarred face grew so pale.
“Will you allow me to examine your wife’s eyes?” the oculist said. “From what I have observed, I have little doubt that your wife may yet see.”
There was a struggle for a moment in John’s heart. The happiness of his life, the dear, utter happiness, seemed slipping away. Then the beauty of the man’s nature conquered; he fetched his wife.
Trembling, he stood by while the beautiful eyes were examined; slowly he sat down as the doctor gave his verdict.
“The operation would be painful,” he said, “but I have no doubt whatever of its success.”
With a laugh of excitement, Nora spoke:
“Painful, John? That won’t matter; I can bear pain. Think of it, dear! I shall see the sky, the flowers—see you, and the baby! Oh, John—John, it’s too good to be true! No, no—I won’t say that. John, how quiet you are!”