The unconscious roughness cut like a razor.
“I did,” she replied, turning her large, sorrowful, and dimmed eyeballs toward Matty—“I did; I used them night and day, until it was the will of God to take away their light.”
“God look down upon you!” exclaimed the woman tenderly. “Sure it isn’t going blind you are—a young woman like you to go blind?”
“I wanted to see Mr. Whitelock,” she said, without heeding Matty’s observation. “I wanted to speak a few words to him.”
Matty loved a gossip. She never suspected the fair, frail, trembling woman, “going blind,” to be Richard’s mother. He never mentioned his mother’s blindness; he could not speak of it; he hoped it would never be worse than it was. She could still read; and do plain work; and so Matty heard not of it. She had nothing particular to do that evening, and the sight of a stranger did her good, because she expected a gossip.
“Master can’t always be interrupted,” she replied, “particularly by them he doesn’t know; but if you will tell me your name and business, I’ll see what can be done for you.”
“I am Richard’s mother.”
“Think of that now. We do our best with him, poor boy—but he’s an unruly member!”
“Richard!” exclaimed the poor woman, in a tone of dismay.
“Ay, indeed; that is, he’s not so jist at the prisent time, but he’ll become so, like all the rest of them boys, one of these days.”