"He is an old friend of ours," she replied, in swift loyalty. "No one could have been more kind——"
She stopped, realizing that he was embarrassed.
"Miss Lane," he broke out, "it's terrible! I had no idea it was as serious as that. I'm sorrier than I can say. Is Billy Sands really the best man to go to? There used to be a wonderful oculist in Munich. By Jupiter, it's too bad! Do you know, I think you're immensely brave. I—I wish I might be of some service."
Slowly she turned her eyes from the mountain-top, and looked straight into his face. It was a handsome face, full of boyish trouble, of genuine sympathy, of tenderness, even. And that was all there was there. His eyes fell. The stillness was so great that she could hear overhead the sleepy flutter and chirp of the white blackbird, the Restorer of Sight. And she was blind no longer: she comprehended, in that one instant, that he did not love her.
"I am so sorry——" he began again.
"I am sure of that, Mr. Allan," she interrupted. "But it is really better not to talk about it. It cannot be helped. And Auntie and I seldom speak of it." She wished to be loyal to her aunt, through all.
Allan nodded his head. He was thinking that it was a little unfair in Miss Rodman to let a young fellow go on—well, yes, liking a girl—without telling him that she was liable to be blind.
Olivia found herself trembling. Oh, if he would only go away! She could bear it, if she were alone! If he only would not lie there and look regretful and pathetic!
From far up the valley to the southward floated the faint whistle of the evening express. "Mr. Allan," said Olivia, suddenly, "you can do me a great service. Dr. Sands is coming on that train, and I promised Auntie to have a carriage sent for him. I forgot it. Would you mind attending to it? You might take the footpath down to Swayne's, and telephone, and I'll bring over the canoe."
Allan rose, with a look of relief which he could not quite disguise. "You're sure you don't mind going back alone?" he asked.