I hesitated. This stranger offered me the one great desire of my life—the desire of every person who is afflicted with blindness—in return for a few moment’s pain. Edna had sent him, prefaced by the mysterious letter signed “Avel.” It was her desire that I should regain my sight; it was my desire to discover her and look upon her face.
“If I find your name in the Medical Register I will undergo the operation,” I said at last.
“To search will be in vain,” he responded, in the same even tone.
“Then your name is assumed?”
“My practice is not a large one, and I have no need to be registered,” he said evasively.
His words again convinced me that he was a mere quack. I had cornered him, for he was palpably confused.
“As I have already told you,” I said, with some warmth, “your attempts at persuasion are utterly useless. I refuse to allow my eyes to be tampered with by one who is not a medical man.”
He laughed, rather superciliously I thought.
“You prefer your present affliction?”
“Yes,” I snapped.