At last she was on her feet, and alone. To a woman who for ten years had depended on others for almost everything but the mere act of breathing, it was joy unspeakable. She stepped once, twice, and again along the side of her bed; then she stopped with a puzzled frown--under her feet was the unyielding, unfamiliar straw matting. She took four more steps, hesitatingly, and with her arms outstretched at full length before her. The next instant she recoiled and caught her breath sharply; her hands had encountered a wall and a window--_and there should have been no wall or windows there_! The joy was gone now. Shaking with fear and weakness, the little woman crept along the wall and felt for something that would tell her that she was still at home. Her feet made no sound, and only her hurried breathing broke the silence. Through the open door to the sitting-room, and down the wall to the right-on and on she crept. Here and there a familiar chair or stand met her groping hands and held them hesitatingly for a moment, only to release them to the terror of an unfamiliar corner or window-sill. The blind woman herself had long since lost all realization of what she was doing. There was only the frenzied longing to find her own. She did not hesitate even at the outer door of the apartment, but turned the key with shaking hands and stepped fearlessly into the hall. The next moment there came a scream and a heavy fall. The Whitmore apartment was just at the head of the stairs, and almost the first step of the blind woman had been off into space. * * * * * When Mrs. Whitmore regained consciousness she was alone in her own bed. Out in the sitting-room, Margaret, Katherine, and the doctor talked together in low tones. At last the girls hurried into the kitchen, and the doctor turned and entered the bedroom. With a low ejaculation he hurried forward. Mrs. Whitmore flung out her arm and clutched his hand; then she lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. "Doctor," she whispered, "where am I?" "At home, in your own bed." "Where is this place?" Dr. Littlejohn paled. He sent an anxious glance toward the sitting-room door, though he knew very well that Margaret and Katherine were in the kitchen and could not hear. "Where is this place?" begged the woman again. "Why, it--it--is--" The man paused helplessly. Five thin fingers tightened their clasp on his hand, and the low voice again broke the silence. "Doctor, did you ever know--did you ever hear that a fall could give back--sight?" Dr. Littlejohn started and peered into the wan face lying back on the pillow. Its impassiveness reassured him. "Why, perhaps--once or twice," he returned slowly, falling back into his old position, "though rarely--very rarely." "But it has happened?" "Yes, it has happened. There was a case recently in England. The shock and blow released the pressure on the optic nerve; but--"