“His footfall sounds tired tonight,” she said, more to herself than the others, “as though some trouble is upon him. I wish, mother”—it was curious how directly she seemed to look at her mother—“you would go up to him, just to see that nothing is wrong. He’s been an inmate of your house so long now, you must feel almost like a mother to him.” Once more Mrs. Desmond glanced at Nancy. “I dare say he’s fagged out,” she answered. “Men mostly are when they come home from their work. Why not go and ask him yourself, Nora? You’re his favorite.” A smile flashed into the girl’s face, in her eyes, on her lips, dimpling her cheeks. She had been beautiful before; she was absolutely lovely now. “His favorite!” she repeated. “Mother, do you really think so? Of course, he pities me—everyone does; everyone is kind to me—but, apart from that, do you really, really think I am his favorite—in spite of my blindness?” Mrs. Desmond rose, cross the room, put her hand upon the girl’s shoulder. “I don’t think—I know,” she returned. “He thinks more of you than he thinks of anyone in the wide, wide world! That’s something to be proud of, Nora.” She rose slowly, her little hands tightly clasped. “Something to be very, very proud of!” she returned. “But how wonderful that is, mother!” She moved across the room without stretching out her hands. No one who did not know would have supposed her to be blind. “She will marry him, of course,” Nancy said, when she was out of hearing, “because she is blind; she never would if she could see!” Chapter II. Just as quietly as she had gone from her mother’s sitting room, Nora mounted the stairs, knocked at the door, and, in answer to a quiet “Come in,” uttered in a singularly beautiful voice, entered. By a table, with the full glare of a lamp shining upon him, sat a man. So far as his features went, Mrs. Desmond’s description had been accurate. The eyes that softened so wonderfully as he saw the girl were beautiful; for all that, the man was not pleasant to look upon. Smallpox of the most virulent type had seamed and scarred his face, making what should have been very fair almost terrible. “You, Nora!” he said, springing to his feet. “How good of you to come and see me!” He made use, without thought, of the ordinary words. “Come to this chair; it’s the most comfortable in the room. You know that, don’t you?” “And so you always give it to me, John,” she said. “I think you can’t help being like that—the best invariably for some one else. I wonder,”—her soft fingers closed on his hand as he led her to a chair—“why you are sad tonight—unhappy?” He started, ever so slightly. “How did you know?” he asked. “How wonderful you are, Nora!” She was sitting now; he standing close beside her, worshipping her with his beautiful eyes, feeling he would give the whole world, were it his, to take this dear, blind girl in his arms and kiss her sweet lips.