“You’ll just spoil her life and her happiness if you do,” she answered. “What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve for; as every one knows, the blind in their hearts and souls worship at the shrine of beauty more ardently than those who see. To her you are all that is desirable in every way; let that content you.” And so, with the truth still untold, the two married, and in the whole wide world there was no happier wife than Nora Le Strange. Never once did he let her feel her blindness; never did he tire of telling her of beautiful things, describing every place he took her to so vividly, with such care, that always she smiled and nodded as she pressed the hands she held. “I see—I see it all quite plainly!” she would say. “Oh, John, what a beautiful place this world is! And what a pair of seeing eyes you lend to me!” It was not until her little son was born that Nora craved passionately to see, if only for a moment. Time after time, as she held the little creature, as she passed her fingers ever so gently across his downy head, his tiny features, over and over again, John described just what the little one was like—the most beautiful baby in the world. But for once, she seemed hardly satisfied. “Oh, if I could only see him!” she said; “just once. John, I’ve wanted terribly sometimes to see you, though I know just what you are like. I want even more to see him, because he’s you and me, and our dear love all rolled up in this sweet, warm bundle.” It was just about this time that a stranger, meeting John, Nora and the beautiful child in a public conveyance, looked at the girl’s eyes with an interested, professional glance. A day later, having discovered where they lived, he called upon John Le Strange. “Your wife is blind,” he said, after a preliminary word or two. “I think, however, she was not blind from birth?” “No,” he answered, “she was not blind until her fourth year. Her blindness is the outcome of some juvenile complaint.” “And can, I believe, be cured,” the doctor said, gently. John’s heart gave a great leap. Nora’s blindness cured! That would mean that she would see him; look upon the man she had believed beautiful—see how he had deceived her—perhaps hate him! “Cured!” he repeated, and Dr. Winter wondered why the man’s scarred face grew so pale. “Will you allow me to examine your wife’s eyes?” the oculist said. “From what I have observed, I have little doubt that your wife may yet see.” There was a struggle for a moment in John’s heart. The happiness of his life, the dear, utter happiness, seemed slipping away. Then the beauty of the man’s nature conquered; he fetched his wife. Trembling, he stood by while the beautiful eyes were examined; slowly he sat down as the doctor gave his verdict. “The operation would be painful,” he said, “but I have no doubt whatever of its success.” With a laugh of excitement, Nora spoke: