Her head was lifted quickly, as though she saw, and was looking him in the eyes. "Oh no, oh no," she cried, "I never loved him. I was sorry for him--that was all." "Marie, Marie," he said gently, while she shook her head a little pitifully, "did you, then, love any one else?" She was silent for a space and then she said: "Yes--Oh, Hugh, I am so sorry for your sake that I am blind, and cannot marry you." "But, my darling, you shall not always be blind, you shall see again. And you shall marry me also. As though--life of my life! as though one's love could live but by the sight of the eyes!" "My poor Hugh! But, blind, I could not marry you. It would not be just to you." He smiled with a happy hopeful determination; "But if you should see again?" "Oh, then. . . ." She married him, and in time her sight returned, though not completely. Tryon never told her, as the Governor had told him, that Rive Laflamme, when a prisoner in New Caledonia, had a wife in Paris: and he is man enough to hope that she may never know. But to this hour he has a profound regret that duels are not in vogue among Englishmen. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Preserved a marked unconsciousness Surely she might weep a little for herself Time when she should and when she should not be wooed Where the light is darkness