"Gladly would I go, Sir Malcolm," she responded, a smile brightening her face and quickly fading away, "but I--I cannot walk in unfamiliar places. I should fail. You would have to lead me by the hand, and that, I fear, would mar the pleasure of your walk." "Indeed, it would not, Lady Madge. I should enjoy my walk all the more." "If you really wish me to go, I shall be delighted," she responded, as the brightness came again to her face. "I sometimes grow weary, and, I confess, a little sad sitting alone when Dorothy cannot be with me. Aunt Dorothy, now that she has her magnifying glasses,--spectacles, I think they are called,--devotes all her time to reading, and dislikes to be interrupted." "I wish it very much," I said, surprised by the real eagerness of my desire, and unconsciously endeavoring to keep out of the tones of my voice a part of that eagerness. "I shall take you at your word," she said. "I will go to my room to get my hat and cloak." She rose and began to grope her way toward the door, holding out her white, expressive hands in front of her. It was pitiful and beautiful to see her, and my emotions welled up in my throat till I could hardly speak. "Permit me to give you my hand," I said huskily. How I longed to carry her! Every man with the right sort of a heart in his breast has a touch of the mother instinct in him; but, alas I only a touch. Ah, wondrous and glorious womanhood! If you had naught but the mother instinct to lift you above your masters by the hand of man-made laws, those masters were still unworthy to tie the strings of your shoes. "Thank you," said the girl, as she clasped my hand, and moved with confidence by my side. "This is so much better than the dreadful fear of falling. Even through these rooms where I have lived for many years I feel safe only in a few places,--on the stairs, and in my rooms, which are also Dorothy's. When Dorothy changes the position of a piece of furniture in the Hall, she leads me to it several times that I may learn just where it is. A long time ago she changed the position of a chair and did not tell me. I fell against it and was hurt. Dorothy wept bitterly over the mishap, and she has never since failed to tell me of such changes. I cannot make you know how kind and tender Dorothy is to me. I feel that I should die without her, and I know she would grieve terribly were we to part." I could not answer. What a very woman you will think I was! I, who could laugh while I ran my sword through a man's heart, could hardly restrain my tears for pity of this beautiful blind girl. "Thank you; that will do," she said, when we came to the foot of the great staircase. "I can now go to my rooms alone." When she reached the top she hesitated and groped for a moment; then she turned and called laughingly to me while I stood at the bottom of the steps, "I know the way perfectly well, but to go alone in any place is not like being led."