And then the memory of the frail one would pass the gulf of all those years and she would touch the blind one with a caress. “And when we got home again you had lost your sight!” “Yes.” “But, sis, it _was_n’t because you were so lonely and cried so much! It _could_n’t have been _that_!” It was the question she had begged a thousand times. And the answer she was to have she had had as often: “No.” “For crying, no matter how much, will never hurt the sight?” “No.” “I don’t think Doctor Massey ever understood your case.” “Oh, yes.” “Well, he let it go until it was too—There are better doctors now. They would know?” “Perhaps.” “But it’s too late, isn’t it?” The answer, too, she had always had to this, while she had always hoped, and always would, for a different one: “Yes—it’s too late. It was to be so.” “But you _were lonely_, dear sis? I wouldn’t like to think that you were not.” “Oh, yes!” “The neighbors said that the shutters weren’t opened all the while we were away.” “What was the use?” “And they _heard_ you cry.” “Well, of course! We had never been separated before.” “And I was so happy that I didn’t even think that you might be unhappy. But you’ve forgiven me for that.” “I was happy, too—for your happiness, sis, dear.” “Then _why_ did you cry so? That I never _will_ understand.” Nay, that the frail one would never understand until she should reach that Heaven where all the secrets of the earth are revealed. For it was here alone that the blind one had never been quite frank. Always she had answered, always she would answer, until they faced each other in that Heaven: “People cry for joy as well as for sorrow, sis, dear.” “But not so hard that they lose their eye-sight.” “When one is worried the weakest part goes first. And the doctor said it was that way with me. My eyes were weak.” And then the fatalistic refrain: “It had to be.” “But, sis, dear, _why_ did you _worry_?” “About you.” I think she had told this gentle lie more than a thousand times. But I am sure that the recording angel has not got it down against her once. “But _I_ was happy.” “Yes—_you_—were—happy—dear—dear sis.” “And so you never saw me after that—nor Hiliary, nor the babies—” “But, sis, dear, I could _touch_ you all, and _hear_ your voices, and there was so much to remember. You know that I was happier after my blindness than before.” “Yes, I know. And I cannot understand _that_.” That, too, she would know only in that One Place where there are no secrets. III THE GOLDEN TEAPOT WITH THE BLUE ROSE