So little by little we got our existence upon a working basis. We lived a peaceful, routine life, to the music of cocoanut-palms rustling in the warm breezes which blew incessantly off the Mexican Gulf. Aunt Varina had, for the time, her undisputed way with the family; her niece reclined upon the veranda in true Southern lady fashion, and was read aloud to from books of indisputable respectability. I remember Aunt Varina selected the “Idylls of the King,” and they two were in a mood to shed tears over these solemn, sorrowful tales. So it came that the little one got her name, after a pale and unhappy heroine. I remember the long discussions of this point, the family-lore which Aunt Varina brought forth. It did not seem to her quite the thing to call a blind child after a member of one’s family. Something strange, romantic, wistful--yes, Elaine was the name! Mrs. Tuis, it transpired, had already baptised the infant, in the midst of the agonies and alarms of its illness. She had called it “Sylvia,” and now she was tremulously uncertain whether this counted--whether perhaps the higher powers might object to having to alter their records. But in the end a clergyman came out from Key West and heard Aunt Varina’s confession, and gravely concluded that the error might be corrected by a formal ceremony. How strange it all seemed to me--being carried back two or three hundred years in the world’s history! But I gave no sign of what was going on in my rebellious mind. 22. Dr. Overton on his return to New York, sent a special nurse to take charge of Sylvia’s case. There was also an infant’s nurse, and both had been taken into the doctor’s confidence. So now there was an elaborate conspiracy--no less than five women and two men, all occupied in keeping a secret from Sylvia. It was a thing so contrary to my convictions that I was never free from the burden of it for a moment. Was it my duty to tell her? Dr. Perrin no longer referred to the matter--I realised that both he and Dr. Gibson considered the matter settled. Was it conceivable that anyone of sound mind could set out, deliberately and in cold blood, to betray such a secret? But I had maintained all my life the right of woman to know the truth, and was I to back down now, at the first test of my convictions? When the news reached Douglas van Tuiver that his wife had been informed of the infant’s blindness, there came a telegram saying that he was coming. There was much excitement, of course, and Aunt Varina came to me, in an attempt to secure a definite pledge of silence. When I refused it, Dr. Perrin came again, and we fought the matter over for the better part of a day and night.