That little timidity was upon her for the second, but she broke through it, seeming to shake it off with a little shake of her head. "Dr. Parkman," she said--her voice was low and well controlled--"I have come to you because I want you to help me." He liked that. Very few people came out with the truth at the start that way. "I wonder if you know," she went on, looking at him with a very sweet seriousness, "that Karl is very unhappy?" His face showed that that was unexpected. "Why, yes," he assented, "I know that his heart has not been as philosophical as some of his words; but"--gently--"what can you expect?" She did not answer that, but pondered something a minute. "Dr. Parkman," she began abruptly, "just why do you think it is Karl cannot go on with his work? I do not mean his lectures, but his own work in the laboratory, the research?" Again he showed that she was surprising him. "Why surely you understand that. It is self-evident, is it not? He cannot do his laboratory work because he has lost his eyes." "Eyes--yes. But the eye is only an instrument; he has not lost his brain." The flush in her cheeks deepened. Her eyes met his in challenge. Her voice on that had been very firm. He was quick to read beyond the words. "You are asking, intending to ask, why he could not go on, working through some assistant?" "I want to know just what is your idea of why he cannot. All the things of mind and temperament--things which make him Karl--are there as before. Are we not letting a very little thing hold us back?"--there was much repression now, as though she must hold herself in check, and wait. "I've thought about it too!" he exclaimed. "Heaven knows I've tried to see it that way. But my conclusion has always been like Karl's: the handicap would be too great." "Why?" she asked calmly. "Why? Why--because," he replied, almost impatiently, and then laughed a little at his woman's reason. "I'll tell you why!"--her eyes deepening. "I'll tell you the secret of your conclusion. You concluded he could not go on with his work just because no assistant could be in close enough touch with Karl to make clear the things he saw." He thought a minute. Then, "That's about it," he answered briefly. "You concluded that two men's brains could not work together in close enough harmony for one man's eyes to fit the other man's brain." "You put it very clearly," he assented. She paused, as though to be very sure of herself here. "Then, doctor, looking a little farther into it, one sees something else. If there were some one close enough to Karl to bring to his brain, through some other medium than eyes, the things the eyes would naturally carry; if there were some one close enough to make things just as plain as though Karl were seeing them himself, then"--her voice gathered in intensity--"despite the loss of his eyes, he could go right on with his work." "Um--well, yes, if such an impossible thing were possible."