I thanked him for his kindly interest, and left him. I wired to Dennis not to meet the train, but to be prepared to put me up the following night. Then I got the tickets, and took Myra to the train. Hilderman was seeing his friend off; a short, somewhat stout man, with flaxen hair, and small blue eyes peering through a pair of large spectacles. He bowed to us as we passed, and I was struck by the kindly sympathy with which both he and his companion glanced at Myra. Evidently they both realised what a terrible blow to her the loss of her sight must be. I will admit that, when it came to the time for the train to start, my heart nearly failed me altogether. The sight of the beautiful blind girl saying good-bye to her dog was one which I hope I may never see again. As the train steamed out into the cutting Sholto was left whining on the platform, and it was as much as Angus could do to hold him back. Poor Sholto; he was a faithful beast, and they were taking his beloved mistress away from him. Myra sat back in the carriage, and furtively wiped away a tear from her poor sightless eyes. "Poor old fellow," she said, with a brave smile. "If they can't do anything for me in London he will have to lead me about. It'll keep him out of mischief." "Don't say that, darling!" I groaned. "Poor old Ron," she said tenderly. "I believe it's worse for you than it is for me. And now that Mary has left us for a bit I want to say something to you, dear, while I can. You mustn't think I don't understand what this will mean to you, dear. I want you to know, darling, that I hope always to be your very great friend, but I don't expect you to marry a blind girl." I shall certainly not tell the reader what I said in reply to that generous and noble statement. "Besides, dear," I concluded eventually, "you will soon be able to see again." And so I tried to assure her, till presently Mary returned. And then we made her comfortable, and I read to her in the darkened carriage until at last my poor darling fell into a gentle sleep. But twenty-six hours later, when I had seen Myra safely back to her aunt's house from Harley Street, I staggered up the stairs to Dennis's rooms in Panton Street a broken man. Dennis opened the door to me himself. "Ronald!" he cried, "what has happened?" "Hello, old man," I said weakly; "I'm very, very tired." My friend took my arm and led me into his sitting-room, and pressed me gently on the sofa. Then he brought me a stiff brandy and soda, and sat beside me in silence for a few minutes. "Feel better, old boy?" he asked presently. "Yes, thanks, Den," I answered. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."