"No by darkness--Egyptian darkness." The young man looked at him in wonder. "What is the disease?" "It is Ophthalmia Neonatorum, or infantile sore eyes." "What is the nature of it?" "It is always an infection." "How can that be? There has been nobody at all in the room except Dr. Brown and the nurse." The doctor did not speak. There came into his mind the image of Mary as she had asked so earnestly, "How are they to know? Who is to tell them?" Leaning slightly forward and looking the young man in the face he said, "I do not know absolutely, but _you_ know!" "Know what?" "Whether or not your child's eyes have had a chance to be infected by certain germs." "What do you mean, Doctor?" asked the young father in vague alarm. Slowly, deliberately, and with keen eyes searching the other's face the doctor made reply: "I mean that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children." There was bewildered silence for an instant then a wave of crimson surged over neck, cheek and brow. It was impossible to meet the doctor's eyes. The young man looked down and made no attempt to speak. By and by he said in a low voice, "It's no use for me to deny to you, Doctor, that I have been a fool and have let my base passions master me. But if I had dreamed of any such result as this they wouldn't have mastered me--I know that." "The man that scorns these vile things because of the eternal wrong in them will never have any fearful results rising up to confront him." "All that has been put behind me forever, Doctor; I feel the truth and wisdom of what you say. Just get my boy's eyes well and he shall never be ashamed of his father." The doctor looked away from the handsome, intelligent face so full at that moment of love and tenderness for this new son which had been given into his care and keeping, and a wave of pity surged over him. But he must go on to the bitter end. "You have not understood this old Persian's verse," he said, taking up the little book again. "Tonight his meaning is to be made plain to you." Slowly he read: "The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it." He laid the volume gently down and turning, faced the younger man. "Listen: In those licentious days the Moving Finger was writing a word for the future to reveal. It wrote BLIND in the eyes of your helpless child." "My God! You don't mean it!" "It is true. The cornea is destroyed." A deathly pallor overspread the young man's face. He bowed his head in his hands and great sobs shook his frame. "My God! My God!" he gasped over and over again. Accustomed as the doctor was to suffering and sorrow this man's anguish was too much for him. The tears rolled down his cheeks and he made no effort to restrain them.