“Doll,” said Ernest, presently, “it is a beautiful day, is it not? Will you take me for a walk, dear? I should like to go for a walk.” “Yes, Ernest, of course I will.” “You are sure you do not mind being seen with a blind man? You must give me your hand to hold, you know.” “Ernest, how can you?” Mind giving him her hand to hold, indeed! thought Dorothy to herself, as she ran to put her bonnet on. O, that she could give it to him for always! And in her heart she blessed the accident of his blindness, because it brought him so much nearer to her. He would be helpless without her, this tall strong man, and she would be ever at his side to help him. He would not be able to read a book, or write a letter, or move from room to room without her. Surely she would soon be able so to weave herself into his life that she would become indispensable to it. And then, perhaps—perhaps—and her heart pulsed with a joy so intense at the mere thought of what might follow that it became a pain, and she caught her breath and leaned against the wall. For every fibre of her frame was thrilled with a passionate love of this blind man whom she had lost for so many years, and now had found again; and in her breast she vowed that if she could help it she would lose him no more. Why should she? When he had been engaged to Eva, she had done her best for him and her, and bitterly had she felt the way in which he had been treated, but Eva had taken her own course, and was now no longer in the outward and visible running, whatever place she might still hold in the inward and spiritual side of Ernest’s nature. Dorothy did not underrate that place; she knew well that the image of her rival had sunk too deep into his heart to be altogether dislodged by her. But she was prepared to put up with that. “One can’t have everything, you know,” she said, shaking her wise little head at her own reflection in the glass, as she tied her bonnet-strings. Dorothy was an eminently practical little person, and having recognised the “eternal verity” of the saying that half a loaf is better than no bread, especially if one happens to be dying of hunger, she made up her mind to make the best of the position. Since she could not help it, Eva would be welcome to the inward and spiritual side of Ernest, if only she could secure the outward and visible side; “for after all, that is real and tangible, and there isn’t much comfort in spiritual affection, you know,” she said, with another shake of the head.