It was very evident to Dorothy, who was always strictly practical, that to keep Eva and Ernest in the same town was to hold dry tow to a lighted match over a barrel of gun-powder. She only hoped that he might come back now without having put his foot into it. “Oh, what fools men are!” she said to herself, with a stamp; “a pretty face and a pair of bright eyes, and they count the world well lost for them. Bah! if it had been a plain woman who played Ernest that trick, would he be found dangling about after her now? Not he. But with her, she has only to say a soft word or two, and he will be at her feet, I’ll be bound. I am ashamed of them both.” Meanwhile she was putting on her bonnet, which was a very favourite time with her for meditation, having already made up her mind as to her course of action. Ernest had authorised her to make arrangements for an interview with an oculist. She proceeded to make those arrangements by telegram, wiring to a celebrated surgeon to know if he could make an appointment for the following afternoon. Then she took a walk by herself to think things over. In an hour she returned, to find Ernest in the sitting-room, looking extremely shaken and depressed. “You have been to see Eva?” she said. “Yes,” he answered. Just then there was a knock at the door, and the servant brought in a telegram. It was from the oculist. He would be glad to see Sir Ernest Kershaw at four o’clock on the following afternoon. “I have made an appointment for you with an eye-doctor, Ernest, at four o’clock to morrow.” “To-morrow!” he said. “Yes. The sooner you get your eyes looked to the better.” He sighed. “What is the good? However, I will go.” And so next morning they all took the express, and at the appointed time Ernest found himself in the skilful hands of the oculist. But though an oculist can mend the sight, he cannot make it. “I can do nothing for you, Sir Ernest,” he said, after an exhaustive examination. “Your eyes will remain as they are, but you must always be blind.” Ernest took the news with composure. “I thought as much,” he said; but Dorothy put her handkerchief to her face and wept secretly. Next morning he went with Jeremy to call on Messrs. Paisley and Paisley, and told them to try and let Archdale Hall, and to lock up the numerous and valuable heirlooms, as unfortunately he was unable to see them. Then they went on home to Dum’s Ness, and that night Ernest lay awake in the room where he had slept for so many years in the boyhood which now seemed so dim and remote, and listened to the stormy wind raving round the house, and thought with an aching heart of Eva, but was thankful that he had bid her farewell, and wondered if he could find the strength to keep away from her.