"As true as I live I don't know," was Victor's reply. "For once
he's kept dark even to me, scouring all the alleys, and lanes, and
poor houses in the city, leaving me at the hotel, and taking with
him some of those men with brass buttons on their coats. One day
when he came back he acted as if he were crazy and I saw the great
tears drop on the table over which he was leaning, then when I
asked 'if he'd heard bad news,' he answered, 'No, joyful news. I'm
perfectly happy now. I'm ready to go home,' and he did seem happy,
until we drove up to the gate and you didn't come to meet him.
'Where's Edith?' he asked, and when Mrs. Matson said you were out,
his forehead began to tie itself up in knots, just as it does when
he is displeased. It's my opinion, Miss Edith, that you humor him
altogether too much, You are tied to him as closely as a mother to
her baby."
Edith sighed, not because she felt the bonds to which Victor had
alluded, but because she reproached herself for not having been
there to welcome the blind man home when she knew how much he
thought of these little attentions.
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