"There's mam-
ma," and in an instant Little Dick, as he was called, found
himself rather unceremoniously set down upon his feet, as Richard
adjusted his shade, and resumed the air of helplessness so natural
to the blind.
Edith had been to New York with Marie and the children, leaving
the former there for a few weeks, and was now on her way home,
whither she hoped ere long to welcome Richard, whom she had never
seen since the night of her marriage, when Victor led him half
fainting from the altar. He would not join them at the breakfast
next morning, but sent them his good-bye, and when they returned
from their long, happy bridal tour they found a letter for them
saying Richard was in Paris.
Regularly after that they heard from him, and though he never
referred to the past, Edith knew how much it cost him to write to
one whom he had loved so much. Latterly, however, his letters had
been far more cheerful in their tone, and it struck Edith that his
hand-writing too, was more even than formerly, but she suspected
nothing and rather anticipated the time when she should be eyes
for him again, just as she used to be.
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