Miss Shippen waited a full minute before answering quietly and slowly:  “It was cruel, it was unjust, it was horrible, it was wicked, that you should have been made to suffer so; above all, Aunt Dalmanutha, it was unnecessary.  With a little knowledge, and proper food and fresh air, your daughter’s life could have been saved; with knowledge and proper treatment your sons need not have died of dysentery or typhoid or even diphtheria; with knowledge your blindness itself, which is no curse, but would as surely have come upon you had you never lost Evy and never rebelled in your heart, need have lasted only a few months.  For these are cataracts that you have on your eyes, and nothing would have been simpler and easier than their removal.”

Amazement, incredulity, almost horror were written upon Aunt Dalmanutha’s countenance as she heard these quiet words.

“Where do you get your authority over preachers, woman?” she demanded, leaning fiercely forward,

“I get my authority,” replied the trained nurse, firmly, “from my knowledge of modern medicine and surgery; I get my authority from things seen with my eyes and heard with my ears during days and nights of duty on the battle-line between life and death; I get my authority,” she continued more solemnly, “from Him whose spirit of freedom and tolerance has made possible the advances in modern science; who is the source of the rising tide of helpfulness manifest in human hearts everywhere; who, when he was on earth, went about doing good, and proclaiming not the hate, the vengeance, the cruelty of God, but His mercy, His kindness, His pity, His fatherly love.”

The blind woman sat as though turned to stone, except that the veins in her neck and temples throbbed violently.

“Do you mean to tell me God never wanted to take my loved ones from me?” she asked at length from a dry throat.

“I do.  I mean that their deaths, so far from being the will of God, were the fruit alone of ignorance and of evil conditions.”

“You mean to say that the hand of vengeance wa’ n’t never lifted ag’in’ me, and I hain’t never sot under no curse?”

“I do.”

“And that the preachers has lied to me?” she said through clenched jaws.

“They were simply mistaken; they knew no better.”

Aunt Dalmanutha lifted a shaking arm.  “Woe to them if ever they cross my path ag’in!” she cried hoarsely.

“Don’t think about them,” said the nurse; “the thing for you to do at once is to go down to Lexington, in the Blue Grass country, to a doctor I know there who does great things for eyes, and who, if it is not too late, will remove those cataracts and restore you to sight and usefulness and strength, as God intends.  I will write at once to the hospital, and make the arrangements; you should start within a week.  The trip,” she added, “need cost you nothing, if you are unable to pay your way.”

Aunt Dalmanutha drew herself up proudly.