“Are you waiting for me?  I am coming, not for an hour, or for a day, but to cast my lot once more near you.  But first I shall come as the physician, since till that mission is ended, I am forbidden to come as a lover.

  “WARNER.”

Not even the reproach in this laconic letter could tinge her joy.  He was coming; that was uppermost.  He came, and Doris met him as she had parted—­loving and faithful; so proud of him, too, but unalterable in her duty as before.  She found his whole nature widened and broadened, just as in appearance he was more manly.  He was then a clever practitioner:  he was now the renowned oculist.  From the first day his office swarmed with patients.  Old, chronic cases seemed to spring up everywhere, and he found himself in a fair way of being taxed beyond the limit.

Gently he began his ministrations to the mother of his beloved.  When he had won her confidence, he felt that the battle was half fought.  She soon expressed a willingness to submit to anything, to undergo any pain, if only her sight might be restored.  This he could not promise, but his experienced eye could detect nothing worse than a cataract obstructing the vision, and he convinced her that it was worth the trial.

One mild winter day she was taken to his office now fitted up with all the belongings of his service.  With bated breath he adjusted his instrument.  Heavy portieres shut out the daylight.  Steadily the electric ray was thrown into the darkened eye.  Shrinking with a thousand fears, and tortured with suspense, Doris sank upon a sofa.  In silence he applied his tests.  She could hear the beatings of her heart.  Softly he questioned his patient, who hung upon his words for her life sentence.

At last, lying a hand almost caressingly upon each shoulder, he said: 

“My dear Mrs. Hadyn, I think I can give you sight.”

An involuntary cry broke from her lips, and Doris burst into convulsive tears.  Then relaxing the tension of these many weary years, the bearer of good tidings folded his arms about the slight form for a moment as he led her to her mother.  Not yet, even, would he give full rein to his hopes.  He might fail.  There was inflammation lurking behind the eye-ball, caused by contagion from its fellow, which, when carelessly bandaged too closely, had burst from its socket, irretrievably lost.  He could but try; and now his humanity as well as his love nerved him to the task.

A preliminary course of treatment was ordered, and the Lenten season was nearly over when the eye was declared ready for the knife.  The day was appointed, and the patient’s own room was selected as the place.  The night before, the doctor came in all worn and tired out from a hurried call to a neighboring city hospital.  Doris knew his step and met him at the door.

“Come with me, Doris, into the library,” he said.

Nervous with undefined apprehension, she followed him.