“And you dare to say after that that it is I who must have the credit of this?” I turned a look of reproach on the doctor, as I spoke the words so low, only he could hear them.

“Am I really going to-morrow?”—­Mr. Bowen asked, his face turning deathly pale,—­“possibly to come back to see all your faces?  Miss Selwyn, I hope you will look to me as I have always pictured you.”

“I think she will not disappoint your expectations,” the doctor said, gallantly.

“I dunno about that.  I guess he most looks to see an angel,” Mrs. Blake remarked dryly.  In the ripple of laughter that followed, I turned to little Freddie who was crying softly with his face hidden in a chair.

“What is the matter, my little man?”

“Why you see, Miss Selwyn, Grandad’s going away, and they’re going to put a sharp knife in his eyes; and maybe he will die.”  He burst into a louder fit of weeping.  His mother drew him hastily into her bedroom and shut the door—­her own face pale, and almost as sorrowful as the little lad’s.

“You must tell them there is no danger, doctor.”

I followed Mrs. Larkum into her room and found that she shared Freddie’s fears and grief.

“There is not the slightest danger to life or health in the operation,” I assured her, when her countenance began to brighten.

“You see we’ve had so much misfortune I can’t sense that father may get his sight, and we be comfortable as we used to be.”

“You must have faith in God.  The darkest time has been with you ’the hour before the dawn.’  Now I will give you money for present necessities for your father.  If more is required, it will be provided when necessary.”  I took out my purse which, now that I was earning money of my own, I carried about with me quite recklessly, and gave her ten crisp notes that would buy her father a good many necessaries, beside his car fare.  She did not try to thank me but her look was enough to assure me she appreciated my efforts for their well-being.

That evening, as I sat chatting by the dining-room fire with Mrs. Flaxman, waiting for the dinner-bell to ring, I told her of the beautiful surprise I had met that day, and how I had given them the money for him to start the following morning in search of sight.

“Why, where did you get the money?  I thought you spent every cent except your weekly allowance when we were in New York.”

I hesitated, flushing rather guiltily; for this was the first real secret of my life.

“You have not been selling your jewelry, I hope,” she said, quite sternly.  “Mr. Winthrop would not easily forgive such an act, after you had been entrusted with it too.”

“I have not sold anything that belonged to anyone but myself.”

She looked at me closely, and my eyes fell before her gaze.  “It is not idle curiosity, believe me, Medoline, that makes me so insistent.  I wish you would explain how you got the money.  You are unacquainted with the habits of this country, and may have been unwittingly led into some indiscretion.”