“Have you any news from father?”

“What makes you think she has news?” Mrs. Blake asked.

“I dreamed last night you brought me a letter, and I was afraid to open it, and woke up all trembling and frightened.  When I saw you coming to-day, my heart stood still for a second or two.”

“Your dream is partly true, only the news is good.  Dr. MacKenzie told me they have every hope that your father will see as well as ever.”

I was not prepared for the effect, my words produced.  A pallor overspread her face; before Mrs. Blake could reach her she had fainted.  That good woman was always ready for any emergency.  She very calmly laid her down on the floor and proceeded to bring her back to consciousness.  The children raised a dismal wail; but this she instantly quieted by marching them off to the bedroom.

While she applied cold water vigorously, and rubbed the nerveless hands, I asked in much alarm, seeing how long and deathlike was her swoon:  “Is she really dead?”

“Bless you, no.  She’s one of them high-strung women that takes everything hard.  She fainted over and over when her husband was fetched home dead.  I did think then she’d drop off; but joy don’t kill like trouble.”

Presently the poor creature struggled back to consciousness.

“I am afraid I have frightened you,” she said, with a feeble attempt at apology.

“Pray do not think of us.  I may have been to blame in breaking the news so suddenly.”

“No, indeed; the fault was not in you; but I have had so many shocks the least thing upsets me.  Dr. MacKenzie told me that my heart is not in a healthy state.”

“I should say that was the matter with your whole body.  It’s a pretty rickety concern, like my old rocking-chair.  Every day I’m looking for it to go to pieces under me,” Mrs. Blake remarked.

“I am not nearly so bad as that; I do not expect to fall to pieces for a good many years, now that father has got his sight.  He will be able to keep us comfortable, like we used to be years ago.”

Mrs. Blake having got her patient back into the chair, administered wine and water to prevent a recurrence of the malady.

A week or two after this Esmerelda informed me one morning that there were great rejoicings in the Mill Road.

“I think they would like to see you there.  I heard Mr. Bowen and some of them talking about you last night, after meeting.”

“Mr. Bowen—­was he there?”

“Oh, yes; and he sees as well as anybody.”

“I will go to-day,” I said, with difficulty restraining my delight.

“Some of the people who attend Beech Street Church think you are a little above everybody in Cavendish.”