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“Close the eye for a moment,” was his order, as incomplete silence the trio hung upon the result.

“Now open it and look.”

As the lids parted, he held his hand before them, moving his fingers in quick succession.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Well,” he spoke playfully, as to a child; “what is it? I want you to tell me. Do you see anything?”

“Yes, I see–a hand, but–it looks blue.”

At this the surgeon clasped his hands in thanksgiving, and exclaimed: “Victory! If you did not see the blue coloring at first, madam, I should be in despair.”

Yes, victory was his, for his skill and for his love. He continued his tests, first by resting the eye, then by bringing objects within the range of vision. At last he gently led Doris in full view.

“It is Doris, my faithful, patient child, whose dear face I have not seen for so long,” she said with emotion that threatened tears, but this the doctor forbade, and proceeded at once to carefully seal the patient’s eyelids.

“Keep the room light, and watch her day and night. She must not touch the eye even in sleep,” was his parting injunction.

“But, doctor, don’t you bandage the eye? And my room was kept dark after the other operation was performed.”

“No, madam, the room must be light, and I do not bandage the eye.”

The days went by, each new one revealing some half-forgotten picture to the patient. She already loved Dr. Douglas as a son, and her bodily infirmities, real or fancied, were fast vanishing away. Ralph had been found, and a telegram said he was coming. Easter eve was here, and as the doctor took leave his grateful patient bade him good-night with unusual feeling,

“Through you,” she said, “I am made to realize the precious promise, ‘At evening time it shall be light.’ Think what this anniversary must be to me! The morning will celebrate the resurrection of Him who was the Light of the world. Light, light, everywhere! How can I be thankful enough!”

“To-morrow I will set you free, my dear madam, and if you feel that I have done you a service, perhaps I may show you how to repay me.” And with a warm pressure of her hand, and an unspoken good-night to Doris, he went away.

At the dawn of the morning Doris stood beside her mother when she awoke, and said lightly: “Whom do you want to see besides your grumpy old Doris, this bright morning?”

“Is he here? Ralph–my boy–has he come?” And his fond arms enwrapped her in joy too deep for words. She could not look at him enough–her bronzed and bearded baby boy.

Later on the doctor called, but he did not at once interrupt the mother and son. When at last he walked into the cheerful family room it was with Doris by his side.

“My dear Mrs. Hadyn,” he began, “do you want to make me as grateful as you say you are? If so, only look!”

With the uncertain timidity she had not yet learned to overcome, she directed her once sightless eyes toward him. He stood with Doris clasped in his arms. The mother had not heeded his words of the previous evening, for they bore no hidden meaning to her. A light now broke over her features, while Ralph smilingly watched her.

“Doris, my child, how long have you loved this man?” were the only words she found to say.

“So long, mother, that I shall not try to remember.”