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She stood transfixed, half-minded to flee, yet held by some pitying desire to help; then she saw him reach forward and grope his way uncertainly to the window. In his progress he stumbled against a chair; he had to feel for the casing. Then she knew.

Marmion Moore found herself inside the room, staring with wide, affrighted eyes at the man whose life she had spoiled. She pressed her hands to her bosom to still its heavings. She saw Austin nodding down at the street below; she saw his ghastly attempt to smile; she heard the breath sighing from his lungs and heard him muttering her name. Then he turned and lurched past her, groping, groping for his chair. She cried out, sharply, in a stricken voice:

“Mr. Austin!”

The man froze in his tracks; he swung his head slowly from side to side, as if listening.

“What!” The word came like the crack of a gun. Then, after a moment, “Marmion!” He spoke her name as if to test his own hearing. It was the first time she had ever heard him use it.

She slipped forward until within an arm’s-length of him, then stretched forth a wildly shaking hand and passed it before his unwinking eyes, as if she still disbelieved. Then he heard her moan.

“Marmion!” he cried again. “My God! little girl, I–thought I heard you go!”

“Then this, this is the reason,” she said. “Oh-h-h!”

“What are you doing here? Why did you come back?” he demanded, brutally.

“I forgot my–No! God sent me back!”

There was a pause, during which the man strove to master himself; then he asked, in the same harsh accents:

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see–and to understand.”

“Well, you know the truth at last. I–have gone–blind.” The last word caused his lips to twitch. He knew from the sound that she was weeping bitterly. “Please don’t. I’ve used my eyes too much, that is all. It is–nothing.”

“No! No! No!” she said, brokenly. “Don’t you think I understand? Don’t you think I see it all now? But why–why didn’t you tell me? Why?” When he did not answer she repeated: “God sent me back. I–I was not meant to be so unhappy.”

Austin felt himself shaken as if by a panic. He cried, hurriedly: “You see, we’ve been such good friends. I knew it would distress you. I–wanted to spare you that! You were a good comrade to me; we were like chums. Yes, we were chums. No friend could have been dearer to me than you, Miss Moore. I never had a sister, you know. I–I thought of you that way, and I–” He was struggling desperately to save the girl, but his incoherent words died on his lips when he felt her come close and lay her cheek against his arm.

“You mustn’t try to deceive me any more,” she said, gently. “I was here. I know the truth, and–I want to be happy.”

Even then he stood dazed and disbelieving until she continued:

“I know that you love me, and that I love you.”

“It is pity!” he exclaimed, hoarsely. “You don’t mean it.”

But she drew herself closer to him and turned her tear-stained face up to his, saying, wistfully, “If your dear eyes could have seen, they would have told you long ago.”

“Oh, my love!” He was too weak to resist longer. His arms were trembling as they enfolded her, but in his heart was a gladness that comes to but few men.

“And you won’t go away without me, will you?” she questioned, fearfully.

“No, no!” he breathed. “Oh, Marmion, I have lost a little, but I have gained much! God has been good to me.”