Absorbed in very painful reflections, the girl walked on rapidly till she reached the cheerless home of the blacksmith, and knocked at the door.

"Come in, Mr. Murray."

Edna pushed open the door and walked in.

"It is not Mr. Murray this time."

"Oh, Edna! I am so glad you happened to come. He would not let me tell you; he said he did not wish it known. But now you are here, you will stay with me, won't you, till it is over?"

Huldah was kneeling at the side of her father's cot, and Edna was startled by the look of eager, breathless anxiety printed on her white, trembling face.

"What does she mean, Mr. Reed?"

"Poor little lamb, she is so excited she can hardly speak, and I am not strong enough to talk much. Huldah, daughter, tell Miss Edna all about it."

"Mr. Murray heard all I said to you about praying to have my eyes opened, and he went to town that same evening, and telegraphed to some doctor in Philadelphia, who cures blindness, to come on and see if he could do anything for my eyes. Mr. Murray was here this morning, and said he had heard from the doctor, and that he would come this afternoon. He said he could only stay till the cars left for Chattanooga, as he must go back at once. You know he--hush!

There! there! I hear the carriage now. Oh, Edna! pray for me! Pa, pray for my poor eyes!"

The sweet, childish face was colorless, and tears filled the filmy, hazel eyes as Huldah clasped her hands. Her lips moved rapidly, though no sound was audible.

Edna stepped behind the door, and peeped through a crack in the planks.

Mr. Murray entered first and beckoned to the stranger, who paused at the threshold, with a case of instruments in his hand.

"Come in, Hugh; here is your patient, very much frightened, too, I am afraid. Huldah, come to the light."

He drew her to the window, lifted her to a chair, and the doctor bent down, pushed back his spectacles, and cautiously examined the child's eyes.

"Don't tremble so, Huldah; there is nothing to be afraid of. The doctor will not hurt you."

"Oh! it is not that I fear to be hurt! Edna, are you praying for me?"

"Edna is not here," answered Mr. Murray, glancing round the room.

"Yes, she is here. I did not tell her, but she happened to come a little while ago. Edna, won't you hold one of my hands? Oh, Edna!

Edna!"

Reluctantly the orphan came forward, and, without lifting her eyes, took one of the little outstretched hands firmly in both her own.

While Mr. Murray silently appropriated the other, Huldah whispered:

"Please both of you pray for me."

The doctor raised the eyelids several times, peered long and curiously at the eyeb.a.l.l.s, and opened his case of instruments.

"This is one of those instances of congenital cataract which might have been relieved long ago. A slight operation will remove the difficulty. St. Elmo, you asked me about the probability of an instantaneous restoration, and I had begun to tell you about that case which Wardrop mentions of a woman, blind from her birth till she was forty-six years of age. She could not distinguish objects for several days--"

"Oh, sir! will I see? Will I see my father?" Her fingers closed spasmodically over those that clasped them, and the agonizing suspense written in her countenance was pitiable to contemplate.

"Yes, my dear, I hope so--I think so. You know, Murray, the eye has to be trained; but Haller mentions a case of a n.o.bleman who saw distinctly at various distances, immediately after the cataract was removed from the axis of vision. Now, my little girl, hold just as still as possible. I, shall not hurt you."

Skilfully he cut through the membrane and drew it down, then held his hat between her eyes and the light streaming through the window.

Some seconds elapsed and suddenly a cry broke from the child's lips.

"Oh! something shines! there is a light, I believe!"

Mr. Murray threw his handkerchief over her head, caught her in his arms and placed her on the side of the cot.

"The first face her eyes ever look upon shall be that which she loves best--her father's."

As he withdrew the handkerchief Mr. Reed feebly raised his arms toward his child, and whispered:

"My little Huldah--my daughter, can you see me?"

She stooped, put her face close to his, swept her small fingers repeatedly over the emaciated features, to convince herself of the ident.i.ty of the new sensation of sight with the old and reliable sense of touch; then she threw her head back with a wild laugh, a scream of delight.

"Oh! I see! Thank G.o.d I see my father's face! My dear pa! my own dear pa!"

For some moments she hung over the sufferer, kissing him, murmuring brokenly her happy, tender words, and now and then resorting to the old sense of touch.

While Edna wiped away tears of joyful sympathy which she strove in vain to restrain, she glanced at Mr. Murray, and wondered how he could stand there watching the scene with such bright, dry eyes.

Seeming suddenly to remember that there were other countenances in the world beside that tear-stained one on the pillow, Huldah slipped down from the cot, turned toward the group, and shaded her eyes with her fingers.

"Oh, Edna! a'n't you glad for me? Where are you? I knew Jesus would hear me. 'What things soever ye desire, when ye pray believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.' I did believe, and I see! I see! I prayed that G.o.d would send down some angel to touch my eyes, and He sent Mr. Murray and the doctor."

After a pause, during which the oculist prepared some bandages, Huldah added:

"Which one is Mr. Murray? Will you, please, come to me? My ears and my fingers know you, but my eyes don't."

He stepped forward and putting out her hands she grasped his, and turned her untutored eyes upon him. Before he could suspect her design she fell at his feet, threw her arms around his knees, and exclaimed:

"How good you are! How shall I ever thank you enough? How good." She clung to him and sobbed hysterically.

Edna saw him lift her from the floor and put her back beside her father, while the doctor bandaged her eyes; and waiting to hear no more, the orphan glided away and hurried along the road.

Ere she had proceeded far, she heard the quick trot of the horses, the roll of the carriage. Leaning out as they overtook her, Mr.

Murray directed the driver to stop, and swinging open the door, he stepped out and approached her.

"The doctor dines at Le Bocage; will you take a seat with us, or do you, as usual, prefer to walk alone?"

"Thank you, sir; I am not going home now. I shall walk on."

He bowed, and was turning away, but she drew the delicately perfumed envelope from her pocket.

"Mr. Murray, I was requested by the writer to hand you this note, as she feared its predecessor was lost by the servant to whom she entrusted it."

He took it, glanced at the small, cramped, school-girlish handwriting, smiled, and thrust it into his vest pocket, saying in a low, earnest tone: