"Not that alone. He has had some beautiful dreams."

"That's because of his courage."

"It takes courage, then, to dream?" Monte asked.

"Don't you think it does--with your eyes gone?"

"With or without eyes," he admitted.

"You don't know what he's been through," she frowned. "Even he does n't know. When I came to him, there was so little of him left. I 'll never forget the first sight I had of him in the hospital. Thin and white and blind, he lay there as though dead."

He looked at the frail young woman by his side. She must have had fine courage too. There was something of Peter in her.

"And you nursed him back."

She blushed at the praise.

"Perhaps I helped a little; but, after all, it was the dreams he had that counted most. All I did was to listen and try to make them real to him. I tried to make him hope."

"That was fine."

"He loved so hard, with all there was in him, as he does everything,"

she explained.

"I suppose that was the trouble," he nodded.

She turned quickly. It was as if he said that was the mistake.

"After all, that's just love, is n't it? There can't be any halfway about it, can there?"

"I wonder."

"You--you wonder, Mr. Covington?"

He was stupid at first. He did not get the connection. Then, as she turned her dark eyes full upon him, the blood leaped to his cheeks. He was married--that was what she was trying to tell him. He had a wife, and so presumably knew what love was. For her to a.s.sume anything else, for him to admit anything else, was impossible.

"Perhaps we'd better turn back," she said uneasily.

He felt like a cad. He turned instantly.

"I 'm afraid I did n't make myself very clear," he faltered. "We are n't all of us like Peter."

"There is no one in the world quite as good as Peter," the girl declared.

"Then you should n't blame me too much," he suggested.

"It is not for me to criticize you at all," she returned somewhat stiffly.

"But you did."

"How?"

"When you suggested turning back. It was as if you had determined I was not quite a proper person to walk with."

"Mr. Covington!" she protested.

"We may as well be frank. It seems to be a misfortune of mine lately to get things mixed up. Peter is helping me to see straight. That's why I like to talk with him."

"He sees so straight himself."

"That's it."

"If only now he recovers his eyes."

"He says there's hope."

"It all depends upon her," she said.

"Upon this woman?"

"Upon this one woman."

"If she realized it--"

"She does," broke in Beatrice. "I made her realize it. I went to her and told her."

"You did that?"

She raised her head in swift challenge.

"Even though Peter commanded me not to--even though I knew he would never forgive me if he learned."

"You women are so wonderful," breathed Monte.

"With Peter's future--with his life at stake--what else could I do?"

"And she, knowing that, refused to come to him?"

"Fate brought us to her."

"Then," exclaimed Monte, "what are you doing here?"

She stopped and faced him. It was evident that he was sincere.

"You men--all men are so stupid at times!" she cried, with a little laugh.

He shook his head slowly.