"And you have been sent here by whom?"

"By a lady whose real name I do not know."

"But you will kindly explain, before we go further, the circ.u.mstance in which she sought your aid on my behalf," I said firmly.

"You are mutual friends," he answered, somewhat vaguely. "It is no unusual thing for a patient to seek my aid on behalf of a friend. She sent me here to see you, and to examine your eyes, if you will kindly permit me."

The man's bearing irritated me, and I was inclined to resent this enforced subjection to an examination by one of whose reputation I knew absolutely nothing. Some of the greatest oculists in the world had looked into my sightless eyes and p.r.o.nounced my case utterly hopeless.

Therefore I had no desire to be tinkered with by this man, who, for aught I knew, might be a quack whose sole desire was to run up a long bill.

"I have no necessity for your aid," I answered, somewhat bluntly.

"Therefore any examination is entirely waste of time."

"But surely the sight is one of G.o.d's most precious gifts to man," he answered, in a smooth, pleasant voice; "and if a cure is possible, you yourself would, I think, welcome it."

"I don't deny that," I answered. "I would give half that I possess-- nay, more--to have my sight restored, but Sir Leopold Fry, Dr Measom, and Harker Halliday have all three seen me, and agree in their opinion that my sight is totally lost for ever. You probably know them as specialists?"

"Exactly. They are the first men in my profession," he answered. "Yet sometimes one treatment succeeds where another fails. Mine is entirely and totally different to theirs, and has, I may remark, been successful in quite a number of cases which were p.r.o.nounced hopeless."

Mere quackery, I thought. I am no believer in new treatments and new medicines. The fellow's style of talk prejudiced me against him. He actually placed himself in direct opposition to the practice of the three greatest oculists in the world.

"Then you believe that you can actually cure me?" I remarked, with an incredulous smile.

"All I ask is to be permitted to try," he answered blandly, in no way annoyed by my undisguised sneer.

"Plainly speaking," I answered, "I have neither inclination nor intention to place myself at your disposal for experiments. My case has been p.r.o.nounced hopeless by the three greatest of living specialists, and I am content to abide by their decision."

"Oculists are liable to draw wrong conclusions, just as other persons may do," he remarked. "In a matter of this magnitude you should--permit me to say so--endeavour to regain your sight and embrace any treatment likely to be successful. Blindness is one of man's most terrible afflictions, and a.s.suredly no living person who is blind would wish to remain so."

"I have every desire to regain my sight, but I repeat that I have no faith whatever in new treatment."

"Your view is not at all unnatural, bearing in mind the fact that you have been p.r.o.nounced incurable by the first men of the profession," he answered. "But may I not make an examination of your eyes? It is, of course, impossible to speak with any degree of authority without a diagnosis. You appear to think me a charlatan. Well, for the present I am content that you should regard me as such;" and he laughed as though amused.

He seemed so perfectly confident in his own powers that I confess my hastily formed opinion became moderated and my prejudice weakened. He spoke as though he had detected the disease which had deprived me of vision, and knew how to successfully combat it.

"Will you kindly come forward to the window?" he requested, without giving me time to reply to his previous observations. I obeyed his wish.

Then I felt his fingers open my eyelids wide, and knew that he was gazing into my eyes through one of those gla.s.ses like other oculists had used. He took a long time over the right eye, which he examined first, then having apparently satisfied himself, he opened the left, felt it carefully, and touched the surface, of the eyeball, causing me a twinge of pain.

"As I thought!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed when he had finished. "As I thought! A slight operation only is necessary. The specialists whom you consulted were wrong in their conclusions. They have all three made an error which is very easy to make, yet it might have deprived you of sight for your whole life."

"What!" I cried, in sudden enthusiasm. "Do you mean to tell me solemnly that you can perform a miracle?--that you can restore my sight to me?"

"I tell you, sir," he answered quite calmly, "that if you will undergo a small operation, and afterwards subject yourself to a course of treatment, in a fortnight--or, say three weeks--you will again open your eyes and look upon the world."

His words were certainly startling to me, shut out so long from all the pleasures of life. This stranger promised me a new existence, a world of light and movement, of colour, and of all the interests which combine to make life worth living. At first I was inclined to scorn this statement of his, yet so solemnly had he uttered it, and with such an air of confidence, that I became half convinced that he was more than a mere quack.

"Your words arouse within me a new interest," I said. "When do you propose this operation?"

"To-morrow, if you will."

"Will it be painful?"

"Not very--a slight twinge, that's all."

I remained again in doubt. He noticed my hesitation, and urged me to submit.

But my natural caution a.s.serted itself, and I felt disinclined to place myself in the hands of one of whose _bona fides_ I knew absolutely nothing.

As politely as I could I told him this, but he merely replied--

"I have been sent by the lady whom we both know as Edna. Have you no confidence in her desire to a.s.sist you?"

"Certainly I have."

"She has already explained to me that you have promised to carry out her wishes. It is at her urgent request that I have come to you with the object of giving you back your sight."

"She wishes me to submit to the experiment?"

"Pardon me. It is no experiment," he said. "She desires you to submit yourself to my treatment. If you do, I have entire confidence that in a week or so you will see almost as well as I do."

I hesitated. This stranger offered me the one great desire of my life-- the desire of every person who is afflicted with blindness--in return for a few moment's pain. Edna had sent him, prefaced by the mysterious letter signed "Avel." It was her desire that I should regain my sight; it was my desire to discover her and look upon her face.

"If I find your name in the _Medical Register_ I will undergo the operation," I said at last.

"To search will be in vain," he responded, in the same even tone.

"Then your name is a.s.sumed?"

"My practice is not a large one, and I have no need to be registered,"

he said evasively.

His words again convinced me that he was a mere quack. I had cornered him, for he was palpably confused.

"As I have already told you," I said, with some warmth, "your attempts at persuasion are utterly useless. I refuse to allow my eyes to be tampered with by one who is not a medical man."

He laughed, rather superciliously I thought.

"You prefer your present affliction?"

"Yes," I snapped.

"Then, now that you force me to the last extremity," he said firmly, "I have this to present to you."

And next moment I felt within my hand a paper neither the nature of which, nor the writing thereon, could I distinguish; yet from his voice I knew instinctively that this stranger, whoever he was, held triumph over me.

CHAPTER NINE.