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 theoperation," I said at last.
"To search will be in vain," he responded, in the same even tone.
"Then your name is assumed?"
"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 corneredhim, for he was palpably confused.
"As I have already told you," I said, with some warmth, "your attemptsat persuasion are utterly useless. I refuse to allow my eyes to betampered 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, "Ihave this to present to you."
And next moment I felt within my hand a paper neither the nature ofwhich, nor the writing thereon, could I distinguish; yet from his voiceI knew instinctively that this stranger, whoever he was, held triumphover me.
CHAPTER NINE.
FROM THE UNKNOWN.
"I have no knowledge of what this is," I said, puzzled, holding thepaper he had given me.
"Then I will read it to you," he responded; and taking it from my hand,he repeated the words written there. Even then I doubted him, thereforeI took the paper into the kitchen and bade Parker read it. Then I knewthat he had not deceived me, for Parker repeated the very same wordsthat he had read, namely--
"The first request made to you, Wilford Heaton, is that you shall repose every confidence in Doctor Slade, and allow him to restore your sight. Obey.
"Avel."
The note was very brief and pointed, written, I learnt, like the firstnote, with a typewriter, so that no clue might be afforded by thecalligraphy. It was an order from the unknown person whom I hadpromised to blindly and faithfully obey. At the time I had given themysterious Edna that promise I was in deadly peril of my life. Indeed,the promise had been extracted from me under threat of death, and now,in the security of my own home, I felt very disinclined to conform withthe wishes of some person or persons whom I knew not. I saw in what avery serious position I had placed myself by this rash promise, for Imight even be ordered to commit a crime, or, perhaps, for aught I knew,have unwittingly allied myself with some secret society.
The one desire which ever possessed me, that of being able to look uponthe unseen woman with the musical voice, who had at one time been myprotectress and my captor, urged me, however, in this instance, toaccede. There was evidently some object in making this attempt to giveme back my sight, and if it really succeeded I alone would be thegainer.
Understand that I had no faith whatever in the stranger who had thuscome to me with a promise of a miraculous cure; on the other hand, Ifelt that he was a mere charlatan and impostor. Nevertheless, I couldnot be rendered more blind than I was, and having nothing to lose in theexperiment, any gain would be to my distinct advantage.
Therefore, after further argument, I very reluctantly promised to allowhim to operate upon me on the morrow.
"Good," he answered. "I felt sure that your natural desire for therestoration of your sight would not allow your minor prejudices to standin the way. Shall we say at noon to-morrow."
"Any hour will suit me," I answered briefly, with a rather bad grace.
"Then let it be at noon. I and my assistant will be here byeleven-thirty."
"I should prefer to come to your surgery," I said, with the idea ofobtaining some knowledge of the stranger's address. If I knew where helived I could easily find out his real name.
"That is, unfortunately, impossible," he answered blandly. "I amstaying at an hotel. I do not practise in London."
He seemed to have an ingenious answer always upon the tip of his tongue.
So, after some further conversation, in which he continually foiled anyattempt I made to gain further knowledge of Edna or of himself, he roseand bade me adieu, promising to return on the morrow with the necessaryinstruments.
With a rather unnecessary show of punctuality he arrived next day,accompanied by a younger, sad-voiced man, and after some elaboratepreparations, the nature of which I guessed from my own medicalknowledge, I sat in my big armchair, and placed myself entirely at hisdisposal. From the first moment that he approached me and examined meprior to producing anaesthesia of the part to be operated upon I knewthat my prejudice had been hastily formed. He was no quack, butcareful, confident, and skilled, with a firm hand evidently used to suchcases.
To fully describe what followed can be of no interest to any savemedical men, therefore suffice it to relate that the operation lastedabout an hour, after which my eyes were carefully bandaged, and myattendant and his assistant left. Slade called each day at noon, andcarefully dressed my eyes, on each occasion expressing satisfaction atmy progress, but always impressing upon me the absolute necessity forremaining with the blinds closely drawn, so that no ray of light shouldreach me. Darkness did not trouble me, yet Parker found it ratherdifficult to serve my meals in the gloom, and was very incredulousregarding the mysterious doctor's talents. She viewed the whole affairjust as I had once done, and, without mincing words, denounced him as aquack, who was merely running up a long bill for nothing.
For nearly three weeks I lived with the Venetian blinds of mysitting-room always down, and with a thick curtain drawn across them,shutting out all light, as well as a good deal of air, until the summerheat became stifling. Hour after hour I sat alone, my hands idly in mylap, ever wondering what the success of this experiment would be.Should I ever again see, after those grave and distinct pronouncementsof Fry and the rest, who had plainly told me that my sight was for everdestroyed? I dared not to hope, and only remained inert and thoughtful,congratulating myself that I had at least obeyed the dictum of mymysterious and unknown correspondent, under whose influence I had sofoolishly placed myself.
At last, however--it was on a Sunday--Slade came, and as usual raisedthe bandages and bathed my eyes in a solution of atropine. Then, havingmade a careful examination, he went to the window, drew aside thecurtains, and slightly opened the Venetian blinds.
In an instant I cried aloud for joy.
My sight had been restored. The desire of my life was an accomplishedfact. I could actually see!
Dimly I could distinguish his short, burly form between myself and thefaint light of the half-opened blinds, but even though all was as yetmisty and indistinct, I knew that what had been averred was the actualtruth--the specialists had been mistaken. With care and continuedtreatment my sight would strengthen until I became like other men.
"I can see!" I cried excitedly. "I can see you, doctor--and thelight--and the blinds!"
"Then you acknowledge that what I told you was the truth--that I did notlie to you when I told you that your case was not beyond recovery?"
"Certainly. You told me the truth," I said hastily. "At the time itseemed too improbable, but now that you have shown me proof, I must askyour pardon if any words of mine have given you offence."
"You've not offended me in the slightest, my dear sir," he answeredpleasantly. "Persevere with the treatment, and continue for another fewdays in darkness, and then I feel confident that a perfectlysatisfactory cure will have been effected. Of course, we must notexpect a clear vision at once, but by degrees your sight will slowlybecome stronger."
And with those words he closed the blinds and drew the curtain close, sothat the room was again darkened.
Imagine the thankfulness that filled my heart! It was no illusion. Ihad actually seen the narrow rays of sunlight between the half-openedblind and the dark silhouette of the short, stout, full-bearded man whowas effecting such a marvellous cure.
I gripped his hand in the darkness, and thanked him.
"How can I sufficiently repay you?" I sai
d. "This service you haverendered me has opened up to me an absolutely new life."
"I desire no repayment, Mr Heaton," he answered in his deep, heartyvoice. "That my treatment of malignant sclerotitis is successful, andthat I have been the means of restoring sight to one of my fellow-men,is sufficient in itself."
"But I have one question I wish to ask you," I said. "The mode in whichyou were introduced to me is extremely puzzling. Do you know nothing ofthe lady named Edna?"
"I know her--that is all."
"Where does she live?"
"I regret that I am not able to answer your question."
"You are bound to secrecy regarding her?"
"I may as well admit the truth--I am."
"It's extraordinary," I ejaculated. "Very extraordinary!"
"Not so extraordinary as the recovery of your vision," he observed."Remain perfectly quiet, and don't take upon yourself any mentalproblems. A great deal now depends upon your own calmness."
The fact that my sight was gradually returning to me seemed tooastonishing to believe. This man Slade, whoever he was, had performed afeat in surgery which seemed to me miraculous.
Again and again I thanked him, but when he had gone and I told Parkershe only gave vent to a grunt of incredulity. Yet had I not actuallyseen the silhouette of Slade, and the streaks of sunlight beyond? Had Inot already had ocular proof that a cure was being effected?
What would Dick, dear old Dick, say on his return when he found mecured? I laughed as I pictured to myself his amazement at finding me atthe railway-station on his arrival--looking for him.
Through a whole month Slade came regularly each day at noon, and surely,by slow degrees, my vision became strengthened, until at length I foundthat, even though I wore smoke-darkened glasses, I could see almost aswell as I had done in the days of my youth. The glasses destroyed allcolour, it was true, yet I could now go forth into the busy Strand,mingle with the bustling crowds, and revel in their life and movement.Indeed, in those first days of the recovery of my vision I went aboutLondon in taxis and omnibuses, hither and thither, with all theenthusiasm of a country cousin or a child on his first visit to theMetropolis. All was novel and interesting on my return to a knowledgeof life.
Slade, I found, was a gentlemanly fellow with the air of a cleverphysician, but all my efforts to discover his abode proved unavailing,and, moreover, just as the cure was complete he one day failed to callas usual. Without word he relinquished me just as suddenly as he hadcome; but he had restored to me that precious sense which is one ofGod's chief gifts.
In those September days, when all the world seemed gay and bright, Iwent forth into the world with a new zest for life. I took short tripsto Richmond and Hampton Court, so that I might again gaze upon the greentrees, the winding river, and the fields that I loved so well; and Ispent a day at Brighton, and stood for a full couple of hours watchingthe rolling sea beating upon the beach. Six weeks before I was ahopeless misanthrope, whose life had been utterly sapped by theblighting affliction upon me. Now I was strong and healthy in mind andin body; prepared to do anything or to go anywhere.
It was a fancy of mine to go down to the home of my youth, Heaton Manor,a place well known to those acquainted with the district aroundTewkesbury. The great old mansion, standing in the centre of a wide,well-wooded park that slopes down to the Severn close to the Haw Bridge,had long been closed, and in the hands of the old servant Baxter and hiswife. Indeed, I had never lived there since, on my father's death, ithad passed into my possession. The rooms were opened for my inspection,and as I wandered through them and down the long oak-panelled gallery,from the walls of which rows of my time-dimmed ancestors, in theirruffles, velvets, and laces looked down solemnly, a flood ofrecollections of my sunny days of childhood crowded upon me.
Seven years had passed since my last visit there. The old ivy coveredmanor was, indeed, dilapidated, and sadly out of repair. The furnitureand hangings in many of the rooms seemed rotting with damp and neglect,and as I entered the nursery, and was shown my own toys, it seemed asthough, like Rip Van Winkle, I had returned again to life after a longabsence.
Alone, I wandered in the park down the avenue of grand old elms. Thewide view across the brimming river, with Hasfield Church, and the oldTithe Barn at Chaceley standing prominent in the landscape, had, I saw,in no way changed. I looked back upon the house--a grand old home itwas, one that any man might have been proud of, yet of what use was itto me? Should I sell it? Or should I allow it to still rot and decayuntil my will became proved, and it passed into the hands of my heirsand assigns?
I felt loth to part with it, for the old place had been built soon afterthe fierce and historic battle had been fought at Tewkesbury, and eversince Richard Heaton had commanded one of the frigates which went forthto meet the Armada, it had been the ancestral home of the Heatons.
How strange it all was! At every turn I peered upon the world throughmy grey glass spectacles, and took as keen an interest in it as does achild. All seemed new to me; my brain, like a child's, became filledwith new impressions and fresh ideas. After my dull, colourlessexistence of sound and touch, this bright life of movement filled mewith a delight that pen cannot describe. Imagine, however, what joy itis to one who has been pronounced incurably blind to look upon the worldagain and taste of its pleasures. It was that joy which gave lightnessto my heart.
Yet over all was one grim shadow--the remembrance of that fateful nightwith its grim tragedy. Who was Edna? Where was she? What was she?
Through her instrumentality I had regained my sight, but her identityand her whereabouts still remained hidden, as she had plainly told methey would be before we had parted.
Hither and thither I went, feted and feasted by my friends at theSavage, the Devonshire, and other clubs, yet my mind was ever troubledby the mystery of the woman who had, from motives that were entirelyhidden, exerted herself on my behalf, first in saving my life fromunscrupulous assassins, and, secondly, in restoring my vision.
I entertained a strong desire to meet her, to grasp her small hand, tothank her. I longed to see her.
CHAPTER TEN.
THE GIRL IN BLUE.
The man who abandons all hope is constantly haunted by fears. This isas strange as it is unjust, like much else in our everyday life. Eventhough there had returned to me all the joys of existence, yet I wasstill haunted by an ever-present dread--a terror lest some terriblemandate should suddenly be launched upon me by the unknown director ofmy actions.
My situation was, to say the least, a most extraordinary one. ValiantlyI strove to rid myself of the obsession which constantly crept upon mewhenever my attention was not actually distracted by the new existencethat had so mysteriously been opened up to me. For a little while Iwould let my mind dwell upon the terrifying thought that I was entirelyhelpless in the hands of one who was, without doubt, unscrupulous. Ihad pledged my honour to keep secret that appalling midnight crime, andto act always as directed. Edna herself, the woman whose voice soundedso tender, whose hands were so small and soft to the touch, had forcedme to this. To her alone was due this state of constant anxiety as towhat might next be demanded of me. The thought would creep upon me, nowpausing, now advancing, until at length it wrapped me round and round,and stifled out my breath, like a death-mask of cold clay. Then myheart would sink, my sight seemed to die, even sound would die untilthere seemed an awful void--the void of death for ever and for everdumb, a dreadful, conquering silence.
A thousand times I regretted that I had in that moment of my utterhelplessness given my promise to conceal the mysterious crime. Yet,when I recollected with what extraordinary ingenuity I had been deceivedby the man whom I had believed to be a police-constable, the deepcunning which had been displayed in obtaining from my lips a statementof all the facts I knew, and the subsequent actions of the cool-headedEdna, my mind became confused. I could see no solution of theextraordinary problem, save that I believed her to be deeply implicatedin some
plot which had culminated in the murder of the young man, andthat she herself had some strong personal motive in concealing theterrible truth.
With the return of my vision my sense of hearing had, curiously enough,become both weakened and distorted. Sounds I had heard when blindpresented quite a different impression now that I could see. The blindhear where those with eyesight can detect nothing. The ears of theformer train themselves to act as eyes also, yet the moment the visionis recovered the sharpened sense of hearing again assumes its normalcapacity. Hence I found that I could not distinguish voices and soundsso quickly as before; indeed, the voices of those about me sounded somehow different now I had recovered my sight.
My friends, into whose circle they declared I had returned like one fromthe grave, welcomed me everywhere, and I confess that, notwithstandingthe oppression constantly upon me, I enjoyed myself to the top of mybent. I still remained in my dingy, smoke-grimed rooms in Essex Street,really more for Parker's sake than for my own, and also, of course, inorder to be near Dick when he returned, but nearly every evening I wasout somewhere or other, going here and there about town.
In the middle of October, when most men I knew were away on the moors, Ihad a dinner engagement one evening with the Channings, in CornwallGardens. Colonel Channing, a retired officer of the Guards, was a man Ihad known during greater part of my lifetime. His service had beenmainly of a diplomatic character, for he had served as British military_attache_ at Berlin and Vienna, and now lived with his wife and daughterin London, and seemed to divide his time mainly between the St James'sand the United Service Clubs. He was a merry old fellow, with whitehair and moustache and a florid complexion, the dandified air of_attache_ still clinging to him.
As he sat at the head of his
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