Middletown transcript., 1903-05-09
AGNES
HY ETA W: PIERCE

Every moment seemed an hour.
Men and women went out and
others came in.
What can be the matter with
all these people? thought Miss
March, with angry impatience.
How everybody stared at her,
yelled though she was! We're
they in turn wondering what the
handsome girlin mourning could
have to do with the famous oper-
ator of the city hospitals? The
warm air of the place choked and
stifled her. To some natures
suspense is an unendurable tor
ture; it was such to Miss March.
Presently, however, the door
opened. The black servant stood
on the threshold and beckoned
her out. She arose and walked
forward into an apartment open
ing from the elegant waiting
room; a door closed behind her,
and she stood alone with Doctor
Eric Brandt.
The room itself was a marvel
of magnifcence. Miss March
was an artist, and "good at her
art for a woman, twas said, and
nothing of all the costly blend
ing of color there was lost upon
her. She saw at a glance the
black Venetian cabinets in the
corners, the Old World paintings
glimmering on the walls, the
scarlet blaze of bloom pushing
against the glass door of con-
servatory beyond, the buhl, the
velvet, and, last of all, Doctor
Brandt himself.
He was standing in a window
fronting the street. At sound
of her step he turned quickly.
The two, man and woman, patient
and physician, brought thus face
to face, stood quite still, and
looked at each other.
He saw a woman in mourning,
warm and luxurious of mold,
formed upon that rich plan which
is the admiration of gods and
men-a woman with a thick,
white, colorless skin, against
which her lustrous hair looked
preternaturally black, and grand
ly cut eyes, like an Oriental's.
She saw a man of thirty-fve,
slight, but muscular His face
was like a marble mask under
which a god or a devil might lurk
few could tell which. He had
eyes of a light hazel color, lus-
trous as diamonds. Over his
smooth, womanish forehead a
mass of pale yellow hair lay with
out wave or ripple. This was the
great surgeon, without pity or
sympathy-the man who looked
upon the human frame as an in
genious pieceof mechanism which
it was alike his pleasure and profit
to understandable man with the
hand that never faltered, and
the pulse that never quickened,
who cared no more for quivering
nerves and contracting muscles,
for groans of anguish and faces
convulsed with pain, than for the
dead in the dissecting room
awaiting hisscalpel. Miss March
threw back her veil; she was the
first to speak.
I come, she began, turning a
shade paler, to consult you re-
garding my eyes. I fear-I
greatly fear that I am losing my
sight.
He made gesture for her to
advance to the window. His
voice when he spoke was full,
sonorous, smooth as oil.
A little nearer the light if you
please. When and how did this
trouble begin? Be as exact as
possible.
He put out a white, velvety
hand, and drew her close up to
him. The light poured strong
upon her face. She did not
finch. He looked down into her
uplifted eyes. Fiesole and his
school used to paint such in the
faces of their saints and angels
long and wide, like the typical
eye of the ancient Egyptians,
with a great abundance of white,
and a dark, dilating centre, soft
as velvet. Through the round,
black opening of the pupil, guard
ed only by transparent mem
brane, Doctor Brandtgazed down,
far down, to silvery white point
shining there-the nerve of sight
spread out in tiny delicate veins
over the tissue of the retina.
Three months ago I first be-
gan to study for the stage, she
answered, and then proceeded
TO tell how the blur and darkness