The Dillon herald. [volume] (Dillon, S.C.) 1894-????, 1910-06-23

IeurS- GOD dtter SOD SnOOk ner IraG1e
as she kneit there alone.
"Oh, Jack" she moaned. "My
Jack! How can comfort you! How
can tell you the terrible truth, My
poor, blind, helpless husband"
She controlled herself with a great
effort and tried to think calmly what
she should do. DR.. Pope had told her
at the end of his examination that he
could hold out no reasonable hope
whatever that John Thurlow's sight
would ever be restored. How anx-
iously she had waited that verdict,
and how mercilessly those cruel
words had pierced her heart as she
listened, none but herself knew.
From the first moment when she
had encountered the pale, drawn face
and sightless eyes Of John Thurlow
In the hospital ward she had recog-
nized him as the husband who had
deserted her seven long years before.
But there was no feeling in her heart
but one Of intense sympathy and love
for him, and passionate yearning to
be able to comfort him and to receive
anew all those old and treasured
been so dear to her.
The next day a second examination
took place. When it was ended DR..
Pope and Nurse Gertrude passed out
of the dark room together.
at is a bad case" he said, when
they were alone. Il can only confirm
my opinion of yesterday"
do you think he ought to know"
she asked. in a voice which she tried
to control
DR.. Pope glanced at her curiously.
"Why?" he asked, half smiling.
Would you care to be the bearer of
such terrible tidings?"
IL think" she said, braveIy, 81
would rather tell him than any one
else. He is my-my-husband!"
And then in a broken voice she
recounted her early life to the doctor,
whose kindly nature and warm, re-
sponsive heart had won so many SIM
liar condolences from those about
| him.
Well" he continued, after a
| pause, Il think you had better tell
your husband what ] have said.
| will, however, perform an operation
upon one eye. But you must not
place the smallest hope in the result.
1t is merely a forlorn hope-and, in
deed, barely that-which l am only
| induced to undertake by the posi-
| bility that his present unbroken dark
ness may be thereby relieved by the
temperance Of light, though not, 1
am afraid, CT sight"
Very we'll, DOCTOR" she said, "and
| thank you" And she went back to
her patients.
That evening she led John Thurlow
| into small, unoccupied ward, and,
placing chair for him, sat down be-
side him.
Il have something to tell you," she
began, striving to speak calmly.
Have you?" he asked, eagerly.
"fes. But first, will you not tell
| me little about yourself? know
something of your early life. Will
you not tell me all about it? Per-
haps may be able to help you" And
she laid her hand lightly upon his,
as If to still further appeal for his
| confidence.
shadow crossed John Thurlow's
face, in which both pain and self-re-
proach were plainly visible. Almost
instinctively he knew that what Nurse
Gertrude had said referred to his
long-deserted wife.
Have you met her." he asked
quickly.
Il know her." she replied, in a low
voice, which even he could scarcely
hear.
"Ah!" he groaned. At was mad
then! And now-now she would not
look at me! Perhaps for her sake 1t
Is better SO. For had we never parted
she would now have had me-blind
and helpless and ruined as l am-to
care for and work fora lifelong
burden upon her frail resources"
Are you sure?" she asked, looking
earnestly and lovingly into his poor
sightless eyes.
1T seems but reasonable" he re-
piled, sadly.
But suppose she still loves you!
Could you not love her in return, and
take her to your heart as you did
when she was foolish, wayward girl,
and try to forget the bitter memories
Of the past?"
Would to God that were posi-
ble!" he said, with a sigh of regret.
But could las I am, blind, help
less, beggared-ask forgiveness of the
woman whom in the days of my pros
perity 1 cruelty and shamefully de-
serted?"
For answer she put both her arms
: about his neck, and, kissing him ten
derly, burst into a food of happy
tears.