Cousin Maude

She had listened eagerly to the story of his love born so long ago--
had held her breath lest she should lose a single word when he told
her how he had battled with that love, and how his heart had
thrilled with joy when he heard that she was free--but when he asked
her to be his wife the bright vision faded, and she answered
mournfully, "You know not what you say. You would not take a blind
girl in her helplessness."

"A thousandfold dearer to me for that very helplessness," he said,
and then he told her of the land beyond the sea, where the
physicians were well skilled in everything pertaining to the eye.
"Thither they would go," he said, "when the April winds were
blowing, and should the experiment not succeed, he would love and
cherish her all the more."

Maude knew he was in earnest, and was about to answer him, when
along the hall there came the sound of little crutches, and over her
face there flitted a shadow of pain. It was the sister-love warring
with the love of self, but James De Vere understood it all, and he
hastened to say, "Louis will go, too, my darling. I have never had a
thought of separating you. In Europe he will have a rare opportunity
for developing his taste. Shall it not be so?"