Darkness and Daylight | Page 5

Hastings, Mrs. Atherton's waiting maid, and she don't
let me play with boys. Only Tim Doolittle and I went huckleberrying
once, but I hate him, he has such great warts on his hands," and having
thus given her opinion of Tim Doolittle, Edith snatched up her bonnet
and placed it upon her head, for the old man was evidently determined
to touch her crow-black hair.
Her answer, however, changed the current of his thoughts, and while a
look of intense pain flitted across his face, he whispered mournfully,
"The same old story they all tell. I might have known it, but this one
looked so fresh, so truthful, that I thought maybe she'd seen him. Mrs.
Atherton's waiting maid," and he turned toward Edith--"Charlie's dead,
and we all walk in darkness now, Richard and all."
This allusion to Richard reminded Edith of her errand, and thinking to
herself, "I'll ask the crazy old thing if there's a lady here," she ran after
him as he walked slowly away and catching him by the arm, said, "Tell
me, please, is there any Mrs. Richard Harrington?"

"Not that I know of. They've kept it from me if there is, but there's
Richard, he can tell you," and he pointed toward a man in a distant part
of the grounds.
Curtseying to her companion, Edith ran off in the direction of the figure
moving so slowly down the gravelled walk.
"I wonder what makes him set his feet down so carefully," she thought,
as she came nearer to him. "Maybe there are pegs in his shoes, just as
there were in mine last winter," and the barefoot little girl glanced at
her naked toes, feeling glad they were for the present out of torture.
By this time she was within a few rods of the strange acting man, who,
hearing her rapid steps, stopped, and turning round with a wistful,
questioning look, said,
"Who's there? Who is it?"
The tone of his voice was rather sharp, and Edith paused suddenly,
while he made an uncertain movement toward her, still keeping his ear
turned in the attitude of intense listening.
"I wonder what he thinks of me?" was Edith's mental comment as the
keen black eyes appeared to scan her closely.
Alas, he was not thinking of her at all, and soon resuming his walk, he
whispered to himself, "They must have gone some other way."
Slowly, cautiously he moved on, never dreaming of the little sprite
behind him, who, imitating his gait and manner, put down her chubby
bare feet just when his went down, looking occasionally over her
shoulder to see if her clothes swung from side to side just like Mrs.
Atherton's, and treading so softly that he did not hear her until he
reached the summer-house, when the cracking of a twig betrayed the
presence of some one, and again that sad, troubled voice demanded,
"Who is here?" while the arms were stretched out as if to grasp the
intruder, whoever it might be.

Edith was growing excited. It reminded her of blind man's buff; and she
bent her head to elude the hand which came so near entangling itself in
her hair. Again a profound silence ensued, and thinking it might have
been a fancy of his brain that some one was there with him, poor blind
Richard Harrington sat down within the arbor, where the pleasant
September sunshine, stealing through the thick vine leaves, fell in
dancing circles upon his broad white brow, above which his jet black
hair lay in rings. He was a tall, dark, handsome man, with a singular
cast of countenance, and Edith felt that she had never seen anything so
grand, so noble, and yet so helpless as the man sitting there before her.
She knew now that he was blind, and she was almost glad that it was so,
for had it been otherwise she would never have dared to scan him as
she was doing now. She would not for the world have met the flash of
those keen black eyes, had they not been sightless, and she quailed
even now, when they were bent upon her, although she knew their
glance was meaningless. It seemed to her so terrible to be blind, and
she wondered why he should care to have his house and grounds so
handsome when he could not see them. Still she was pleased that they
were so, for there was a singular fitness, she thought, between this
splendid man and his surroundings.
"I wish he had a little girl like me to lead him and be good to him," was
her next mental comment, and the wild idea crossed her brain that
possibly Mrs. Atherton would let her come up to Collingwood and be
his waiting maid. This