Darkness and Daylight | Page 5

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 brought to mind a second time the object of her being there now, and she began to devise the best plan for delivering the bouquet. "I don't believe he cares for the compliments," she said to herself, "any way, I'll keep them till another time," but the flowers; how should she give those to him? She was beginning to be very much afraid of the figure sitting there so silently, and at last mustering all her courage, she gave