not only in an infinite variety of delicate gestures and movements,
changing with her changing moods, but they had an expression of their own,
such as we look for in the eyes. I had gazed upon her hands so often, and
had studied so carefully their varying expression, discernible both to my
sight and to my touch, that I could read her mind through them as we read
the emotions of others through the countenance. The "feel" of her hands,
if I may use the word, I can in no way describe. Its effect on me was
magical. The happiest moments I have ever known were those when I held the
fair blind girl by the hand and strolled upon the great terrace or
followed the babbling winding course of dear old Wye, and drank in the
elixir of all that is good and pure from the cup of her sweet, unconscious
influence.

Madge, too, had found happiness in our strolling. She had also found
health and strength, and, marvellous to say, there had come to her a
slight improvement in vision. She had always been able to distinguish
sunlight from darkness, but with renewed strength had come the power dimly
to discern dark objects in a strong light, and even that small change for
the better had brought unspeakable gladness to her heart. She said she
owed it all to me. A faint pink had spread itself in her cheeks and a
plumpness had been imparted to her form which gave to her ethereal beauty
a touch of the material. Nor was this to be regretted, for no man can
adequately make love to a woman who has too much of the angel in her. You
must not think, however, that I had been making love to Madge. On the
contrary, I again say, the thought had never entered my mind. Neither at
that time had I even suspected that she would listen to me upon the great
theme. I had in my self-analysis assigned many reasons other than love for
my tenderness toward her; but when I was about to depart, and she
impulsively gave me her hands, I, believing that I was grasping them for
the last time, felt the conviction come upon me that she was dearer to me