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