"In another week you'll see as well as ever you did," Rockwell said.
"I'm proud of you."

"Well, I hope I'll see a little better than ever I did," remarked Ingolby
meaningly. "I was pretty short-sighted before."

At that instant he heard Fleda's footstep approaching the bed. His
senses had grown very acute since the advent of his blindness. He held
out his hand into space.

"What a nice room this is!" he said as her fingers slid into his. "It's
the nicest room I was ever in. It's too nice for me. In a few days I'll
hand the lease over again to its owner, and go back to the pigsty Jim
keeps in Stormont Street."

"Well, there ain't any pigs in that sty now, Chief; but it's all ready,"
said Jim, indignant and sarcastic.

It was a lucky speech. It broke the spell of emotion which was greatly
straining everybody's endurance.

"That's one in the eye for somebody," remarked Rockwell drily.

"What would you like for lunch?" asked Fleda, letting go Ingolby's hand,
but laying her fingers on his arm for a moment.

What would he like for lunch! Here was a man back from the Shadows, from
broken hopes and shattered career, from the helplessness and eternal
patience of the blind; here he was on the hard, bright highroad again,
with a procession of restored things coming towards him, with life and