"A man like me?" Hugh groaned. "Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay
with me always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!"

"Now it frightens me," she whispered, "being blind. It does frighten
me now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you
mustn't marry a blind girl, a waif. You've been so noble, you've
suffered so terribly. You ought to have some wonderful woman who would
understand your greatness, would see all that you are."

"Now," he sighed, "now I _am_ great--because you think I am; that's
water to me--after a lifetime of thirst."

"Hugh, _am_ I good enough for you?" She was sobbing and laughing at
the same time.

It was too much for him. He drew himself gently away. He whispered:
"I can't bear being loved--being happy. I'll go out by myself for
a bit alone. Sylvie, Sylvie! Every instant I--I worship _you_!" He
threw himself down before her and pressed his face against her knees.
She caressed the thick, grizzled hair. He stood up and then stumbled
away from her, more blind than she, out of the house into the
gathering night.




CHAPTER VI