Making him
do it himself! Working it out of a mere fool's trick!
Blind?--_Blind?_ But his eyes fitted his brain so perfectly it was
through them all knowledge came to him. They were the world's great
channel to his mind. It was through his eyes he knew his fellow beings.
The lifting of an eyebrow, a queer twist to a smile--those things always
told him more than words. And--but here he staggered. The mind could get
this, as it had all else, but on this the heart broke. _Ernestine!_--that
smile--the love lights in her eyes--the glints of her dear, dear
hair--The tube fell from his hand. His head sank to the table. He was
buried now under an agony beyond all power to lift.
Whether it was minutes or hours which passed then, he never knew in the
days which followed. Time is not measured by common reckoning on the hill
of Calvary.
The thing which brought him from under the blow at last was a blinding
rage. He wanted to take a revolver and blow his brains out, then and
there. He--a man supposed to have a mind! _He_--counted a master of those
very things! And now, what? Manhood, power, _himself_ gone.
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