Blind Love

"Oh! go on, Harry. Tell me all. Hide nothing."

"I will tell you all," he replied.

"First, where is that poor man whom the doctor brought here and Fanny

nursed? And where is Fanny?"

"The poor man," he replied carelessly, "made so rapid a recovery that

he has got on his legs and gone away--I believe, to report himself to

the hospital whence he came. It is a great triumph for the doctor,

whose new treatment is now proved to be successful. He will make a

grand flourish of trumpets about it. I dare say, if all he claims for

it is true, he has taken a great step in the treatment of lung

diseases."

Iris had no disease of the lungs, and consequently cared very little

for the scientific aspect of the question.

"Where is my maid, then?"

"Fanny? She went away--let me see: to-day is Friday--on Wednesday

morning. It was no use keeping her here. The man was well, and she was

anxious to get back to you. So she started on Wednesday morning,

proposing to take the night boat from Dieppe. She must have stopped

somewhere on the way."

"I suppose she will go to see Mrs. Vimpany. I will send her a line

there."

"Certainly. That will be sure to find her."

"Well, Harry, is there anything else to tell me?

"A great deal," he repeated. "That photograph, Iris, which frightened

you so much, has been very carefully taken by Vimpany for a certain

reason."

"What reason?"

"There are occasions," he replied, "when the very best thing that can

happen to a man is the belief that he is dead. Such a juncture of

affairs has happened to myself--and to you--at this moment. It is

convenient--even necessary--for me that the world should believe me

dead. In point of fact, I must be dead henceforth. Not for anything

that I have done, or that I am afraid of--don't think that. No; it is

for the simple reason that I have no longer any money or any resources

whatever. That is why I must be dead. Had you not returned in this

unexpected manner, my dear, you would have heard of my death from the

doctor, and he would have left it to chance to find a convenient

opportunity of letting you know the truth. I am, however, deeply

grieved that I was so careless as to leave that photograph upon the

table."

"I do not understand," she said. "You pretend to be dead?"