The Argosy — page 313: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

290 A Marriage in the Dark. What did I care if he were poor and ugly, it was enough that we loved each other. ‘That was material sufficient for happiness, And happy we were, to a degree which a short time before I should have thought impossible on earth. It was only when my first baby was born to me that I began again to regret my want of sight. I was assured on all sides that my child was a miracle of infantine loveliness, and though by no means unwilling to believe this, I felt a natural longing to be able to judge for myself. Often I passed my hand over the soft baby features, and tried to picture them in my mind, but so long had I lived in darkness that it was difficult for me to form even the idea of a face. I don’t think I had at this time any hope of ever regaining my sight, though, to please my husband, I bathed my eyes regularly, night and morning, with a certain lotion he gave me. Imagine then the astonishment, almost the awe, I felt when my dear doctor said to me one day: “ You will want all your courage to-morrow, Conny; but I think you have plenty.” ‘“ Courage for what?” I asked innocently. ‘“‘T am going to operate on your eyes, dearest. And may God give me skill! ” Light! light at last! Only the dim uncertain light of a darkened room it is true, but how glorious, how divine it seemed. ‘The first glimpse of land to a shipwrecked sailor, the vision of Paradise to a tempted saint, I can only compare it to such things; things long- hoped for, keenly desired, despaired of, and found at last. But all comparisons are weak enough to express the rapture, the almost frantic joy, the passionate gratitude that filled my heart. I know I screamed aloud, and in an instant the bandages were replaced. The first thing I saw distinctly when I was permitted to use my newly recovered sense a little was my boy in his nurse’s arms. My informants had not deceived me. Nothing surely could be brighter than his eyes, more charming than his expression, or more altogether delightful than the little dimpled fist which clutched at my finger when they placed him on my knee. Then I turned to look for my husband, my hero. I owed it all to him; eyesight, happiness, a greater gift than life itself. It was for this he had studied in London, and worked in Paris and Vienna. To be grateful enough for such an immense obligation was impossible, but I longed to thank him, how- ever inadequately, for what he had done for me. A tall, dark, very distinguished-looking young man was standing by my chair gazing down upon me with kindly brown eyes. I remember wondering who he could be. “Can’t you guess my name, Conny ?” said he. My husband’s voice! ‘The veil between us was rent at last. I flung CONMICLOOKS. (©) m