The service went on much like all services. Fred mechanically rose and sat down with the rest, but Bess could see that the familiar words were making no impression on his mind. She had been glad that he could not see the expressive nudges and glances exchanged as, drawing his hand through her arm, she led him up the aisle to her usual seat. Once there, he shrank into a corner, just as some too audible words met his ear:—
“What’s the matter with that boy in front?”
“Blind, and always will be. A peculiar case, started from St. Vitus's Dance. Isn’t it too bad? One of our best families.”
“Who’s the girl? His sister?”
“No, only a friend. She's perfectly devoted to him, they say.”
Bess looked anxiously down at him, to see how he bore these comments. He pressed his lips tightly together, and the hot blood rushed to his face and then back, leaving it white and still. She put her hand on his reassuringly, and felt the answering pressure. That was all; but for the first time Fred had heard himself talked over by strangers as a case likely to
