Dawn Eleanor Porter (free novels to read txt) 📖

"But I didn't have a chance long to question. Almost at once came theday when Mazie Sanborn ran up the steps and spoke—to you. And I knew.My whole world seemed tumbling to destruction in one blinding crash.You can never know, dear, how utterly dismayed and angry and helplessI felt. All that I knew was that for months and months I had letDorothy Parkman read to me, play with me, and talk to me—that I hadbeen eager to take all the time she would give me; when all the whileshe had been doing it out of pity, of course, and I could see just howshe must have been shuddering and turning away her eyes all the long,long weeks she had been with me, at different times. But even morethan that, if possible, was the chagrin and dismay with which Irealized that all the while I had been cheated and deceived and made afool of, because I was blind, and could not see. I had been trickedinto putting myself in such a position."

"No, no! You didn't understand," protested the girl.

"Of course, I didn't understand, dear. Nobody who is blinded with rageand hurt pride can understand—anything, rightly."

"But you wouldn't let me explain afterwards."

"No, I didn't want you to explain. I was too sore, too deeply hurt,too—well, I couldn't. That's all. Besides, I didn't want you to know—how much I was caring about it all. So, a little later, when I didsee you, I tried to toss it all off lightly, as of no consequencewhatever."

"Well, you—succeeded," commented Dorothy dryly.

"I had to, you see. I had found out then how much I really did care. Iknew then that somehow you and Miss Stewart were hopelessly mixed upin my heart, and that I loved you, and that the world without you wasgoing to be one big desert of loneliness and longing. You see, it hadnot been so hard to give you up in imagination; but when it came tothe real thing—-"

"But, Keith, why—why did you insist that you must?"

"Do you think I'd ask you or anybody to tie yourself to a helplesscreature who would probably finally end up on a street corner with atin cup for pennies? Besides, in your case, I had not forgotten theshudders and the averted eyes. I still was so sure—-

"Then John McGuire came home blind; and after a while I found I couldhelp him. And, Dorothy, then is when I learned that—that perhaps YOUwere as happy in doing things for me as I had been in doing them forJohn McGuire. I sort of forgot the shudders and the averted eyes then.Besides, along about that time we had got back to almost our oldfriendliness—the friendliness and companionship of Miss Stewart andme. Then the money came and I knew that at least I never should haveto ask you to subsist on what the tin cup of pennies could bring! AndI had almost begun to—to actually plan, when all of a sudden youstopped coming, right off short."

"But I—I went away," defended the girl, a little faintly.

"Not at once. You were here in town a long time after that. I knewbecause I used to hear about you. I was sure then that—that you hadseen I was caring for you, and so you stayed away. Besides, it cameback to me again—my old fear of your pity and aversion, of your eyesturned away. You see, always, dear, that's been a sort of obsessionwith me, I guess. I hate to feel that any one is looking at me—watching me. To me it seems like spying on me because I—I can't lookback. Yes, I know it's all very foolish and very silly; but we are allfoolish and silly over something. It's because of that feeling that I—I so hate to enter a room and know that some one is there who won'tspeak—who tries to cheat me into thinking I am alone. I—I can't bearit, Dorothy. Just because I can't see them—"

"I know, I know," nodded the girl. "Well, in December you went away.Oh, I knew when you went. I knew a lot of things that YOU didn't knowI knew. But I was trying all those days to put you quite out of mymind, and I busied myself with John McGuire and told myself that I wassatisfied with my work; that I had put you entirely out of my life.

"Then you came back in February, and I knew I hadn't. I knew I lovedyou more than ever. Just at first, the very first, I thought you hadcome back to me. Then I saw—that it was dad. After that I tried—oh,you don't know how hard I tried—to kill that wicked love in my heart.Why, darling, nothing would have hired me to let you see it then. Letdad know that his loving you hurt me? Fail dad there, as I had failedhim everywhere else? I guess not! This was something I COULD do. Icould let him have you, and never, never let him know. So I buriedmyself in work and tried to—forget.

"Then to-day you came. At the first sound of your voice in there, whenI realized what you were saying (to dad, I supposed), I started up andwould have gone. Then I was afraid you would see me pass the window,and that it would be worse if I went than if I stayed. Besides, rightaway I heard words that made me so weak with joy and amazement that myknees bent under me and I had to sit down. And then—but you know therest, dear."

"Yes, I know the rest; and I'll tell you, some time, why I—I stoppedcoming last fall."

"All right; but even that doesn't matter to me now; for now, in spiteof my blind eyes, the way looks all rosy ahead. Why, dear, it's likethe dawn—-the dawn of a new day. And I used to so love the dawn! Youdon't know, but years ago, with dad, I'd go camping in the woods, andsometimes we'd stay all night on the mountain. I loved that, for