"It is true," I confessed. "There's only this difference between my feelings and your impression of them. I _know_ there's no help on earth for me. Such help as there is, I get from another place. Do you remember how I used to talk about the dear Padre who was our guardian--my brother's and mine--and how I told him nearly everything good and bad that I thought or did? Well, he went to the front as a chaplain and he has been killed. But I go on writing him letters, exactly as if he could give me advice and comfort, or scold me in the old way."
"What about your brother? The girl--Miss O'Farrell she called herself, I think--said he was with you on this journey. And to-day I recognized him at Soeur Julie's, from his likeness to you. I shouldn't have guessed he was blind. He has a beautiful face. Do you get no comfort from him?"
"Much comfort from his presence and love," I said. "But I try to keep him happy. I don't bother him with my troubles. I won't even let him talk of them. They're taboo."
"I wish _I_ could help you!" Herter exclaimed.
"Ah, but I'd like to give more than that! I'm going away--that's the third thing I wanted to tell you. A little while ago I was glad to be going (so far as it's in me, nowadays, to be glad of anything) because I--I've been given a sort of--mission. Since we've had this talk, I'd put off going if I could. But I can't. Is your brother's case past cure?"
"It's not absolutely hopeless. Doctor Paul, this is a confidence! It's to try and cure him that I'm with the Becketts. He doesn't know--and I can't explain more to you. But a specialist in Paris ordered Brian a life in the open air, and as much pleasure and interest as possible. You see, it's the optic nerve that was paralyzed in a strange way by shell shock. Some day Brian's sight may--just _possibly_ may--come back all of a sudden."
"Ah, that's interesting. I'm not an oculist, but I know one or two of the best men, who have made great reputations since this war. Who was your specialist in Paris?"
"A good man," he pronounced, "but I have a friend who is better. I'll write you a letter to him. You can send it if you choose. That's one service I can do for you, Mary. It may prove a big one. But I wish there were something else--something for _you_, yourself. Maybe there will be one day. Who can tell? If that day comes, I shan't be found wanting or forgetful."