that the hero himself would have been puzzled to say which was real and which false. He attained his object, however, for he saw by the varied emotions that passed over the blind girl's expressive face how moved she was by the story.
"Poor Doctor Nestley," she said again, "poor, poor Doctor Nestley."
"Oh, but all his misery is past now," said Beaumont, lightly, "he has weathered the storm, and will, no doubt, some day marry a woman who will make him happy."
The blind woman laid her hand on her heart, as if she felt there a cruel pain, then spoke to Beaumont in a strangled kind of voice.
"You must think me a curious creature, Mr. Beaumont," she said, rapidly, "to take such an interest in a man of whom I know nothing, but remember I am blind, and be kind to my failing. I can only judge people by their voices, and Doctor Nestley's voice has affected me more than any one else's. Why, I do not know. Of course I am precluded by my misfortune from many things, but--but--you understand--ah, you must understand how difficult it is for me to conceal my feelings. He is a stranger, I am a blind woman, but his voice rouses in me a strange feeling I cannot explain even to myself. I know I am foolish talking like this, so forget what I have said. You will forget, will you not?"
"Miss Mosser," said Beaumont gravely, rising to his feet, "you may be sure I will respect what I have heard as a sacred confidence."
"Thank you, thank you, very much," cried the poor woman, while the tears ran down her cheeks. "I know I am foolish. You must despise me for the way I've spoken. Still, I'm blind--blind."
Beaumont felt a pang of pity in his hard heart at the anguish of this unhappy woman, shut out from all love as between man and woman by her misfortune, and he was about to speak when Cecilia lifted her head.
"Will you go now, Mr. Beaumont?" she said, in a low voice. "Please leave me. I will be all right soon, and can then go home. But you will not forget your promise?"
"My promise is sacred," said the artist slowly, and turning away he left the blind woman seated in the hollow with her hands clasped on her lap, and her sightless eyes looking up to the blue sky.
"Strange," he thought, as he lighted a cigarette, "that girl has fallen in love with a voice, and does not even know she is in love, although she half guesses it. She knows nothing of Nestley and yet she loves him. Why? because he has a charming voice. I suppose we must call it a woman's instinct--ah if she only knew how hopeless her love is--Nestley is too much bewitched by Una to waste a thought on her."
This discovery, slight as it was, gratified Beaumont's keen sense of intrigue, as it gave him another card to play in the game against Patience. If he could do nothing with Reginald because he was embittered 

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