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360 most strongly now was only realization that he had been set right with Santoine—Santoine, whom he himself had misjudged and mistrusted. And Harriet? He had not needed to be set right with her; she had believed and trusted him from the first, in spite of all that had seemed against him. Gratitude warmed him as he thought of her—and that other feeling, deeper, stronger far than gratitude, or than anything else he ever had felt toward any one but her, surged up in him and set his pulses wildly beating, as his thought strained toward the future.

"Where is—Miss Santoine?" he asked.

His sister answered. "She has been helping her father. They left word they were to be sent for as soon as you woke up, and I've just sent for them."

Eaton lay silent till he heard them coming. The blind man was unfamiliar with this room; his daughter led him in. Her eyes were very bright, her cheeks which had been pale flushed as she met Eaton's look, but she did not look away. He kept his gaze upon her.

Santoine, under her guidance, took the chair Hillward set beside the bed for him. The blind man was very quiet; he felt for and found Eaton's hand and pressed it. Eaton choked, as he returned the pressure. Then Santoine released him.

"Who else is here?" the blind man asked his daughter.

"Miss Overton and Mr. Hillward," she answered.

Santoine found with his blind eyes their positions in the room and acknowledged their presence; afterward he turned back to Eaton.

"I understand, I think, everything now, except some