"I have been sent by the lady whom we both know as Edna. Have you no
confidence in her desire to assist you?"
"Certainly I have."
"She has already explained to me that you have promised to carry out her
wishes. It is at her urgent request that I have come to you with the
object of giving you back your sight."
"She wishes me to submit to the experiment?"
"Pardon me. It is no experiment," he said. "She desires you to submit
yourself to my treatment. If you do, I have entire confidence that in a
week or so you will see almost as well as I do."
I hesitated. This stranger offered me the one great desire of my life--
the desire of every person who is afflicted with blindness--in return
for a few moment's pain. Edna had sent him, prefaced by the mysterious
letter signed "Avel." It was her desire that I should regain my sight;
it was my desire to discover her and look upon her face.
"If I find your name in the _Medical Register_ I will undergo the
operation," I said at last.
"To search will be in vain," he responded, in the same even tone.
"Then your name is assumed?"
"My practice is not a large one, and I have no need to be registered,"
he said evasively.
His words again convinced me that he was a mere quack. I had cornered
him, for he was palpably confused.
"As I have already told you," I said, with some warmth, "your attempts
at persuasion are utterly useless. I refuse to allow my eyes to be
tampered with by one who is not a medical man."
He laughed, rather superciliously I thought.
"You prefer your present affliction?"
"Yes," I snapped.
"Then, now that you force me to the last extremity," he said firmly, "I
have this to present to you."
And next moment I felt within my hand a paper neither the nature of
which, nor the writing thereon, could I distinguish; yet from his voice
I knew instinctively that this stranger, whoever he was, held triumph
over me.