It was Medina-saroté who persuaded Nunez to face the blind surgeons.
"You do not want me," he said, "to lose my gift of sight?"
She shook her head.
"My world is sight."
Her head drooped lower.
"There are the beautiful things, the beautiful little things—the flowers, the lichens among the rocks, the lightness and softness on a piece of fur, the far sky with its drifting down of clouds, the sunsets and the stars. And there is you. For you alone it is good to have sight, to see your sweet, serene face, your kindly lips, your dear, beautiful hands folded together.... It is these eyes of mine you won, these eyes that hold me to you, that these idiots seek. Instead, I must touch you, hear you, and never see you again. I must come under that roof of rock and stone and darkness, that horrible roof under which your imagination stoops.... No; you would not have me do that?"
A disagreeable doubt had arisen in him. He stopped, and left the thing a question.
"I wish," she said, "sometimes——" She paused.
"Yes," said he, a little apprehensively.
"I wish sometimes—you would not talk like that."
"I know it's pretty—it's your imagination. I love it, but now——"
He felt cold. "Now?" he said faintly.
She sat quite still.
"You mean—you think—I should be better, better perhaps——"
He was realising things very swiftly. He felt anger,