But Dolores was hearing every word he said, and it was all for her; and Dolores not only heard, but saw; and seeing and hearing, she was loved by the man who spoke to her, as dearly as she loved him.
Then utter loneliness fell upon the blind girl as she leaned against the window.

She had expected nothing, she had asked nothing, even in her heart; and she had less than nothing, since never on earth, nor in heaven hereafter, could Don John say a loving word to her.

And yet she felt that something had been taken from her and given to her sister,--something that was more to her than life, and dearer than the thought of sight to her blindness.

She had taken what had not been given her, in innocent girlish thoughts that were only dreams, and could hurt no one.

He had always spoken gently to her, and touched her hand kindly; and many a time, sitting alone in the sun, she had set those words to the well-remembered music of his voice, and she had let the memory of his light touch on her fingers thrill her strangely to the very quick.
It had been but the reflection of a reflection in her darkness, wherein the shadow of a shadow seemed as bright as day.