David's Little Lad by L.T. Meade — Read

I found that Nan knew all about the eye-well, and had a very strong belief in its curative powers; she was only too anxious and willing to accompany us, and accordingly at five o'clock next morning, Gwen, little David, and I met her, and set off to our destination with a delightful sense of secrecy and mystery.

I look back on that day now, when, light-hearted, happy, not having yet met with any real sorrow, I stood and laughed at the baby's shouts of glee, when Gwen dipped his head under the cold water. I remember the reproving look of dear old Gwen's anxious face, and the expectant half-fearful, half-wondering gaze of Nan. I see again the water of the old well, trembling on the dark lashes of two sightless eyes, a little voice shouts manfully, a white brow is radiant, dimples play on rosy cheeks, golden brown curls are wet and drip great drops on the hard, worn hand of Gwen. Nan, excited and trembling, falls on her knees and prays for a blessing. Gwen prays also. I take David's little lad into my own arms, he clasps me firmly, shouts and laughs anew. I too, in a voiceless prayer, ask God to bless the noble boy. We are standing under a great tree, whose sheltering branches protect the old well, the bright sun shines in flickering light through the early spring leaves, on the boughs the birds sing, from the hedge a white rabbit peeps. Yes, I see it all, but I see it now with a precipice beyond. I see now where the sun went down and the dark night came on. I see where the storm began to beat, that took our treasure away.