He was sitting upright on the bed when she entered. The light from the fire was the only in the room, but it was enough for her to make out the tension in his frame, every muscle in his body taut under his clothes. His right hand gripped the bedpost as if hoping to crush it. He made no motion as the sound of her entry, but his lips spoke the words,

"It's time."

"I know, Darling." She set the candle down on the table by the door and went to him. She unclenched his hand from its vise-like grip and held it in both her own.

"Nothing will change," she said at last. "Nothing will be any different between us. We will go on as we always have." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it gently. "My heart is yours, Edward. Nothing can change that." He smiled sadly.

"I know that ought to suffice for me… and so it shall, if need be. No doubt I'm a selfish being for desiring more." He swallowed audibly. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "But I want to see this." He freed his hand from hers, lifting it to her face and feeling for her forehead. "And these," running his thumb ever so gently below her eyebrows, over the tender eyelids, brushing the lashes. "And these," tracing along the side of her nose down to her lips. "I want to see them, Jane. And not just in my head. I want to see them," he reiterated fervently. She sat down on the bed beside him. The bandages over his eyes were thick, wrapping thrice about his head. His hair in the back was dirty and slightly matted – he had not been able to bathe properly for near on a fortnight for the oculist had given him strict instructions not to remove the bandages for 12 days. Even after tonight, whatever the operation's outcome, he would have to keep out of bright light, to allow his eye to heal fully.

"You have been so good, so patient with me, my darling. No man on earth has a better, more devoted wife than I. And I can never grudge your kind attentions. But, my dearest, it is my turn, now. It ought to be. I want to be a proper husband to you, Jane: the husband you deserve. I want to look after you – I want to look at you. I want to see your face when I wake in the morning and when I lie down at nightfall. And if God wills that we should some day have children, I want to see their faces. Can you understand, Jane? Do I ask too much?" She kissed him by way of answer. Then, reaching out with fingers half afraid, she caught hold of the strip of linen and began to unwind it, slowly and carefully. His breaths came shallow and rapid.

The lid fluttered open, blinked once, twice. His eye stared dead ahead – directly at her face. She stared back, tensed for some sign of recognition. Instead, she felt her breath catch at the terrible, desperate intensity of his stare, as blank as a stone wall. She felt a sinking in her chest and tears of disappointment – for him, not herself – began to prickle in her eyes.

"Edward-"

Then the fire flared up and popped, and in that accompanying burst of light, she saw the pupil of his eye contract and focus. She heard him gasp.

"Jane." Tears were filling his eyes – already they were spilling down his cheeks as he reached for her, not gropingly now, not uncertainly. He placed his hand with purpose, cupping his palm against her cheek.

"Jane." His voice broke over her name.

He kissed her with his eyes wide open.