The Doctor and I, having paced down the walk, were now returning; the reflex from the window again lit his face: he smiled, but his eye was melancholy. How I wished that he could feel heart’s-ease! How I grieved that he brooded over pain, and pain from such a cause! He, with his great advantages, he to love in vain! I did not then know that the pensiveness of reverse is the best phase for some minds; nor did I reflect that some herbs, “though scentless when entire, yield fragrance when they’re bruised.”

“Do not be sorrowful, do not grieve,” I broke out. “If there is in Ginevra one spark of worthiness of your affection, she will⁠—she must feel devotion in return. Be cheerful, be hopeful, Dr. John. Who should hope, if not you?”