"It is sweet-fern," she said, in answer to the painter's question, "not very rare, to be sure, but the first specimen that has come into the paddock of its own accord; all the rest I planted myself. Now, sir, this is neither myrtle nor sweet-grass; but it is good to smell at; and in token that my extreme hurry to drive you out of my father's house proceeded from no ill will, but from true benevolence, and as much friendship as one can feel at a week's notice, I present you this same odoriferous plant, and advise you to make a medicine of it. It is said to be a fine tonic and cordial; and, I warrant me, Elsie will know all about it." "I shall apply it to a better use," said the painter, gaily. "You know, it is fern-seed which enables man to walk invisible.--Now, as a knight of romance, I may have need of such a magical auxiliary." "Oh, if you laugh at me for that," said Catherine, "I see there is peace between us." "You could have added but one more injunction," said Herman, "to make the gift agreeable. Had you told me to follow its example--you know it came into the paddock of its own accord!--I should have"---- "Thought me immensely witty," said Catherine. "Certainly, Mr. Hunter, I will expect you to call upon my father if you remain in the valley; and certainly, if he do not fetch you to the Folly to-morrow, I shall be vastly astonished. But pray, sir," she added, observing that the gentleman looked mortified, and abashed, "do not consider such an invitation necessary. A visiter at Gilbert's Folly is too much of a Phoenix--a _rara avis_, I think you scholars call it,--to be turned lightly away. I wish you, sincerely, a happy and speedy recovery.--Good day, sir--I commit you to Richard's keeping." With these words she turned from the gate, plucked another branch from the fern-bush, and then, with Phoebe, pursued her way back to the house. The painter received her valediction with much less satisfaction than had been produced by the fragrant present. He saw her return to the bush, and then, looking once back, and waving her hand, resume her steps, walking on towards the mansion; and he was himself astonished at the feeling of melancholy that instantly came over his spirit. "What is there in her," he muttered within the recesses of his bosom, "that should interest me so strongly? Why should I be gladdened by the wave of her hand? why darkened at once by the turning away of her face?--She _is_ unhappy after all, whatever skill she may have to conceal it; and, by heaven, it is a piteous thing to ponder on. Well, well.--Such an admirable creature! so gentle, and yet so firm! so frank, yet so modest! so merry, yet so dignified! so natural in manners, yet so refined! so sensitive, yet sensible! so kind,--nay,--openly affectionate of disposition, yet so womanly in all!--sure I shall never more see her equal!"