"Nay; but for what does your papa think you require medical advice? You seem perfectly well." Her face fell--her features, or the expression of them, changed as I spoke. "That is my secret. No doctor can cure me, or 'minister to a mind diseased;' not that mine is precisely so," she added, with a merry, ringing laugh. "Neither papa nor mamma can understand me. I lack decision and firmness, I fear. Dark women are imagined to be fiery, and all that sort of thing; but it is the fair little women of this world who possess the firmest will and greatest strength of character." "But you are subject to low spirits, your papa hinted." "Not naturally; but for a year past my heart has begun to fail me in hopes of the future, why, or how, I cannot tell you; and now, dear Dr. Mortimer, good morning," and away she trotted, with a pleasant smile and a graceful bow, leaving me rooted to the spot with admiration of her beauty, the craving to see her again strong in my heart, and conflicting with the fear that she was fickle, and wearied of her engagement, or had conceived a fancy for some one else, a year ago. From that period she had begun to date her emotions of sadness. A year ago, I had been a hard student in my little den in Clerk Street, Edinburgh, a dim shadow in the distance now. "Go it, old boy," said Bob Asher, who came suddenly upon me a-foot--the phaeton was gone now--"that's not one of old Crammer's patients surely. You are getting on, Fred, and if you wish to continue doing so always talk most to the women, and middle-aged ones; flatter the young girls, but on the sly only; and make a most fatherly fuss with the babies, however ugly or squally, at all times." Rashly heedless of what the old groom might think or report on the subject, I had an interview there almost daily, for a few brief minutes; at times it was but a bow and a smile, if she was accompanied by friends, or more especially by her brother; and it went hard with me but I made my professional visits and old Crammer's practice suit my plans--if plans I had--for I had given myself up to the intoxication of--yes, of loving Gertrude Chalcot, though she seemed placed above me by Fate as far as the planets are above the earth; but with the conviction came reflections that were not in my mind when the charm of her presence absorbed every other thought and feeling. When I was alone came calmer thoughts. She was engaged, though to whom I knew not, and she might just be amusing herself with me for the time, while I was laying at her feet the purest love of an honest and affectionate heart. Why did I love her? Curious fool, be still! Is human love the fruit of human will?