"Lately," the professor added slowly, "she has been more silent on such subjects than she used to be." He lifted his head from his hand and looked at Tredennis again. "Philip," he said, "I--I wish to heaven chance had sent you to us that year." Tredennis stopped in his walk, a dark and rigid figure in the shadow. "Had sent me?" he said, in a strained voice. "Me! What--could _I_ have done?" "I--I don't know," answered the professor; "but I solemnly believe, my boy, that _if_ you had come, you would have averted an evil." "Then," said Tredennis, "I wish to God I had!" "I say it," said the professor, "with all the more certainty, remembering, as I do, one day when she wished for you herself." "She!" said Tredennis. "Bertha? Bertha?" "Yes, Bertha herself. It was a few weeks before her marriage, and she had not been exactly herself for a week or more. One evening I came into the parlor and found the room full of the odor of flowers. Amory had been with her and had left her a bouquet of heliotrope. She had some on her knee as she sat on a low seat before the fire. When I seated myself near her, she looked up at me suddenly and said, in a rather unsteady voice, 'Papa, I have been thinking about Philip Tredennis. I have not thought of him for a long time. I should like to see him. I--wish he could come back.' She half laughed at herself as she said it, but her laugh was nervous, and when I said to her, 'Why? Were _you_ great friends? I did not know that,' she tried to laugh again, and answered, 'Yes--no--not exactly. But it seems to me that he was a strong sort of person, and sensible, and--and you might rely on his decisions. It is only a fancy, I suppose--but it just came into my mind that I should like to see him again.' There is no doubt, in my mind, that she felt a need of your obstinate strength, which she did not comprehend wholly herself. I wish you had come--I wish from my soul you had!" "I might have come if I had known," said Tredennis, in a low tone. "There was nothing--_nothing_ to have stood in my way." And he turned and began his walk again. The professor sighed, as he had sighed before--heavily and drearily. "But you did not," he said. "And she married Amory." "I should like to know," asked Tredennis, "if you think she is unhappy now. Do not tell me if you do not wish." The professor's reply was very simple and direct.