,
he found a withered violet in the button-hole. He nipped off the flower
with his fingers, and drew out the stalk from beneath.

"By-the-bye," he said, smiling to himself in the mirror, "I had almost
forgotten _her_!"

In the afternoon he went away, and then he _quite_ forgot her.

The summer came with warm days and long, luminous nights. The smoke of
the passing steamships lay in long black streaks over the peaceful sea.
The sailing-ships drifted by with flapping sails and took nearly a whole
day to pass out of sight.

It was some time before the Pastor noticed any change in his daughter.
But little by little he became aware that Rebecca was not flourishing
that summer. She had grown pale, and kept much to her own room. She
scarcely ever came into the study, and at last he fancied that she
avoided him.

Then he spoke seriously to her, and begged her to tell him if she was
ill, or if mental troubles of any sort had affected her spirits.

But she only wept, and answered scarcely a word.

After this conversation, however, things went rather better. She did not
keep so much by herself, and was oftener with her father. But the old
ring was gone from her voice, and her eyes were not so frank as of old.

The Doctor came, and began to cross-question her. She blushed as red as
fire, and at last burst into such a paroxysm of weeping, that the old
gentleman left her room and went down to the Pastor in his study.

"Well, Doctor, what do you think of Rebecca?"

"Tell me now, Pastor," began the Doctor, diplomatically, "has your
daughter gone through any violent mental crisis--hm--any--"

"Temptation, do you mean?"

"No, not exactly. Has she not had any sort of heartache? Or, to put it
plainly, any love-sorrow?"

The Pastor was very near feeling a little hurt. How could the Doctor
suppose that his own Rebecca, whose heart was as an open book to him,
could or would conceal from her father any sorrow of such a nature! And,
besides--! Rebecca was really not one of the girls whose heads were full
of romantic dreams of love. And as she was never away from his side,
how could she--? "No, no, my dear Doctor! That diagnosis does you little
credit!" the Pastor concluded, with a tranquil smile.

"Well, well, there's no harm done!" said the old Doctor, and wrote a
prescription which was at least innocuous. He knew of no simples to cure
love-sorrows; but in his heart of hearts he held to his diagnosis.

The visit of the Doct