Winterfeld glanced back at the house.
"Max, it struck me that your father was looking very worn and aged."
Max shook his head.
"He cannot get over Raven's death. I thought time would assuage his grief--but no! As a medical man, I may not conceal from myself the fact that he is going from us. I know the symptoms well."
He spoke sadly, and George's face too wore a troubled look.
"He cannot put from him the memory of one he loved so well," said the latter. "The remembrance is wearing him away. I can understand that."
"Yes, you appear to me to be on that road yourself," exclaimed the young doctor. "Last time we met, I was not allowed to say a word on the subject, but now you look even more melancholy and gloomily interesting than then. So out with it--confess."
George shook his head.
"Spare me, Max. You know I am incorrigible; moreover, on this point I think you hardly understand me."
"How should I? A hardened realist like myself cannot be admitted into the sanctuary of your inmost feelings!"