"What sort of young woman?" asked Garth.
"A buxom young person," replied the doctor, "with a decidedly touchy temper."
"Do you know her name?"
"Jane," said the doctor recklessly.
"Not 'Jane,'" said Garth quickly,—"Jean. I know her,—my gardener's eldest daughter. Rather weighed down by family cares, poor girl."
"I saw she was weighed down," said the doctor. "I did not know it was by family cares. Let us sit on this trunk. Can you call up the view to mind?"
"Yes," replied Garth; "I know it so well. But it terrifies me to find how my mental pictures are fading; all but one."
"And that is—?" asked the doctor.
"The face of the One Woman," said Garth in his blindness.
"Ah, my dear fellow," said the doctor, "I have not forgotten my promise to give you this morning my opinion on your story. I have been thinking it over carefully, and have arrived at several conclusions. Shall we sit on this fallen tree? Won't you smoke? One can talk better under the influence of the fragrant weed."