“Show him the way to the garden, Margaret. I will receive him here.”
When the doctor reached the veranda that overlooked this charming spot, he stood lost in admiration. Before him was the woman he had dreamed of, thought of, loved—since the hour he first met her. Never before had he seen so beautiful, so idyllic a picture. She looked sweet and restful under the trees, with the sunlight striking the trembling leaves which threw playful shadows over her face.
At his approach, she rose from her hammock to greet him. Taking both her hands in his, and looking into her eyes, as if he would read her inmost thoughts, he said: “I hope that you are glad to see me?”
“Indeed I am,” said Kate, heartily. “I was beginning to feel a little secret restlessness, and a desire for the society of a congenial soul. What good angel has brought you to Bloemfontein? Ah, I know,” she continued, for the doctor seemed for once in his life at a loss for words; “the angel of mercy. Some poor stricken sufferer has heard of your skill and sent for you. Is it a case for the surgeon, or physician?”
“I have not fully diagnosed the case.”
“It is not a hopeless one, I trust?” said Kate.
“I fear it is.”
“Let us hope that with your skill, aided by kind Providence, all will be well.”
“I will say Amen, to that, but, as it is a case for the metaphysician, I fear I shall lose the patient.”
“Ah, Doctor! and you whose happy cures are so frequently the result of mental action. By the way, is the patient one of your own sex?”