Such was an outline of the woman's soliloquy. She considered herself the most unfortunate woman in the whole world, and wondered why it was that some people are born to trouble while others never have a care to ruffle their placid brow.
The kind-hearted physician watched with deep interest the welfare of his patient.
He admired the sweet, pure face and the spirituelle eyes awaiting his coming with eager anticipation.
"You must have brooded over some mental trouble my child, and you know that is not what brings the roses to a maiden's cheek," and the disciple of Aesculapius once more patted the pale cheek to force back the roseate blush of youth and beauty.
"Doctor, you surely cannot say that I am to remain here many days longer when I am so anxious to see my father. I know that he will get better if I can only be near him to become his nurse."
"I see where part of the trouble is, but there is a greater one beneath that," thought the doctor as he sat writing out a prescription.
But like that great student of human nature he could not help exclaiming, though in undertone, "'who can minister to a mind diseased.' This is indeed one of the stubborn cases that I often have to deal with—administer drugs and pills ad infinitum when the gentle pressure of a sympathetic hand or the soft tender glances of a bright eye would act more effectually than all the compounds which the London dispensaries can boast of."
A bouquet of exquisite beauty had arrived and with it a nicely folded note.
Marguerite took the flowers within her trembling fingers and inhaled the rich fragrance with a sort of reverence. Nature claimed a large share of the girl's sympathies. She worshipped it as only the student of nature should. She
"Looked from Nature up to Nature's God."