But when she had unfolded the delicate looking missive and looked at the neatly formed letters not a ray of feeling was emitted from the expressive face.
"I see how it is," mused the man of experience; "poor child your's has not been the only aching heart. You think one way and your aspirations run another, or worse than that they accord and leave you to the tender mercies of worldly and narrow-minded parents whose sole motive is the accomplishment of their own sordid ends."
Mrs. Verne's entrance solved the problem, to the entire satisfaction of the physician. She had been detained in the drawing-room, and now came to offer apology for delaying in the sick chamber.
"Don't worry, mamma. I really am not so ill as you imagine," said the girl, hopefully.
"The invigorating New Brunswick breeze is the best tonic I can prescribe," exclaimed the doctor, eyeing Mrs. Verne with close study, "but this one must be taken first."
A merry twinkle of the keen blue eye was directed upon Marguerite, who now took the proffered slip of paper, and, to the very great amusement of the practitioner, noted the Latin abbreviation.
"Don't be too modest over it," said the latter, laughing. "I begin to think my patient has been drawn into the mysteries of our lore."
Marguerite reached out her hand to receive the kind goodbye, and how pale and wan that little hand?
Poor child, murmured the genial-hearted man as he shut the door so softly and went forth in his daily rounds whenever and anon the sweet face would rise up before him and shut out all the visible surroundings.
"The old, old story—poor thing—many such have I prescribed for in vain, but it has been so from the beginning, and I suppose, will be so to the end."