"
Even my lately-acquired knowledge of the _Materia Medico_, scarcely
warranted me in offering to cure her. But I did.
She laughed shyly and said, "How, sir; are you a doctor?"
"Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, apothecary," I said
lightly, "neither one nor the other, but that curious compound of the
two last--a medical student."
"Then I will not trust you," she answered, smiling.
"Better trust me," I said; and something in my words again made her
look down.
"You will trust me?" I pleaded, and the something in my words grew
plainer.
Still no answer.
"Oh, trust me!"
The hand quivered in mine an instant, the eyes looked up and laughed
once more. "I will trust you," she said--"not to move from this spot
until I am out of sight."
Then with a light "Good-bye" she was gone, and I was left to vaguely
comprehend my loss.
Before long I had seen her a third time and yet once again. I had
learnt her name to be Luttrell--Claire Luttrell; how often did I not
say the words over to myself? I had also confided in Tom and
received his hearty condolence, Tom being in that stage of youth
which despises all of which it knows nothing--love especially, as a
thing contrary to nature's uniformity.
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