VII.

It was settled that they should set out for home a week from that day.
"Only seven days left," said the doctor. "What can I do in that time?"

Never was man so baffled in attempts to woo. Hetty saw nothing, heard
nothing, understood nothing; unwittingly she defeated every project he
made for seeing her alone; unconsciously she chilled and dampened and
arrested every impulse he had to speak to her, till Dr. Eben's temper
was tried as well as his love. Sally, the baby, the nurse, all three,
were simply a wall of protection around Hetty. Her eyes, her ears, her
hands were full; and as for her heart and soul, they were walled about
even better than her body. Nothing can be such a barrier to love's
approach as an honest nature's honest unconsciousness. Dr. Eben was
wellnigh beside himself. The days flew by. He had done nothing, gained
nothing. How he cursed his folly in having let two whole months slip
away, before he found out that he loved this woman, whom now he could
no more hope to impress in a few hours' time than a late afternoon sun
might think to melt an iceberg.

"It would take a man a lifetime to make her understand that he loved
her," groaned the doctor, "and I've only got two days;" and more than
ever his anxiety deepened as he wondered whether, after they returned
home, she would allow him to continue these friendly and familiar
relations. This uncertainty led to a most unfortunate precipitation on
his part. The night before they were to go, he found Hetty at sunset
sitting under the trees, and looking dreamily out to sea. Her attitude
and her look were pensive. He had never seen such an expression on
Hetty's face or figure, and it gave him a warmer yearning towards her