ed, sir, and I don't know. She's never called any thing else that
I've heard."

"Who is she? what does she do?" asked the doctor.

"Oh, sir! she's a great nurse, from foreign parts: she has a power of
healing-herbs in her garden, and she goes each day to the English House
to heal the sick. There's nobody like her. If she do but lay her hand on
one, they do say it is a cure."

"She is French, I suppose," said the doctor; thinking to himself, "Some
adventuress, doubtless."

"Ay, sir, I think so," answered the lad; "but I must not stay to speak
any more, for the mistress waits for this balm to make tea for the cook
Jean, who is like to have a fever;" and the lad disappeared under the
low archway of the basement.

Dr. Eben walked back and forth in front of the inn, still crushing in
his fingers the lavender flowers and inhaling their fragrance. Idly he
watched "Tantibba's" figure till it disappeared in the distance.

"This is just the sort of place for a tricky old French woman to make a
fortune in," he said to himself: "these people are simple enough to
believe any thing;" and Dr. Eben went to his room, and tossed the
lavender blossoms down on his pillow.

When he waked in the morning, his first thoughts were bewildered:
nothing in nature is so powerful in association as a perfume. A sound,
a sight, is feeble in comparison; the senses are ever alert, and the
mind is accustomed always to act promptly on their evidence. But a
subtle perfume, which has been associated with a person, a place, a
scene, can ever afterward arrest us; can take us unawares, and hold us
spell-bound, while both memory and knowledge are drugged by its charm.

Dr. Eben did not open his eyes. In an ecstasy of half consciousness he
murmured, "Hetty." As he stirred, his hand came in contact with the
withered flowers. Touch was more potent than smell. He roused, lifted
his head, saw the little blossoms now faded and gray lying near his
cheek; and saying, "Oh, I remember," sank back again into a few moments'
drowsy reverie.

The morning was clear and cool, one window of the doctor's room looked
east; the splendor of the sunrise shone in and illuminated the whole
place. While he was dressing, he found himself persistently thinking of
the strange name, "Tantibba." "It is odd how that name haunts me," he
thought. "I wish I could see it written: I haven't the least idea how it
is spelled. I wonder if she is an impostor. Her garden didn't look like
it