In his excitement he forgot his hat, and was pursuing his way bareheaded, through the sunny atmosphere.
"He must not go through town in that way, for the boys to laugh at him," thought I, catching up his hat and running to the door.
"Mr.Regulus!" I cried, waving it above my head, to attract his attention.
He started, turned, saw the hat, run his fingers through his long hair, smiled, and came back.

I met him more than half way.
"I did not know that I had left my head, as well as my heart behind," said he, with a sickly effort to be facetious; "thank you, God bless you once again." With another iron pressure of my aching hand, he dashed his hat on his lion-like head and left me.
I walked home as one in a dream, wondering if this interview were real or ideal; wondering if the juice of the milk-white flower, "made purple by love's wand," had been squeezed by fairy fingers into the eyes of my preceptor, in his slumbering hours, to cause this strange passion; wondering why the spirit of love, like the summer wind, stealing softly through the whispering boughs, breathes where it listeth, and we cannot tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth; and wondering most of all if--but I cannot describe the thoughts that drifted through my mind, vague and changing as the clouds that went hurrying after each other over the deep blue ether..