"We can bear anything on earth together; but we have sworn to stay together through better and worse"-- "Oh, pf-f-f-f!" said the doctor, closing his eyes and swinging his head away again. "--And we're going to do it," concluded Richling. "But you can't do it!" cried the Doctor, so loudly that Narcisse stood up on the rungs of his stool and peered. "We can't separate." Dr. Sevier smote the desk and sprang to his feet:-- "Sir, you've got to do it! If you continue in this way, you'll die. You'll die, Mr. Richling--both of you! You'll die! Are you going to let Mary die just because she's brave enough to do it?" He sat down again and busied himself, nervously placing pens on the pen-rack, the stopper in the inkstand, and the like. Many thoughts ran through Richling's mind in the ensuing silence. His eyes were on the floor. Visions of parting; of the great emptiness that would be left behind; the pangs and yearnings that must follow,--crowded one upon another. One torturing realization kept ever in the front,--that the Doctor had a well-earned right to advise, and that, if his advice was to be rejected, one must show good and sufficient cause for rejecting it, both in present resources and in expectations. The truth leaped upon him and bore him down as it never had done before,--the truth which he had heard this very Dr. Sevier proclaim,--that debt is bondage. For a moment he rebelled against it; but shame soon displaced mutiny, and he accepted this part, also, of his lot. At length he rose. "Well?" said Dr. Sevier. "May I ask Mary?" "You will do what you please, Mr. Richling." And then, in a kinder voice, the Doctor added, "Yes; ask her." They moved together to the office door. The Doctor opened it, and they said good-by, Richling trying to drop a word of gratitude, and the Doctor hurriedly ignoring it. The next half hour or more was spent by the physician in receiving, hearing, and dismissing patients and their messengers. By and by no others came. The only audible sound was that of the Doctor's paper-knife as it parted the leaves of a pamphlet. He was thinking over the late interview with Richling, and knew that, if this silence were not soon interrupted from without, he would have to encounter his book-keeper, who had not spoken since Richling had left. Presently the issue came. "Dr. Seveeah,"--Narcisse came forward, hat in hand,--"I dunno 'ow 'tis, but Mistoo Itchlin always wemine me of that povvub, 'Ully to bed, ully to 'ise, make a pusson to be 'ealthy an' wealthy an' wise.'" "I don't know how it is, either," grumbled the Doctor. "I believe thass not the povvub I was thinking. I am acquainting myseff with those povvubs; but I'm somewhat gween in that light, in fact. Well, Doctah, I'm goin' ad the--shoemakeh. I burs' my shoe yistiddy. I was juz"-- "Very well, go." "Yesseh; and from the shoemakeh I'll go"-- The Doctor glanced darkly over the top of the pamphlet. "--Ad the bank; yesseh," said Narcisse, and went.