It was the first time that Doctor Remy had entered upon the territory of Bergan Hall. He was surprised both at its extent, and its signs of opulence. As he passed the stately, deserted mansion,--showing so fair in the moonlight, under its grand, sheltering oaks,--and came in sight of the populous negro-quarter, and the far stretch of cultivated fields beyond, his face was alive not only with interest, but with something deeper still; it might be calculation. "A fair inheritance!" he said to himself. "Miss Astra will be a most eligible _parti_. I wonder if that will is made!" The Major was standing in the door of his cottage, as the buggy drove up with the doctor. "So it's _you_, is it?" was his curt salutation. And his tone and look said plainly enough, "I wish it were anybody else!" But Doctor Remy, though generally armed at all points against such looks and tones, now seemed to take no notice. "Yes," said he, good-naturedly, "it is I. Harris and Gerrish were both out, and Ben had to take me or nobody. Allow me to assure you that he chose wisely, for, if the case be what I suspect, from his account, it does not admit of delay. It follows, therefore, that the sooner I am introduced to the patient, the better." If the doctor had been studying his speech for the last half-hour, it could not have been more skilfully constructed. The Major's irritation instantly gave way, partly melted by the doctor's good humor, partly forgotten in a sudden rush of anxiety. "Come on, then," said he, turning to lead the way to old Rue's cabin, which was but a little way from the cottage. As they approached, painful gasps and groans were distinctly heard from within. On the doorstep, Major Bergan paused. "She is my old, faithful nurse," said he, feelingly. "Spare nothing,--no skill, nor trouble, nor expense,--no more than if she were the first lady of the county." A kind of spasm crossed his rugged features, and throwing himself down on a bench beside the door, he left the doctor to enter alone. X. FEELING HIS WAY. Rue was lying on her bed, propped up by pillows into a half-sitting posture. Her breath came raspingly and painfully, and she had the dingy pallor wherewith disease is wont to write itself on the African face. "Is it death?" she asked, hoarsely, when the doctor had finished his examination. "Because, if it is, I should be glad to know in time to send for Master Bergan,--I mean, Mr. Arling." Doctor Remy looked down upon the blind woman with a grave,--almost a frowning, face--which she could not see. "So you are attached to Mr. Arling," said he. "Certainly, sir," replied Rue, simply. "He is Miss Eleanor's son, you know."