"Nor any the worse, I hope," returned Doctor Remy, placidly. "At all events, I always advise my patients to make their wills. There is nothing like a mind at rest about the future, to prolong life." He seemed to speak carelessly, yet he fastened a keen look on the Major's face, nevertheless. The latter only smiled. "When I want my will made," said he, coolly, "I will employ you to do the job." "He has made it already, as he said he would," thought Doctor Remy to himself. "And the chances are that he won't live to alter it. "I shall be very much at your service," he answered, aloud. "And now, I must be getting townward; I have to see another patient this evening." The Major followed him out, and stood for some moments watching the retreating buggy. Doctor Remy, looking back, saw him there in the moonlight, and a strange, furtive look came into his eyes. "I have given 'Providence' a chance," said he to himself. "Let us see what it does with it." Major Bergan, meanwhile, was muttering,--"What did he mean, I wonder, by talking to me about my will? It is certainly no concern of his. Does he really think me near death?" And the Major shivered, as if there had been an uncomfortable chill in the thought. "Uncle Harry," said a clear, sweet voice, close at his elbow. He started, and turned quickly round. A slender, girlish shape,--a graceful head, drooping like a lily on its stem,--a fair, pure, bright face,--this was the vision that confronted him, and carried him back to his youth, and to the love of his youth; the untoward course of which had doubtless helped to make him the man that he was. "Clarissa!" he exclaimed, trembling, and feeling as if he were in a dream. The vision smiled. "Do you not know me, uncle?" it asked, in its sweet tones; "I am Carice." "Ah!" said the Major, slowly, and as if but half awake. He took his niece's hands, and gazed earnestly in her face. "You are like your mother, child, or like what she was at your age, much more than you are like the child that used to play around my knees,--let me see,--six--eight--nine years ago. I missed her, Carice, when she stopped coming, I missed her." "She missed you, too, uncle," replied Carice. "She was very fond of you.' "Then why did she stop coming? asked the Major, gloomily. "Because, uncle," answered Carice, simply, "she grew old enough to know that it is a child's duty to obey, and not to question." The Major's brow darkened; but he looked sad, too. "I never laid it up against _you_, Carice," he said, with significant emphasis. "Nor against any one, I hope," replied Carice, coaxingly. "Oh, uncle, ought not this long feud to cease?" Major Bergan shook his head. "There is no feud between you and me, child," said he. "But, as for your father," he went on, with a kindling eye and a roughening voice, "when _he_--"