"He says nothing to the contrary." Satisfactory as were these replies, in substance, there was a degree of dryness and brevity about them which was far otherwise. Unwilling to quit the subject thus, Carice ventured another query:--"Then, I suppose he may be expected back very soon?" Doctor Remy looked grave even to sternness. "No, I think not." Carice's heart sank. "Did he not say when he should come?" asked she, anxiously. Doctor Remy seemed to become suddenly aware that she really had something more than a conventional interest in the subject, and to be willing to gratify it, to the best of his ability. "I forget exactly what he said about it," replied he, "but I think I have his letter in my pocket-book." He drew forth a closely written sheet, and glanced rapidly over it, but seemed not to find what he sought. Applying again to the envelope, he produced a separate bit of paper. "Ah, yes, here we have it, in this slip of a postscript," he went on,--"'In order to'--um--um--'I think I shall postpone my return until after Christmas.' That is all." Carice stood as in a dream. Bergan well! Bergan silent only to her! Bergan not coming back for three months yet!--her mind utterly refused to receive three such incongruous ideas. There must be some miserable mistake,--but where? She put her hand to her brow with a piteous gesture of perplexity and bewilderment. Doctor Remy, meanwhile, failed not to observe the effect of his words, though apparently thinking only of refolding and rearranging his papers. It was precisely what he had expected; and, feeling quite secure, for the moment, from Carice's observation, he took occasion, as he returned Bergan's letter to his pocket-book, to let the postscript drop to the ground, taking care to conceal it with his foot during the remainder of his stay, which he wisely made short. "Can I do anything more for you?" he asked, graciously, as he put up his pocket-book. Carice gave a slight start, and turned toward him, with an inquiring look. She had heard, but she had not understood. He repeated his question. "No, thank you," replied Carice, letting her eyes go back to the far, dark line of the pine forest. "Then I must leave you. I only stopped to say good morning and good-bye. I had already spent my few moments of leisure with Mrs. Bergan." He raised his hat courteously, and was gone. Carice remained, trying her best to reduce the confusion of her mind to order, and, especially, to discover some clue to the mystery of Bergan's doings and intentions. She gave up the difficult task, at last, with a weary little shake of the head, and a smile of pity at her own helplessness. "It is too deep for me," she said to herself, "but Bergan will be sure to explain it all. I must just go on trusting till he comes, or writes. He shall never be able to say that my faith in him was conquered by the first difficulty!"