"_Wer dem Spide zusicht, kann's am besten_, my dear Doctor Remy," he muttered; "or, in other words, the looker-on sees more of the game than the player. What would you give to know what I know, I wonder! Just wait till the right time comes; then you'll find out that 'He is worst cheated, who cheats himself.'" A mile further on, his potations beginning to make themselves felt, he suddenly broke out, with a tipsy laugh and leer;--"'_Man kan ei drage haardt med brudet Reb_,' mine excellent doctor,--you cannot haul hard with a broken rope! Ha! ha!" And, although his shamefaced flight from Bergan's presence, on the second day, may seem to indicate that he was not quite certain of the uprightness of all his acts and motives, no sooner was he fairly on the road to Berganton than he began to chuckle again. Bergan, meanwhile, was questioning within himself whether he ought not to make known Unwick's story to Major Bergan. He hesitated only because he foresaw that the information might possibly be set down to his self-interest, rather than his desire to serve his uncle. Nevertheless, it did not take him long to decide that he must do what he knew to be the right thing, regardless of consequences. Nor was it certain that his uncle would misconstrue his motives:--not long since, he had received an intimation from Rue that he was sure to meet with a cordial reception whenever he could make it convenient to visit Berganton; the Major's anger having so completely wasted away under the double attrition of time and favorable report,--not to mention her own steady influence in his behalf,--that he had lately expressed a wish to see him. There was really no good reason, therefore, why he should hesitate to present himself at the Hall, except that the whole neighborhood was certain to bristle with unpleasant recollections. However, he must face them some time, and as well now as ever. Still, as nightfall was at hand, and he knew of no reason for hurry, he thought it expedient to postpone the visit till the morrow. He would ride over to the Hall, he thought, betimes in the morning. Having made his arrangements accordingly, and committed his office to Hubert's care, he retired early, and soon forgot the fatigues and excitements of the day in a profound sleep. He had not slept long, however, before he woke from a dream--wherein Doctor Remy figured as an iconoclast, overthrowing and demolishing the ancient gods of Bergan Hall--to the consciousness that some one was knocking loudly at his door. "Who is there?" he called. "It's me, Massa Harry," responded a voice, with the unmistakable negro intonation; but, nevertheless, a voice too much disconnected with the present to meet with immediate recognition from his but half-awakened faculties. "Who is 'me'?" he demanded again. "You's own boy Brick, Massa Harry," was the reply. With an instant intuition of evil, Bergan sprang out of bed, and opened the door. "What is the matter?" he asked.