Bergan stood looking doubtfully at his new acquisition. Property of this kind gave him a novel sensation; he could not tell, on the instant, whether he liked it or no. Nevertheless, he recognized the inexpediency of discussing the matter with the dusky chattel himself; who, to represent him fairly, seemed in nowise displeased with his change of owners. He had opened his eyes a trifle wider at his sudden transfer, and uttered a mechanical, "Yis, massa,"--that was all. He now stood, tattered hat in hand, waiting for orders. Bergan was somewhat disconcerted to find that he had none to give. Finally, he asked,-- "What is your name?" "Rubric, sah. But dey mos'ly calls me Brick." "Ah, yes, I see. And your family name?" "Hain't got no family, sah." "Your father's name, I mean." "Nebber had any fader, sah. He sold down souf, fore I's born." "Your second name, then." "Same's yours, massa, I s'pose." "Hum--How old are you?" Brick scratched his head reflectively. "Don' _jes'_ know, massa, 'zactly. Spec' bout--bout--fifteen or--twenty, sah; jess 's massa likes." Bergan bit his lip. Never had he met with such a spirit of accommodation. "Well, Brick," he asked, after a moment, "if you had a half-holiday, now, what would you do with it?" Brick's face grew radiant through all its dusk. "Go a-fishin', massa," he burst out, eagerly; "I jes' should!" "Well, go fishing, then,--if you think you can be back by supper-time." "Yis, massa. Tank you, massa." And Brick was off like an arrow from the string. Bergan immediately sought out old Rue's cabin. Outwardly, it differed little from its neighbors; but its interior was not without evidences of thoughtful provision for the faithful old nurse's comfort. Having kindly answered all the questions that she chose to ask, in reference to "Miss Eleanor" and her western life, he made known his errand. She instantly took a key from her pocket, and was about to put it in his hand, when she suddenly drew back, exclaiming:-- "No, no, that will never do! I forgot. That is the key of the back door. You see, sir, I sometimes look into the Hall, and that way is most convenient." "I assure you that it will serve me very well, too," replied Bergan. "It does not matter how I make my entrance." Rue shook her head. "It is not fitting," said she, "that the son and heir of the house should first enter at the back, like a servant." "The son, but not the heir," replied Bergan, smiling. Rue turned quickly toward him. "Not the heir!" she exclaimed, as if greatly surprised. "And why not?" The question was not easy to answer. Bergan could not say frankly, "Because such heirship must be bought at too high a price,--even the surrender of my profession, will, conscience, individuality." Nor did the answer present itself to his own mind in this definite form. He was conscious, at the moment, of nothing but a confused, hazy throng of doubts, fears, possibilities, and wishes.