"I now understand Mr. Walton's case," he said to Miss Eulie. "I could not see why his severe cold, which he had apparently cured, should result as it did. But now it's plain that it was complicated with heart difficulties." His visit to Gregory was not at all satisfactory, for his patient's depression was so great that he was sinking under it. Mr. Walton's death, leaving Annie defenceless, as it were, in the hands of a man like Hunting, seemed another of the dark and cruel mysteries which to him made up human life. The death that had given Daddy Tuggar such an impulse toward faith and hope only led him to say with intense bitterness, "God has forgotten His world, and the devil rules it." "Mr. Gregory," said the physician, gravely, "do you know that you are about the same as taking your own life? All the doctors in the world cannot help you unless you try to live. Drugs cannot remove your apathy and morbid depression." "Very well, doctor," he replied; "do not trouble yourself to come any more. I absolve you from all blame." "But I cannot absolve myself. Besides, it's not manly to give up in this style." "I make no pretence of being manly or anything else. I am just what you see. Can a broken reed stand up like a sturdy oak? Can such a thing as I reverse fate? Thank you, doctor, for all you have done, but waste no more time upon me. I knew, weeks ago, that the end was near, and I would like to die in the old place." The doctor looked at him a moment in deep perplexity, and then silently left the room. "Internal injuries that I can't get at," he muttered, as he drove away. Miss Eulie came to Gregory's side, and laying her hand gently on his brow said, "You are mistaken, my young friend. You are going to live." "Why do you think so?" he asked. "The dying often have almost prophetic vision;" and she told him all that Mr. Walton had said, though nothing of the contemplated marriage. She dwelt with special emphasis on the facts that he had told Annie to be a sister to Gregory and had gone to heaven with the assurance to his old friend that his son would join him there. Gregory was strongly moved, and turning his face upon the pillow, gave way to a passion of tears; but they were despairing, bitter, regretful tears. He soon seemed ashamed of them, and when he again turned his face toward Miss Eulie, it had a hard, stony look. Almost with sternness he said, "If the dying have supernatural insight, why could not Mr. Walton see what kind of a man Hunting is? Please leave me now. I know how kind and well-meant your words are, but they are mockery to me;" and he turned his face to the wall. Miss Eulie sighed very deeply, but felt that his case was beyond her skill.