"I have made no acquaintances," said the short passenger. "I know nothing of the news of the ship. Is the lady a nurse?" "She's a she-doctor. Doctors, the whole of 'em. There ain't a nurse aboard." "Plenty to be found, I suppose, in this place you speak of?" "How should I know?" replied the mate, with another sidelong look. One of the physicians, it seemed, overheard this last question and reply. It was the woman. She stepped forward without hesitation, and, regarding the short passenger closely, said: "There are not nurses. This place is perishing. Savannah and the larger towns have been looked after first--as is natural and right," added the physician, in a business-like tone. She had a quick and clear-cut, but not ungentle voice. The man nodded at her curtly, as he would to another man; he made no answer; then with a slight flush his eye returned to her dress and figure; he lifted his hat and stood uncovered till she had passed and turned from him. His face, under the influence of this fluctuation of color, changed exceedingly, and improved in proportion as it changed. "Who is that glum fellow, Doctor?" One of the men physicians followed and asked the lady; he spoke to her with an air of _camaraderie_, at once frank and deferential; they had been classmates at college for a course of lectures; he had theories averse to the medical education of women in general, but this woman in particular, having outranked him at graduation, he had made up his mind to her as a marked exception to a wise rule, entitled to a candid fellow's respect. Besides, despite her diploma, Marian Dare was a lady--he knew the family. "_Is_ he glum, Dr. Frank?" replied Dr. Dare. But the other young man stood silent. He never consulted with doctresses. Dr. Dare went below for her luggage. A lonely dory, black of complexion and skittish of gait, had wandered out and hung in the shadow of the steamer, awaiting the passengers. The dory was manned by one negro, who sat with his oars crossed, perfectly silent. There is a kind of terror for which we find that animals, as well as men, instinctively refrain from seeking expression. The face and figure of the negro boatman presented a dull form of this species of fear. Dr. Dare wondered if all the people in Calhoun would have that look. The negro regarded the _Mercy_ and her passengers apathetically. It was a hot day, and the water seemed to be blistering about the dory. So, too, the stretching sand of the shore, as one raised the eyes painfully against the direct noon-light, was as if it smoked. The low, gray palmetto leaves were curled and faint. Scanty spots of shade beneath sickly trees seemed to gasp upon the hot ground, like creatures that had thrown themselves down to get cool. The outlines of the town beyond had a certain horrible distinctness, as if of a sight that should but could not be veiled. Overhead, and clean to the flat horizon, flashed a sky of blue and blazing fire. "Passengers for Calhoun!"