The three physicians descended into the dory. The other passengers--what there were of them--gathered to see the little group depart. Dr. Frank offered Dr. Dare a hand, which she accepted, like a lady, not needing it in the least. She was a climber, with firm, lithe ankles. No one spoke, as these people got in with the negro, and prepared to drift down with the scorching tide. The woman looked from the steamer to the shore, once, and back again, northwards. The men did not look at all. There was an oppression in the scene which no one was ready to run the risk of increasing by the wrong word. "Land me here, too," said a low voice, suddenly appearing. It was the glum passenger. No one noticed him, except, perhaps, the mate (looking on with the air of a man who would feel an individual grievance in anything this person would be likely to do) and the lady. "There is room for you," said Dr. Dare. The man let himself into the boat at a light bound, and the negro rowed them away. The _Mercy_, heading outwards, seemed to shrug her shoulders, as if she had thrown them off. The strip of burning water between them and the town narrowed rapidly, and the group set their faces firmly landwards. Once, upon the little voyage, Dr. Frank took up an idle pair of oars, with some vaguely humane intent of helping the negro--he looked so. "I wouldn't, Frank," said the other gentleman. "Now, Remane--why, for instance?" "I wouldn't begin by getting overheated." No other word was spoken. They landed in silence. In silence, and somewhat weakly, the negro pulled the dory high upon the beach. The four passengers stood for a moment upon the hot, white sands, moved toward one another, before they separated, by a blind sense of human fellowship. Even Remane found himself touching his hat. Dr. Frank asked Dr. Dare if he could serve her in any way; but she thanked him, and, holding out her firm, white hand, said, "Good-bye." This was, perhaps, the first moment when the consciousness of her sex had made itself oppressive to her since she ventured upon this undertaking. She would have minded presenting herself to the Relief Committee of Calhoun, accompanied by gentlemen upon whom she had no claim. She walked on alone, in her gray dress and white straw hat, with her luggage in her own sufficient hand. The reticent passenger had fallen behind with the negro boatman, with whom he walked slowly, closing the line. After a few moments, he advanced and hesitatingly joined the lady, beginning to say: "May I ask you--" "Ah," interrupted Dr. Dare, cordially, "it is you." "Will you tell me, madam, the best way of going to work to offer myself as a fever nurse in this place? I want the _best_ way. I want real work." "Yes, yes," she said, nodding; "I knew you would do it." "I came from the North for this purpose, but I meant to go on to Savannah." "Yes, I know. This is better; they need _everything_ in this place."