“We all feel that we owe her life to you, doctor,” added Eugene, as he recalled the weary days and nights they had watched with fear and trembling. “She passed the crisis; she was out of danger. She smiled upon me. O, Mr. Hungerford, I cannot tell you what I felt then! I loved her! From that moment I have not ceased to love her. That love purified my soul, and sanctified the hope which had been base and unworthy before. I was ashamed of the purpose for which I came to Poppleton; I cursed my own soul for the wrong I had done Mr. Birch. I repented; but I had not the courage to confess my errors, for that would banish me from the presence of Julia--drive me in disgrace from the town. When the change came over Julia, another change came over me. As she warmed back into physical life, I grew into moral and spiritual life. Whatever my lot, wherever I go, she will still be the saver of my soul. I have done, Mr. Hungerford.” The doctor wiped his brow again. He did love Julia Hungerford. This was true, whatever else was false. “I am sorry you love her, Dr. Lynch.” “I am glad!” replied the doctor, exultingly. “She may not be willing to see you after what has transpired.” “I do not expect it. I am willing to suffer--I deserve to suffer. A lifetime of penitence will not atone for the wrong I have done. I love her, and loving her has saved me from my own vain and wicked ambition.” “You loved her for her money--for what might be hers.” “Did I not counsel you to marry Mary Kingman? Did I not remove the objections of Julia and your mother? Was this selfish? Did I not persuade you to do the very thing which would deprive both Julia and myself of the contingent fortunes?” “You did.” “But it matters not now. This is the last time I shall enter your house, unless I am called here as a physician: in that capacity I will serve you to the utmost of my ability. Good night, Mr. Hungerford;” and Dr. Lynch moved towards the door. “I am not quite prepared to adopt your view of this unpleasant business, doctor. Whatever you are, and whatever you have done, we are still deeply indebted to you,” interposed Eugene. “It is not for me to speak, Mr. Hungerford. I feel that I have outraged and insulted you and every other member of your family. I have been a base, designing knave. I do not ask your forbearance.” “But you shall have it none the less.” “I cannot even ask to be forgiven,” pleaded the doctor, humbly, as he still stood, hat in hand, ready to leave. “For myself I can, and do freely forgive you.” “This is more than I deserve.” Dr. Lynch threw himself into a chair, and covering his face with his handkerchief, actually sobbed. Eugene’s tender heart could hardly endure this. To see a strong man weep--and that man the skilful physician, the demigod of Pine Hill--was pitiable in the extreme. “What does Mr. Birch say to all this?” asked Eugene, after the doctor’s woe had partially subsided.