Bergan and Doctor Remy walked home from the church, as they had gone thither, side by side; yet, for a considerable time, neither spoke. If not altogether congenial spirits, they were on sufficiently easy and familiar terms, in virtue of their almost daily association, to allow each to pursue his own train of thought, on occasion, without reference to the other.

To Bergan, Mr. Islay\'s sermon had been interesting and effective, not only for what it contained, but for what it suggested. Naturally, therefore, his mind was now busy in following out those suggestions to the point where they bore upon his own experience, and unfolded their lessons for his own soul.

But Dr. Remy\'s thoughts had long since strayed away from any channel into which the sermon was calculated to lead them. There had been some brief moments, during its delivery, to be sure, when he had shrunken inwardly, iron-nerved though he were, from the deep, sharp probing of certain of its sentences; and there had been a single instant, perhaps, wherein he had been made dimly to see, or to suspect, that his own life and character—much as he had prided himself upon being the independent artificer of them both—were really the results to which he had been holden by the cords of former, half-forgotten sins. But he had made haste to shake himself free from both the idea and its effect, with one smile of scorn at his own folly, and another at what he chose to consider the weak superstition of the clergyman and his awed, interested flock. He thanked God—using the phrase in a vague, general sense which, perhaps, was only equivalent to thanking himself—that he was not as these men were. And no sooner was he in the open air than he set his busy mind to the consideration of his own projects. Some clue to its workings may perhaps be afforded by the question with which he finally broke the silence.

"Have you ever had the yellow fever, Arling?"

"No; it does not visit our western villages."

"Then, I advise you to take refuge in one of them, for the next three months. It is certain to visit Berganton ere long."

"Indeed!" said Bergan, with more curiosity than alarm. "Why do you think so?"

"From the weather, the atmosphere, the present type of disease,—a dozen indications patent to the eye of experience. Besides, I am informed by a private letter that it has already appeared in New Orleans. Its arrival here is but a question of time. And I assure you that its acquaintance is to be avoided."

"Doubtless. And I shall do my best to avoid it—except by running away."

"You might as well say," answered Doctor Remy, dryly, "that you will take every precaution against drowning—except to keep your head above water. Don\'t be fool-hardy, Arling. Yellow Jack has a keen appetite for strangers,—that is to say, for all who are not native born. If he spares any, it is usually the sickly and feeble, not the strong and vigorous. He would consider you a toothsome morsel. Take my advice, and go home, or go North, or take a sea-voyage,—do anything rather than remain here during the last of summer and the beginning of autumn. It will be no loss to you. After the first of next month, there will be absolutely nothing for a lawyer to do here but try to keep cool."

"And you?" asked Bergan.

"Oh, I stay, of course. An epidemic is a physician\'s harvest time. Besides, I have had the yellow fever."

"Then the native-born do not all escape?"

"By no means. Besides, I lost my birthright by many years\' absence in Europe. It was immediately after my return that I was taken. Now I may consider myself acclimated."

"As I must be," replied Bergan, "if, as is likely, I am to spend the remainder of my life at the South. Thank you for your friendly warning, but I think I must stay."

Doctor Remy shrugged his shoulders, and said no more. He had merely tried the first and simplest expedient which occurred to him, for removing Bergan from the neighborhood. He was not surprised nor troubled that it had failed. He had expected as much. But there were other and surer means to his end, he believed, at his command.

However, he was not obliged to resort to them. Early next morning Bergan came into his office, with an open letter in his hand, and a most anxious face.

"Read that," said he, huskily, "and tell me if there is any hope."

Doctor Remy obeyed, reading the letter not once only, but twice, and looking long and meditatively at the signature. Then he lifted his eyes to Bergan\'s face.

"Plenty of hope, in my opinion," said he; "I do not attach as much importance as this Doctor Trubie does to your mother\'s fancy that she is going to die. It only argues a depressed state of mind, corresponding to a low state of body. Nevertheless, it is well to do whatever can be done to raise her spirits; and I suspect that your presence at her bedside will avail much to that end. Of course, you set out at once?"

"Certainly. Can you tell me at what hour the next train leaves Savalla?"

Doctor Remy glanced at his watch. "In an hour and a half. That gives you ample time;—fifteen minutes to throw a few things into a portmanteau, and tell me what I can do for you while you are away; five minutes for adieux, and an hour and ten minutes to reach Savalla, in the saddle, with a swift horse."

"If I can find one at such short notice," said Bergan, doubtfully.

Doctor Remy pulled a bell-wire, and Scipio\'s black head appeared as instantaneously as if he had been attached to the other end of it.

"Saddle the roan, and take him round to the front gate," said Doctor Remy. "Mr. Arling will ride him to Savalla, You will go after him, by the stage, this afternoon. Quick now!"

The head ducked, and disappeared.

"How can I thank you!" exclaimed Bergan, wringing the doctor\'s hand.

"By attending to the portmanteau business at once. I will come with you; we can talk while you work. I want to ask something about this Doctor Trubie. Does he keep up with the times,—in medicine, that is?"

"I don\'t know—I believe so."

"H\'m; there have been some recent discoveries of great value in the treatment of typhoids, when they run long and low, as they are apt to do. Suppose I write down a few suggestions, which, if there is grave need, you can commend to Doctor Trubie\'s favorable consideration. Otherwise, don\'t interfere."

Bergan tried once more to express his gratitude, as the folded paper was put in his hand; but Doctor Remy cut him short.

"If you really want to thank me," said he, "do it by staying away until the sickly season is over; I shall have yellow fever patients enough without you. Indeed, you must; having left, it would be suicidal to come back before the first of November. Tell your mother that I said so, when she is convalescent."

"When she is convalescent," repeated Bergan, quickly. "Then you do hope!"

"Of course I do. There is every reason for it. Your mother, being a Bergan, has a sound constitution, and an almost indomitable vitality; and she is not yet old. If Trubie makes a good fight, he is sure to win. At any rate, never despair till the breath is out of the body; nor even then, till you are certain that it cannot be brought back."

Bergan could not but feel a pang of self-reproach for his long-smothered dislike and distrust of the man who was thus loading him with obligations,—help on his way to his mother, ready encouragement, and valuable professional advice. It did not occur to him that there is such a thing as doing good that evil may come!

Doctor Remy looked after him with a triumphant smile. "One out of my way already!" he exclaimed. "It would seem that the Devil (another name for Fate or Chance) has helped me!"

Bergan next sought Mrs. Lyte and Astra, for a parting word. He found the latter in her studio, sitting idly by a window, with her hands folded listlessly in her lap, and a weary, dejected face that went to his heart. Never before had he seen her otherwise than busy, bright, and earnest; never had she met his look with so faint and transient a smile.

"I am sorry that you are going," said she, sombrely; "sorrier, perhaps, than the occasion may seem to warrant. But I cannot rid myself of a suspicion that this phase of our life and friendship is finished; and who can tell what the next may be! Do you remember our first meeting under the oaks, and the red sunset light, and the dark sunset cloud? You interpreted them to mean that we were to know sunshine and shade together, did you not? Well, we have had the sunshine; now, it is time for the shade.............