If the doctor had been studying his speech for the last half-hour, it could not have been more skilfully constructed. The Major's irritation instantly gave way, partly melted by the doctor's good humor, partly forgotten in a sudden rush of anxiety.
"Come on, then," said he, turning to lead the way to old Rue's cabin, which was but a little way from the cottage. As they approached, painful gasps and groans were distinctly heard from within.
On the doorstep, Major Bergan paused. "She is my old, faithful nurse," said he, feelingly. "Spare nothing,--no skill, nor trouble, nor expense,--no more than if she were the first lady of the county."
A kind of spasm crossed his rugged features, and throwing himself down on a bench beside the door, he left the doctor to enter alone.
Rue was lying on her bed, propped up by pillows into a half-sitting posture. Her breath came raspingly and painfully, and she had the dingy pallor wherewith disease is wont to write itself on the African face.
"Is it death?" she asked, hoarsely, when the doctor had finished his examination. "Because, if it is, I should be glad to know in time to send for Master Bergan,--I mean, Mr. Arling."
Doctor Remy looked down upon the blind woman with a grave,--almost a frowning, face--which she could not see.
"So you are attached to Mr. Arling," said he.
"Certainly, sir," replied Rue, simply. "He is Miss Eleanor's son, you know."
If Doctor Remy did not know, he could easily understand. He was aware that the daughter of a Southern house remains "Miss Eleanor" (or whatever the Christian name might be) to the end of her days, with the dusky home population, although, in the meantime, she may have become a great-grandmother. Moreover, various scattered shreds of rumor came to his recollection, enough to afford a tolerably accurate explanation of the blind woman's reason for desiring to see Bergan Arling at her bedside. And though the matter would seem to be no concern of his, it is certain that he gave it a moment or two of profound study, ere he answered the question which Rue had addressed to him. Indeed, it was very much Doctor Remy's habit--as it is that of selfish natures in general--to consider all events mainly with reference to their bearing upon his own interests, and to hold them important or trivial, according to the degree of favorable or adverse influence which they would be likely to exert upon his fortunes.