“Oh, yes,” came the answer in unison.
“Reuben will collect together his effects”—with an accent on the name, which both understood—“and prepare him for the trip at about ten o’clock to-night; I, with a trusty man, will be here with a conveyance for Shushan.”
A heavy sigh from Mr. Genung.
“And now,” said the doctor cheerfully, “devotion is commendable only when rightly demonstrated. Let me know if he awakes. Good-morning,” and he was off.
Even his enemies would have pitied Andrew Genung as he sat there staring vacantly at first one and then another. Hernando’s coming and subsequent aid in discovering “Old Ninety-Nine’s” mine he had viewed in the light of a manifestation of God’s pleasure to smile on this valley, and that He had chosen one of the good old name “Genung” to be the means, had made his heart swell with pious pride. Now he could only pray; “Heavenly Father, have mercy on my poor boy. Forgive him, for he knew not what he did!”
Mr. De Vere went upstairs to deliver Dr. Herschel’s verdict to Reuben. His hand was on the knob of Hernando’s door; but, like a spirit, Reuben appeared on the threshold and gently but firmly motioned him back with,—“Yo’ can’t come in hyah, Massa, Massa John!”
“Reuben!” Mr. De Vere’s tone was one of dignity.
“Dr. Herschel assures us that this disease is not contagious, nor as broadly infectious as has been believed.”
“Drefful sorry to displease yo’, Massa; but odahs am odahs.”
Mr. De Vere stepped back abashed, not at the gentle rebuke implied in those words, but before this perfect example of the dignity of service, unswerving fidelity to conviction, unselfish devotion to those held dear.