"Indeed!" Edward said with concern. "I should be glad to be of assistance to him. Is he quite alone, Ben? I mean has he no friends with him?"
"I b'lieves dar's a lady long wid him, Marse Ed'ard, but I mos'ly has to guess 'bout de half ob what dese Frenchers say."
"You don't know the name, Ben?"
"No, sah, couldn't make it out de way dey dispronounces it. But I understands, sah, dat dese folks—meanin' de sick gentleman and de lady—and we's de only 'Mericans in de town."
"Then here, Ben, take my card to the lady and ask if I can be of service to them. Say that I am a countryman of theirs and shall be most happy to do anything in my power."
Ben came back the next moment with a face full of grave concern. "Marse Ed'ard," he said, "it's Mistah Love and Miss Zoe."
"Is it possible!" cried Edward, starting up. "And is he really so very ill?"
"Berry sick, Marse Ed'ard, looks like he's dyin' sho nuff."
"Oh, dreadful! And no one with him but his daughter?"
"Dat's all, sah. De young lady come to de do', and when I give her de card, she look at it and den at me an' say, 'O Ben! I thought we hadn't a friend in all dis country! and papa so very sick! Please tell Mr. Travilla we'll be glad to see him.'"