"I do remember hearing something of the sort, now that you remind me of it," rejoined the Major dryly. "I don't think any the better of you for it."
"Nor any the worse, I hope," returned Doctor Remy, placidly. "At all events, I always advise my patients to make their wills. There is nothing like a mind at rest about the future, to prolong life." He seemed to speak carelessly, yet he fastened a keen look on the Major's face, nevertheless.
The latter only smiled. "When I want my will made," said he, coolly, "I will employ you to do the job."
"He has made it already, as he said he would," thought Doctor Remy to himself. "And the chances are that he won't live to alter it.
"I shall be very much at your service," he answered, aloud. "And now, I must be getting townward; I have to see another patient this evening."
The Major followed him out, and stood for some moments watching the retreating buggy. Doctor Remy, looking back, saw him there in the moonlight, and a strange, furtive look came into his eyes.
"I have given 'Providence' a chance," said he to himself. "Let us see what it does with it."
Major Bergan, meanwhile, was muttering,—"What did he mean, I wonder, by talking to me about my will? It is certainly no concern of his. Does he really think me near death?" And the Major shivered, as if there had been an uncomfortable chill in the thought.
"Uncle Harry," said a clear, sweet voice, close at his elbow. He started, and turned quickly round.
A slender, girlish shape,—a graceful head, drooping like a lily on its stem,—a fair, pure, bright face,—this was the vision that confronted him, and carried him back to his youth, and to the love of his youth; the untoward course of which had doubtless helped to make him the man that he was.