Carice's worst trial was, however, her growing wonder why nothing was heard from Bergan. His last words to her had been a promise to write immediately, both to her father and herself,—to the former by way of frankly avowing his love, and asking for permission to address his daughter; to the latter, as a necessary sequence to that brief interview by the singing river, the thought of which was Carice's one subject of delightful contemplation. But no letter came, not so much as a word of regret or excuse for necessary delay. As time dragged its slow length along, a touching look of wistfulness, mingled with a sorrowful patience, came into the face that had lately been so serenely happy,—a look over which Mr. and Mrs. Bergan scarcely knew whether most to lament or to rejoice, it was grievous to behold it there; and yet, if Bergan would only keep silent, she must eventually give him up!
Alas for Carice! there was no doubt whatever that Bergan would keep silent—or seem to do so. Her parents' minds would have been set at rest on that point, if they could invisibly have followed Doctor Remy into the Berganton Post Office some weeks previous, and listened to his conversation with the pale, slight, weak-looking young man in charge. One month before, he had so obstinately and successfully fought death at the bedside of this young man's newly wedded wife, as to call forth an unusual amount of gratitude. To this fact he now alluded.
"Well, Jekyll," said he, "I have come to make trial of that eternal gratitude which you swore to me, not long ago."
"I am glad of it, sir," responded Jekyll, warmly. "What can I do for you?"
"The question is rather, what will you do for me?" returned the doctor, with marked emphasis.
"Anything, anything, that is not wrong," replied Jekyll.
"Right and wrong are relative terms," replied Doctor Remy, quietly. "If you had understood the nature of the drugs which I gave your wife the other night, you would have said that I was trying to poison her;—yet, you see, I saved her life. It is the motive which determines the character of the act."
"Y-e-s, sir," rejoined Jekyll, considerably bewildered; but, nevertheless, feeling quite certain that so learned a man as Doctor Remy must understand these matters a great deal better than he did.
"And so," continued the doctor, suavely, "what I am about to ask you to do, is not really wrong, though it may seem so at first sight. It is only a quiet method of averting a great deal of trouble and scandal from a very worthy family. Should you recognize this handwriting, if you were to see it again?"
Jekyll looked at the paper held towards him, and answered,—"Yes, certainly; it is—"