"Doctor Remy, the same man who wrote that address."
Doctor Trubie glanced back at the letter, and his eyes lit with a strange, stern joy. "At last!" he muttered through his set teeth.
Mrs. Arling leaned forward, and her face grew pale. "What is it, doctor?" she asked, trembling. "What is the matter?"
Doctor Trubie glanced at her excited face, and saw what mischief he was doing. "Nothing," he hastened to answer, "nothing, only an old sore pressed on suddenly. This handwriting reminds me of one that—I never expected to see again."
He gave the letter a long, moody look, then refolded it, and handed it back to Bergan.
Mrs. Arling looked anxiously at her son. "Does Doctor Remy give you any special news?" she asked.
"Not much. Uncle Godfrey is better, and the fever is over. Business is still dull."
"Then you will not need to hurry back?"
Bergan knelt by his mother's side. "My dear mother," he whispered, "you know it is not for the sake of my business that I am anxious to return, as soon as I may. I must see Carice, and satisfy myself that nothing is amiss."
Mrs. Arling smiled, yet she sighed, too. "Ah, yes, I remember," said she, "and you are quite right."