d this last question and
reply. It was the woman. She stepped forward without hesitation, and,
regarding the short passenger closely, said:

"There are not nurses. This place is perishing. Savannah and the
larger towns have been looked after first--as is natural and right,"
added the physician, in a business-like tone. She had a quick and
clear-cut, but not ungentle voice.

The man nodded at her curtly, as he would to another man; he made no
answer; then with a slight flush his eye returned to her dress and
figure; he lifted his hat and stood uncovered till she had passed and
turned from him. His face, under the influence of this fluctuation of
color, changed exceedingly, and improved in proportion as it changed.

"Who is that glum fellow, Doctor?"

One of the men physicians followed and asked the lady; he spoke to her
with an air of _camaraderie_, at once frank and deferential; they had
been classmates at college for a course of lectures; he had theories
averse to the medical education of women in general, but this woman in
particular, having outranked him at graduation, he had made up his
mind to her as a marked exception to a wise rule, entitled to a candid
fellow's respect. Besides, despite her diploma, Marian Dare was a
lady--he knew the family.

"_Is_ he glum, Dr. Frank?" replied Dr. Dare.

But the other young man stood silent. He never consulted with
doctresses.

Dr. Dare went below for her luggage. A lonely dory, black of
complexion and skittish of gait, had wandered out and hung in the
shadow of the steamer, awaiting the passengers. The dory was manned by
one negro, who sat with his oars crossed, perfectly silent.

There is a kind of terror for which we find that animals, as well as
men, instinctively refrain from seeking expression. The face and
figure of the negro boatman presented a dull form of this species of
fear. Dr. Dare wondered if all the people in Calhoun would have that
look. The negro regarded the _Mercy_ and her passengers apathetically.

It was a hot day, and the water seemed to be blistering about the
dory. So, too, the stretching sand of the shore, as one raised the
eyes painfully against the direct noon-light, was as if it smoked. The
low, gray palmetto leaves were curled and faint. Scanty spots of shade
beneath sickly trees seemed to gasp upon the hot ground, like
creatures that had thrown themselves down to get cool. The outlines of
the town beyond had a certain horrible distinctn