CHAPTER IV

.--(_Continued._)

During the long weeks of Joel Burns's illness and convalescence, he had become much attached to James Egerton. And when the medical student quitted Burnsville, after carrying Mr. Burns through the fever in triumph, the latter felt more grateful than words would express. It is true, young Egerton remained at his bedside by direction of the physician whose pupil he was: still the manner in which he had discharged his duties won the heart of the patient. So, when at length he was preparing to depart, Joel Burns endeavored to think of some way to manifest his appreciation which would be acceptable to the youth. This was difficult. Both were of refined natures, and it was not easy to bring the matter to pass. Mr. Burns, at length, after expressing his grateful sense of his devotion, plainly told Egerton that he would delight to be of service to him if it were possible.

'I feel obliged to you, Mr. Burns,' said the student; 'but it is not just that I should excite such emotions in your breast. Let me confess that while I do respect and esteem you, it is love of my _profession_, and not of any individual, which has led me to use more than ordinary care while attending to your case. I have a firm belief in the method of my principal, and it is a labor of love with me to endeavor to demonstrate the truth of his theory in the treatment of typhus fever. Your case was a magnificent one. My master is right, and I know it.'

'Now you take just the ground I admire; you enable me to say what before I hesitated to speak of,' said Mr. Burns, warmly. 'Tell me honestly how you are situated. Can I not aid in affording you still further advantages for study and practical observation?'

'Mr. Burns,' replied the student, 'it is my turn to feel grateful--grateful for such genial recognition of what I am, or rather what I hope to make myself. Something of your own history I have learned in this place--this place of your own creation--and I may say there are points of analogy between your own early struggles and mine. But I must depend on myself. To accept aid from you would weaken me, and that you would not wish to do.'

'Go,' said Mr. Burns, with enthusiasm; 'go, and God go with you. But promise me this: let me hear from you regularly. Let me not lose sight of one of whom I hope so much.'

'That I promise with pleasure.'

Then he turned to find Sarah, to bid her good by. She was running across the lawn, but stopped abruptly on hearing her name called.

'Little maiden,' said the young man, 'I am going away. We shall have no more races together. When I see you again, it won't do for either of us to romp and run about.'

'Why? Are you not coming to see us till you are old?'

'I don't know that, but I shall not come very soon. After a while I shall go across the ocean, and you will grow up to be a young woman. So I must say a long good-by now to my little patient.'

Sarah was twelve, Egerton scarcely twenty. For the instant, young as she was, there was actually established between them a sentimental relation. They stood a moment looking at each other.

'Good-by,' said Egerton, taking her hand. 'I think I must have this for a keepsake.' It was a straggling curl, detached from its companions, which the student laid hold of. Sarah said not one word, but took a neat little morocco 'housewife' from her pocket, produced a small pair of scissors, and clipped the curl quickly, leaving it in Egerton's hand.

'You won't forget me,' he said.

'No.'

In an instant more she was bounding over the green grass, while the other walked slowly into the house. In a few minutes he was off. I do not think this scene produced any impression on Sarah Burns beyond the passing moment; but to Egerton, who was just of an age to cherish such an incident, it furnished material for a romantic idea, which he nourished until it came to be a part of his life plans. Whatever was the reason which actuated him, it is a fact that he wrote Mr. Burns, not often, to be sure, but quite regularly. After two or three years he went abroad, still keeping up his correspondence. Mr. Burns, for some reason we will not conjecture, was not in the habit of speaking to his daughter about Egerton. Possibly he did not wish her to remember him as a grown-up man while she was still a little girl. Possibly, he desired, should they ever meet, that their acquaintance might commence afresh. At any rate, Sarah was left quite to forget the existence of the young fellow who watched by her so faithfully; or if by some chance some recollection of him, as connected with that dreadful season, came into her mind, it was purely evanescent and without consequence. Mr. Burns, however, always cherished certain hopes. The reader will recollect his sadness of heart when he discovered how matters stood between Sarah and Hiram Meeker. This was owing principally to his honest aversion to Hiram; but a disappointment lurked at the bottom. It was only the week before the scene at the preparatory lecture that he had received a letter from Egerton, written on American soil, advising him of his return from Europe in a vessel just arrived from Marseilles. Mr. Burns answered it immediately, inviting him to come at once and make him a visit; but he breathed not a word of this to Sarah.

Affairs between her and Hiram were brought to a crisis much faster than Mr. Burns could have anticipated. In short, Dr. Egerton arrived at the most auspicious moment possible. But I shall not be precipitate. On the contrary, I shall leave the lovers, if lovers they are to be, to pursue their destiny in the only true way, namely, through a tantalizing maze of hopes and fears and doubts and charming hesitations and anxieties to a denouement, while I return to the proper subject of this narrative--Hiram Meeker.

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