“What became of their friendship after that?” inquired Bressant.

“He I’m telling you of never knew any thing of what his friend had done till long afterward.  Well, the faculty and some of the wealthy patrons of the university determined to send the first scholar abroad, to finish his education:  he accepted the offer eagerly, and sailed for Europe, without bidding his friend good-by.  Afterward, the faculty made the same offer to him, on the consideration that he had stood so well, during his course, until the examination.  But he declined it:  it was contrary to his principle of never leaving his country.”

“What sort of a man was the friend?” asked Bressant, who was paying close attention, with his hand at his ear.

“Clever, with a winning manner, and fine-looking; had a pleasant, easy voice; never lost his temper that I know of.”  The professor paused, perhaps to arrange his ideas, ere he went on.  “The man I’m telling you of left the college-yard with as much of the world before him as lies between the fifteenth and twenty-fifth parallels of latitude, and the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.  He’d made up his mind to be a physician; and in a year he was qualified to enter the hospital; worked there four years, and, by the time he was twenty-nine, he had an office of his own and a good practice.

“At last, he fell in love with a beautiful woman; she was the daughter of one of his patients—­a Southerner with a little Spanish blood in him.  The young doctor had—­under Providence—­saved the man’s life; and, since he himself came of a good family—­none better—­and had a respectable income, there wasn’t much difficulty in arranging the match.  The only condition was, that the father should never be out of reach of his daughter, as long as he lived.”

“Was this Southerner rich?”

“Very rich; and a dowry would go with the daughter enough to make them more than independent for the rest of their lives.  Well, just about that time, the friend who had gone to Europe came back.  He’d done well abroad, and-was qualified for a high position at home.  He was engaged to marry a stylish, aristocratic girl, who was not, however, wealthy.  But he seemed very glad to see the doctor, and the doctor certainly was to see him, and invited him to stay at his house a while, and he introduced him into the house of his intended wife.”

Here the professor broke off from his story, and, getting up from his chair, he passed two or three times up and down the room; stopping at the window to pull a leaf from the extended branch of a cherry-tree growing outside, and again, by the empty fireplace, to roll the leaf up between his finger and thumb, and throw it upon the hearth.  When he returned to the bedside, he dropped himself into his chair with the slow, inelastic heaviness of age.

“The fellow played him a scurvy trick,” resumed he, presently.  “Exactly what he said or did will never be known, but it was all he safely could to put his friend in a bad light.  It was because he wanted the young lady for himself; he was ambitious, and needed her money to help him on.  What he said made a good deal of impression on the father; but the daughter wouldn’t believe it then—­at any rate, she loved the doctor still, and would, as long as she knew he loved her.”