ess, as if of a sight
that should but could not be veiled. Overhead, and clean to the flat
horizon, flashed a sky of blue and blazing fire.

"Passengers for Calhoun!"

The three physicians descended into the dory. The other
passengers--what there were of them--gathered to see the little group
depart. Dr. Frank offered Dr. Dare a hand, which she accepted, like a
lady, not needing it in the least. She was a climber, with firm, lithe
ankles. No one spoke, as these people got in with the negro, and
prepared to drift down with the scorching tide. The woman looked from
the steamer to the shore, once, and back again, northwards. The men
did not look at all. There was an oppression in the scene which no one
was ready to run the risk of increasing by the wrong word.

"Land me here, too," said a low voice, suddenly appearing. It was the
glum passenger. No one noticed him, except, perhaps, the mate (looking
on with the air of a man who would feel an individual grievance in
anything this person would be likely to do) and the lady.

"There is room for you," said Dr. Dare. The man let himself into the
boat at a light bound, and the negro rowed them away. The _Mercy_,
heading outwards, seemed to shrug her shoulders, as if she had thrown
them off. The strip of burning water between them and the town
narrowed rapidly, and the group set their faces firmly landwards.
Once, upon the little voyage, Dr. Frank took up an idle pair of oars,
with some vaguely humane intent of helping the negro--he looked so.

"I wouldn't, Frank," said the other gentleman.

"Now, Remane--why, for instance?"

"I wouldn't begin by getting overheated."

No other word was spoken. They landed in silence. In silence, and
somewhat weakly, the negro pulled the dory high upon the beach. The
four passengers stood for a moment upon the hot, white sands, moved
toward one another, before they separated, by a blind sense of human
fellowship. Even Remane found himself touching his hat. Dr. Frank
asked Dr. Dare if he could serve her in any way; but she thanked him,
and, holding out her firm, white hand, said, "Good-bye."

This was, perhaps, the first moment when the consciousness of her sex
had made itself oppressive to her since she ventured upon this
undertaking. She would have minded presenting herself to the Relief
Committee of Calhoun, accompanied by gentlemen upon whom she had no
claim. She walked on alone, in her gray dress and white straw hat,
with her luggag