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CHAPTER XXVII.
THE DOCTOR'S DEPARTURE.
"Work, love, and wrestle on,
Loving God best;
Then when thy work is done,
Lie down and rest."
"Through sunless cities, and the weary haunts
Of smoke-grimed labour, and foul revelry,
My flagging wing has swept."—The Saint's Tragedy.
Panting, the Mimosa lay beside the wharf. The villagers, who had a half-holiday to see the doctor off, were congregated on the jetty to receive a last handshake from their benefactor. Women were crying, men lamenting, and discussing "how things would go without him."
"He looks bad," said one, a calculating creature. "I suppose it's all right with us, if anything happens him."
"God help us then!" replied the other, fervently.
"The property's settled, ain't it?" asked the first speaker with concern.
"Property, property, property, that's what I hears 'em say, rich and poor alike," replied his companion, with feeling. "You heard him tell he was leavin' all to us. What 'ud be the good of that," continued the good soul, "if anything happened him? I'd see no light lying
