his breast-bone. "I'm probably coming down with brain fever," he
told himself; and he had a happy moment of thinking how wretched
everybody would be when he died. Elizabeth would be _very_
wretched! David felt a wave of comfort, and on the impulse of
expected death, he turned toward home again.... However, if he
should by any chance recover, marriage was not for him. It
occurred to him that this would be a bitter surprise to
Elizabeth, whose engagement would of course be broken as soon as
she heard of his illness; and again he felt happier. No, he would
never marry. He would give his life to his profession--it had
long ago been decided that David was to be a doctor. But it would
be a lonely life. He looked ahead and saw himself a great
physician--no common doctor, like that old Doctor King who came
sometimes to see his mother; but a great man, dying nobly in some
awful epidemic. When Elizabeth heard of his magnificent courage,
she'd feel pretty badly. Rather different from Blair. How much
finer than to be merely looking forward to a lot of money that
somebody else had made! But perhaps that was why Elizabeth liked
Blair; because he was going to have money? And yet, how could she
compare Blair with,--well, _any_ fellow who meant to work
his own way? Here David touched bottom abruptly. "How can a
fellow take money he hasn't earned?" he said to himself. David's
feeling about independence was unusual in a boy of his years, and
it was not altogether admirable; it was, in fact, one of those
qualities that is a virtue, unless it becomes a vice.

When he was half-way across the bridge, he stopped to look down
at the slow, turbid river rolling below him. He stood there a
long time, leaning on the hand-rail. On the dun surface a sheen
of oil gathered, and spread, and gathered again. He could hear