“Da’ ‘s Peter, Mars’ Milt,” she pointed.  “Da’ ’s Peter, my son.  He—­he use’ to be my son ‘fo’ he went off to school; but sence he come home, he been a-laughin’ at me.”  Tears came to her eyes; she panted for a moment, then added:  “Yeah, he done marked his mammy down fuh a nigger, Mars’ Milt.  Whut I thought wuz gwine be sweet lays bitter in my mouf.”  She worked her thick lips as if the rank taste of her sickness were the very flavor of her son’s ingratitude.

A sudden gasp and twist of her body told Nan that the old woman was again seized with a spasm.  The neighbor woman took swift control, and waved out Peter and old Mr. Renfrew, while she and the doctor aided the huge negress.

The two evicted men went into Peter’s room and shut the door.  Peter, unnerved, groped, and presently found and lighted a lamp.  He put it down on his little table among his primary papers and examination papers.  He indicated to Captain Renfrew the single chair in the room.

But the old gentleman stood motionless in the mean room, with its head-line streaked walls.  Sounds of the heavy lifting of Peter’s mother came through the thin door and partition with painful clearness.  Peter opened his own small window, for the air in his room was foul.

Captain Renfrew stood in silence, with a remote sarcasm in his wrinkled eyes.  What was in his heart, why he had subjected himself to the noisomeness of failing flesh, Peter had not the faintest idea.  Once, out of studently habit, he glanced at Peter’s philosophic books, but apparently he read the titles without really observing them.  Once he looked at Peter.

“Peter,” he said colorlessly, “I hope you’ll be careful of Caroline’s feelings if she ever gets up again.  She has been very faithful to you, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes dampened.  A great desire mounted in him to explain himself to this strange old gentleman, to show him how inevitable had been the breach.  For some reason a veritable passion to reveal his heart to this his sole benefactor surged through the youth.

“Mr. Renfrew,” he stammered, “Mr. Renfrew—­I—­I—­” His throat abruptly ached and choked.  He felt his face distort in a spasm of uncontrollable grief.  He turned quickly from this strange old man with a remote sarcasm in his eyes and a remote affection in his tones.  Peter clenched his jaws, his nostrils spread in his effort stoically to bottle up his grief and remorse, like a white man; in an effort to keep from howling his agony aloud, like a negro.  He stood with aching throat and blurred eyes, trembling, swallowing, and silent.

Presently Nan Berry opened the door.  She held a half-burned paper in her hand; Dr. Jallup stood near the bed, portioning out some calomel and quinine.  The prevalent disease in Hooker’s Bend is malaria; Dr. Jallup always physicked for malaria.  On this occasion he diagnosed it must be a very severe attack of malaria indeed, so he measured out enormous doses.