Balder looked perplexed, till, thinking the old gentleman might be referring to a reunion in a future state, he said,-"You believe that people recognize one another in the next world, Mr. MacGentle?"
"Perhaps,--perhaps; but why not here as well?" murmured the other, in reply; and Balder, suspecting a return of absent-mindedness, yielded the point. He had grown up in the belief that his twin-sister had died in her infancy; but his venerable friend appeared to be under a different impression.
"I shall go to New York, and try to find my uncle, or some trace of him," said he. "If I'm unsuccessful, I mean to come back here, and settle as a physician."
"What is your specialty?"
"I'm an eye-doctor. The Boston people are not all clear-eyed, I hope."
"Not all,--I should say not all; perhaps you may be able to help me, to begin with," said Mr. MacGentle, with a gleam of melancholy humor. "I will ask Mr. Dyke about the chances for a practice he knows everything. And, Balder," he added, when the young man rose to go, "let me hear from you, and see you again sometimes, whatever may happen to you in the way of fortune. I'm rather a lonely old man,--a lonely old man, Balder."
"I'll be here again very soon, unless I get married, or commit a murder or some such enormity," rejoined Helwyse, his long mustache curling to, his smile. They shook hands,--the vigorous young god of the sun and the faded old wraith of Brahmanism,--with a friendly look into each other's eyes.