The rain fell heavily, and it grew dark, for the night came rapidly
down. There was a furious ringing of the library bell; the doctor
had come home, and, as usual, wanted half a dozen things at once.
"Have you seen Dr. Asbury?"
"No. I came directly to the house; saw no one as I entered; and,
hearing the melodeon, followed the sound."
"What a joyful surprise it will be to him!" said Beulah, closing the
window and locking the melodeon. She led the way down the steps,
followed by her guardian and Charon. "Suppose you wait a while in
the music room? It adjoins the library, and you can see and hear
without being seen." suggested she, with her hand on the bolt of the
door. He assented, and stood near the threshold which connected the
rooms, while Beulah went into the library. The gas burned brightly,
and the doctor sat leaning far back in his armchair, with his feet
on an ottoman. His wife stood near him, stroking the gray hair from
his furrowed brow.
"Alice, I wish, dear, you would get me an iced lemonade, will you?"
"Let me make it for you," said Beulah, coming forward.
"Not you! At your peril, you touch it. You are overfond of the sour,
miss. Alice knows exactly how to suit me."
"So you have turned homeopathist? take acids to--"
"None of your observations, if you please. Just be good enough to
open the shutters, will you? It is as hot in this room as if the
equator ran between my feet and the wall. Charming weather, eh? And
still more charming prospect, that I shall have to go out into it
again before bedtime. One of my delectable patients has taken it
into his head to treat his wife and children to a rare show, in the
shape of a fit of mania-a-potu; and, ten to one, I shall have to
play spectator all night." He yawned as he spoke.
"You have an arduous time indeed," began Beulah; but he hastily put
in: "Oh, of all poor devils, we pill-box gentry do have the hardest
times! I am sick of patients, sick of physic, sick of the very sound
of my own name."
"If my guardian were only here to relieve--"
"Confound your guardian! Don't mention him in my presence. He is a
simpleton. He is what the 'Ettrick Shepherd' calls a 'Sumph.' You
have no guardian, I can tell you that. Before this he has gone
through all the transmigrations of 'Indur,' and the final
metempsychosis, gave him to the world a Celestial. Yes, child; a
Celestial. I fancy him at this instant, with two long plaits of hair
trailing behind him, as, with all the sublime complacency of
Celestials, he stalks majestically along, picking tea leaves.
Confound your guardian. Mention his name to me again, at the peril
of having your board raised."