"Nothing could be plainer," laughed the doctor. "Go is the word. Pick up your hat and its contents, you say. Here we are, take us and go. Such wisdom! For real out and out witchcraft, commend me to a black cat. Ah, Kittyboy, it is well you did not live in the time of those old fellows, my ancestors, Wrastling Brewster and Preserved Fish, and the rest, or we'd both be strung up for practicing the black arts, although such names as they had were enough to choke them without hanging.
"Well, my small wizard, go it is, since your suggestion suits my inclination; who knows? who knows?" He sat absently stroking the little cat, who had returned to the table, and it was evident that something had given him food for deep, and not altogether unpleasant, reflection, for the evening paper lay untouched, and the open fire seemed to hold the man's fixed attention. Was it Kittyboy's sorceries that caused past events to rise as flames from ashes, to add a new warmth to a half-chilled memory?
The next morning it was that Dr. Brewster turned his steps toward a quiet street in a modest quarter of the city. An open square gave a pleasant, airy appearance to the neighborhood. The sun was shining brightly, but the air was frosty, and the doctor stepped along briskly. His footsteps did not falter until he reached the house, 610 West Twelfth Street, and then for a moment he paused, taking off his hat and wiping his brow as if it were a warm day. Immediately after, however, he mounted the steps with a firm step and gave the bell a vigorous pull. It was answered by a neat maid, who paused expectantly for the card, which the doctor did not produce. "Tell Mrs. Temple a friend wishes to see her," was his message.
He was ushered into a small room, which was warm and cosy. A fire glowed in a Baltimore heater. There were pretty, tasteful articles scattered about, which gave the room a cheerful, homelike look. The doctor picked up a book from the table, put it down again, nervously took two or three turns up and down the floor, and finally stationed himself, with his hands behind him, at one of the windows, fixing his eyes upon the street.
Presently some one entered, and a soft voice said, "You wished to see me?"
The doctor turned abruptly, and held out his hand to the tall, fair woman who stood before him. "Elinor," he said,—the color mounted to the lady's cheek,—"Dr. Brewster," she faltered. "How—where did you learn of me?"
"At the club," replied the doctor, gravely and truthfully.
"It is truly good to see an old friend," continued Mrs. Temple. "You know—you have heard."
"I know nothing but that you are here," answered the doctor.