When he is gone, Mae, in order for ablution, opens near by a door, that is outwardly a picture. (More mystery).
Can it be the secret sanctum of Savant, that I have so vainly hunted? Father sits in an easy chair deeply engaged with a pictured script. I look around but see no books or apparatus—a cheerful, cosy room only. I look over father’s shoulder as he turns the papyrus leaf, holding over it a microscope. I catch sight of the meaning. Giving a sudden cry, he arouses to my presence. He takes me on his knee, and we follow together the tiny pictured lines of a story.
Anon a kitten purrs by me; I look up and see the host intently reading my expression in his own absorbed, telepathic style. Genially smiling, he takes my two hands, and kneeling places them on his head, thus confessing his service to my will. Though in my new normal state, I feel to deprecate myself, and smile in humblest mode, as he rises and sits next us in similar seat.
Before we turn to our occupation, an incandescent glow falls upon the page, causing us to raise our eyes quite wonderingly. The light emanates quite mysteriously from Robet, whom I had not before observed as thus illumined. I see in her hand a lighted lantern, which she is studying, or the shining words upon it.
That these latter are possibly a code of rules is determined by her action. Sinking down at Savant’s feet, she asks, “Do give me some new plan for court to-day.”
“I will give you one,” speaks up father. She turns full to him.
“It is lawyer, a word signifying welfare.”
I was aware my English language was prolific of varied meanings. I am pleased to hear this development. “Law,” he continues, “transposed is ‘well;’ yer is ‘fare.’”
Miss Robet has caught his idea, and elaborates it. “When I go into court, the good word shall be welfare; when I come out—farewell,” and is gone.
Dear Robet, what is her secret sorrow, that she hides in her tender breast? Her genial soul should have no rebuff. Why is her intended away, as I have heard?