“So this is the great scientist,” she said aloud, disappointment pictured in every lineament of her face—and indeed any casual observer would never give him a second thought. Reuben, always a well-bred servant, could barely restrain his impatience, and without waiting for the doctor to ring, he opened the door and unceremoniously ushered him into the library where Mr. De Vere was absorbed in the morning papers.
“De doctah, Massa,” Reuben announced, immediately ascending to Hernando’s room.
“Ah, good morning, Doctor,” said Mr. De Vere extending his hand. “Glorious weather this. Pray be seated.” He drew a great easy-chair before the western window which overlooked the city and pointing to the blue hills among which lay Shushan, remarked: “Like Hernando, you too are striving for the betterment of suffering humanity, only on different lines.”
Dr. Herschel’s glance followed his. His eyes were deep set, but their color was lost in the brilliancy of the mind which saw through them more than this world of material facts and threw the light of its genius into unexplored regions. Without removing his glance, he said in a low, even-toned voice, “I believe you surveyed out that tract of land.”
“Yes, and found it an unsavory job,” Mr. De Vere laughed.
Dr. Herschel’s countenance wore no answering smile as he replied: “True, the stench is almost overpowering, but the waters from ‘Stinking Spring,’ particularly, I believe to possess undoubted curative properties.”
“I sincerely trust they may, but to me that spot is the most obnoxious on the globe and the poor unfortunate who laved in that water would be a martyr indeed.”
“All of us are more or less,” replied the doctor abruptly, “but time is passing, shall I see the patient now?”
Reuben’s quick ear caught the question and almost instantly his black form appeared in the doorway, and without more ceremony Dr. Herschel was escorted to Hernando’s room. On the way upstairs he touched Reuben on the shoulder with, “Have you excluded all but yourself?”
“Yes, sah.”