“What a coward I am!” she cried, “with others looking to me for help, and shrinking from bearing a little pain!”
She hurried to the door, telling herself that there was relief in the surgery for all she suffered; but as she went along the dark passage to the door she felt that there was one only anodyne for the greater pain she bore.
As she slowly approached there was a quick scuffing noise, a dull rattle as of something falling, and the loud closing of a heavy lid; then, as she opened the door, she found Bob turning to meet her with an innocent smile upon his face, while he was uttering a low humming noise, as if he were practising the art of imitating a musical bee.
“What have you been doing, Bob?” said Rich hastily.
“Me, Miss? Doing?” said the boy wonderingly. “I ain’t a-been doing nothing. ’Tain’t likely, ’mong all these here dangerous thinks;” and Bob waved his hand round the surgery, as if indicating the bottles and specimen jars.
“Because you have been warned frequently, sir, not to meddle.”
“Course I have, Miss, and I wouldn’t do no harm.”
“Is my father asleep?”
“Jist like a top, Miss. He took his drops, and he’s lying on the sofy, sleeping beautiful. You can hear him breathe if you come and put your ear to the keyhole.”
“No, no,” said Rich hastily; but, all the same, she walked quickly to the consulting-room door, and opened it softly, to look in and see across the table, with its chemical apparatus, the light of the shaded lamp thrown upon the calm, placid, handsome face, as the doctor lay back on the couch, taking his drug-bought rest according to his nightly custom.