A physician was now sent for from the distant town, and his words to Beebee were words of wisdom.
“It is not medicine I will give my fair young patient,” he said. “It is not medicine that she needs. It is the soul that is sick, not the body. But if the body is strengthened the soul will become calm. My patient grieves for an absent father, perhaps.”
Beebee sighed, and the tears stole into her eyes.
“She must seek for surcease of sorrow every day in the forest,” continued the physician. “Let her go with armed attendants, for wild beasts are many, deep in the dark woodland recesses.”
Then Beebee smiled through her tears.
“In the turret high,” she said, “one can catch glimpses of the ever-changing sea.”
“Yes, yes, my patient may go there often.”
“I would sleep there.”
“Good. My patient shall. So now adieu! I will come again.”
“You are wise and good,” said Beebee innocently. “I shall pray for you.”