While the little man was talking, he was rushing across the wide hall, and down a long passage, Flower’s hand clasped in his. Finally he pushed open a baize-lined door, hastily admitted himself and Flower, and closed it behind them. The sanctum sanctorum was small, stuffy, dusty, dirty. There were several chairs, but they were all piled with relics, two or three tables were also crammed with tokens of the past. Flower was very weary, the dust and dirt made her sneeze, and she looked longingly for even the smallest corner of a chair on which to seat herself.
“I do want some breakfast so badly,” she began.
“Breakfast! My love, you shall have it presently. Now then, we’ll begin. This case that I have just unpacked contains teeth and a small portion of a jawbone. Ah! hark! what is that? She is coming already! Will that woman never leave me in peace? My love, the object of my life, the one object of my whole life, has been to benefit and educate the young. I thought at last I had found a pupil, but, ah, I fear she is very angry!”
The sound of a sharp voice was heard echoing down the stairs and along the passage, a sharp, high-pitched voice, accompanied by the sharper, shriller barking of a small dog.
“Zeb! I say, Zeb! Zebedee, if you have taken that young girl into your sanctum, I desire you to send her out this moment.”
The little man’s face grew pale; he pushed his spectacles still higher on his forehead.
“There, my love, do you hear her? I did my best for you. I was beginning your education.”
“Zeb! Zeb! Open the door this minute,” was shouted outside.
“You’ll remember, my love, to your dying day, that I showed you three teeth and the bit of jawbone of a Chinaman who died a thousand years ago.”
“Zeb!” thundered the voice.