The laboratory which joined the study was a large room with glass on two sides, fitted out with both a heating apparatus and a refrigerating process. Cabinets with glass-covered drawers filled with butterflies in all stages of development, from the egg to the perfect insect, lined one side of the apartment. Another side was fitted with shelves which were filled with drying ovens, breeding cages, field boxes, poison jars, setting boards, and all the paraphernalia of a naturalist. Twigs, branches of trees and leaves jutted out from artificial crevices on some of which innumerable caterpillars were feeding; on others the chrysalids had already formed, and hung awaiting the moment when they should be released from their sleep.
It was not a room that many girls would enjoy, but to Beatrice Raymond it was filled with charm. She was truly interested in the marvel of the evolution of the butterfly, and through that interest had overcome her natural repugnance to the caterpillar from which it came. Added to this was the growing delight in her father's society. It is doubtful if Doctor Raymond knew how much his daughter loved him, or if he returned her affection in like degree. He was much absorbed in his work, and had been without her for so many years that it was hardly to be expected that among so many interests she would be first. He did, however, delight in the girl's quick comprehension and her devotion to study. Then, too, Beatrice saw that he turned to her more and more for help in his work, and that he seemed to enjoy talking to her of his plans, and she was content, believing truly that all this would lead to a deep and abiding affection.
As they entered the laboratory several butterflies rose from some twigs, circled about the room and settled upon the portion of glass where the sun shone brightest.
"What children of the sun they are!" exclaimed the scientist, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
"Oh, father," cried Bee. "Here is a drop of blood. Could one of the pretty things have hurt itself?"
"No, child; some lepidopterous insects always leave a drop of red fluid when emerging from the pupa state. This is especially true of the Vanessa urtica. Have you ever read of red rain, or the showers of blood of antiquity?"
"Yes;" answered Beatrice, eager to show her knowledge. "Professor Lawrence told us about it. He read some lines from Ovid, too. Let me see. I know:
"'With threatening signs the lowering skies were filled
And sanguine drops from murky clouds distilled.'
"He said that Ovid referred to the shower of blood."
"Here you have the explanation of that phenomenon, Beatrice. It used to be regarded as a prodigy that portended all sorts of evil, and whenever it occurred people were alarmed, and referred all disasters to its coming. It remained for the French philosopher, Peiresc, to give the first satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon.