CHAPTER XIV.
Need it be told how, on the following morning, as soon after breakfast as convenient, our artist—and now rich land-proprietor—beckoned to our host of the "Headless Lady," and with trembling lips and palpitating heart seized him by the arm, and walked with him for a good pace down the long, straight road leading up to the door of the inn? Or how the members of the club, who happened to be looking through the diamond-shaped panes of the old-fashioned bow window in that direction, remarked one to the other how mighty intimate our hero had suddenly become with his landlord, and their wonderments as to what he could find to talk to him about so confidentially?
Suddenly our host was observed to start, slap his thigh, then, with a hand upon each bent knee, he peers steadily into the face of his interlocutor, who is placing a hand upon his shoulder. Our host, now changing his position, extends a broad, fleshy palm towards his customer, which our artist clasps in his long, slender fingers with a more than usual hearty shake.
"Why, if they are not patting each other on the back, and laughing," exclaimed Parnassus. "What can be up?"
"Well, that's queer," observed the Professor. "Um—m—m—m?"
Whilst this dumb show was being enacted Dame Hearty entered her daughter's bedroom to announce to her that she had Dr. Bleedem's full permission to get up and dress herself; which permission, we may easily guess, was promptly taken advantage of. So jumping suddenly out of bed with the agility of youth, she quickly set about her toilet and ablutions.
"There is one thing," began her parent, "I wish to speak to you about."
"Yes, mother," responded Helen, absently, brushing out her curls before the glass with unusual despatch, and without turning towards her parent.
"Nay, hear me, girl," continued Dame Hearty; "it is seriously I would speak."