He arose and greeted Mollie with easy courtesy, his dark eyes searching her face with a kind but penetrating look, and instantly a strange feeling of peace fell upon her aching, rebellious heart. She took the chair he offered her, and then opened her heart to him, telling him all her trouble and sorrow—of her father's long illness, of the many weary months of anxious care and hopeless seeking after help from various sources, and of her last despairing efforts and their result. The gentleman did not once interrupt her, but sat with downcast eyes and attentive mien until she concluded, when she tremulously inquired:
"Can you help him—is there any hope, do you think?"
"My dear child, there is every hope," her companion confidently replied. "God is always a help in time of trouble."
"God!" repeated Mollie, with a bitter inflection. "I have begun to believe there is no God."
The gentleman bent a pitiful glance upon her.
"I am sure that you will never say that again," he replied after a moment of silence.
Then he asked her a few questions, after which he remarked that he would take the case if she desired, and would visit her father later in the day.
Mollie arose, a peculiar feeling of restfulness and hope having succeeded her previous weariness and despair; and, opening her purse, inquired what she should pay for the consultation.
"Nothing for our little talk, Miss Heatherford," said Mr. Freeman, with a quiet smile; "we are always glad to have people come to us when in trouble. Scientists, when they take patients, usually treat them by the week, the sum being uniform, unless frequent visits are required; of course, you understand that no medicines—no remedies of any kind—are to be used."
He then mentioned the amount for a week's treatment, and which seemed to the wondering girl exceedingly paltry; but she paid it, and then went away with that same strange, sweet peace still pervading her.