As Frank was looking out the drugs, Mr. Pine came in. He was rather fond of running in for a chat with the doctor and Frank at leisure moments. Frank was an especial favourite of his, with his unaffected goodness of heart and his genial nature.
"A fine state of things, is it not!" cried the clergyman, alluding to the idlers in the streets. "Three days of it, we have had now."
"They will be at work to-morrow, I hear," said the doctor.
"Has Bell turned up yet?"
"No. The men have just told me they don't know where to look for him. They have searched everywhere. It seems strange where he can have got to."
Blase Pellet, standing before the table, waiting for the drugs, caught Frank's eye as the last words were spoken. A meaning look shot out from Pellet, and Frank Raynor's gaze fell as he met it. It plainly said, "You know where he is:" or it seemed so to Frank's guilty conscience.
"The fellow must have seen all!" thought Frank. "What on earth will come of it?"
Some one pushed back the half-open door, and stepped in with a quick gait and rather a sharp tongue: sharp, at least, this afternoon. Dame Bell: in her Sunday Paisley shawl, and green strings to her bonnet.
"If you please, Dr. Raynor—I beg pardon, gentlefolk"—catching sight of the clergyman—"if you please, doctor, could you give me some little thing to quiet Rosaline's nerves. She heard the Seven Whistlers last night, and they have frightened her out of her senses."
"Heard the Seven Whistlers!" repeated the clergyman, a hearty smile crossing his face.