So the box was brought. To accommodate it a hearse was hired—no cab or carriage would contain it in a horizontal position.
The chest with the hysterical girl in it was carried into one of Budd’s rooms in his house, where the shutters were closed and the curtains drawn.
The weeping mother departed after giving strict injunctions to the Doctor not to allow any noise to be made in the house, no doors to be slammed, or poor darling Evangeline would go into convulsions—so highly strung were her sensitive nerves.
“Humph!” said Budd, and saw the good lady depart. He allowed ten minutes to elapse, and then he went upstairs, stamping on each step, threw open the door of the room in which his patient lay, and shouted—
“Halloo! What tomfoolery is this? I’ll soon make an end to it.” He went to the window, drew back the curtains, threw open the shutters, and let the sun stream into the apartment.
The girl began to moan and cry.
“Stop that nonsense!” said he. “I’m not like that fool of a mother of yours to believe in your whims. Get out of that box this instant.”
The girl began to tremble, but made no attempt to obey.
Budd went to a drawer and pulled out a pistol. Then to a cupboard and emptied a draught into a glass.