When Hiram received the summons to attend Dr. Chellis in his study, he was in the midst of a calculation as to the profit and loss of a certain operation, which I do not propose to explain to the reader. He had intended to call on the Doctor immediately on his return from Hampton, but was too much occupied. When, however, he came to a sudden break with Mrs. Tenant (he did not intend it should be sudden), he felt the necessity of fortifying himself in the church, for he was well aware of the deservedly high character Mr. Tenant enjoyed in it. He did not know the intimate relations which existed between him and the Doctor.
Although the weather was exceedingly warm, Hiram wore his complete suit of black cloth, and as he came with downcast eyes and mincing steps into the Doctor's room, the latter, who had taken his accustomed seat before his table, looked at him as he would at some strange, extraordinary apparition. He returned Hiram's salutation so gravely that it checked any further advance toward shaking hands. He proceeded, however, to take a seat without waiting to be asked.
'Something wrong,' he said to himself. 'It can't be he has heard of it so soon—only this very afternoon; impossible. Perhaps he is at work on his sermon. I must apologize.'
Thereupon Hiram took courage, and said, in a bland tone:
'I fear I am interrupting you in your valuable labors; shall I not call another time?'
'No; I am quite at liberty;' and the Doctor looked as if he would ask, 'What do you want?'
'You have without doubt heard of my affliction,' groaned Hiram, producing his pocket handkerchief.
'Your mother died lately, I understand.'
Hiram's answer was inaudible; his face was buried in his handkerchief.
The Doctor was becoming impatient.