'I supposed so. A word with you outside.'
To Hiram this was a joyful summons, and he responded with alacrity.
As they went out, the doctor closed the door, and the two stood together in the gloomy hall at the top of the staircase.
'Mr. Meeker, you recognize me, doubtless?'
There was no reply.
'I am Dr. Peters, who called to see you about two weeks ago, on behalf of a poor woman whose dead body is now in that room. I told you, if she had to be moved, it would kill her. Your agent drove her out, and she lies here dead! It has made her husband crazy—a temporary lunacy, I trust—but, whatever it is, there you see the whole.
'I am expecting some persons every moment,' he continued, 'who will remain here all night, and I will detain you no longer.'
The doctor spoke in such a tone of quiet dignity, that it was impossible for Hiram to reply. He fumbled for a moment in his coat, and then drew out his pocket book. Producing several bills, he offered them to the doctor, muttering half inaudibly something about his desire to pay funeral expenses.
The young physician drew back, as if in danger of contamination.
'Your money perish with you!' he said, solemnly. 'Think you charity consists in bank notes?'