They stood now at the end of the garden, before a small, dilapidated summer-house.  On the bench inside, facing him, Theron saw a strange recumbent figure stretched at full length, apparently sound asleep, or it might be dead.  Looking closer, with a startled surprise, he made out the shaven skull and outlandish garb of a Chinaman.  He turned toward his guide in the expectation of a scene.

The doctor had already taken out a note-book and pencil, and was drawing his watch from his pocket.  He stepped into the summer-house, and, lifting the Oriental’s limp arm, took account of his pulse.  Then, with head bowed low, side-wise, he listened for the heart-action.  Finally, he somewhat brusquely pushed back one of the Chinaman’s eyelids, and made a minute inspection of what the operation disclosed.  Returning to the light, he inscribed some notes in his book, put it back in his pocket, and came out.  In answer to Theron’s marvelling stare, he pointed toward a pipe of odd construction lying on the floor beneath the sleeper.

“This is one of my regular afternoon duties,” he explained, again with the whimsical half-smile.  “I am increasing his dose monthly by regular stages, and the results promise to be rather remarkable.  Heretofore, observations have been made mostly on diseased or morbidly deteriorated subjects.  This fellow of mine is strong as an ox, perfectly nourished, and watched over intelligently.  He can assimilate opium enough to kill you and me and every other vertebrate creature on the premises, without turning a hair, and he hasn’t got even fairly under way yet.”

The thing was unpleasant, and the young minister turned away.  They walked together up the path toward the house.  His mind was full now of the hostile things which Celia had said about the doctor.  He had vaguely sympathized with her then, upon no special knowledge of his own.  Now he felt that his sentiments were vehemently in accord with hers.  The doctor was a beast.

And yet—­as they moved slowly along through the garden the thought took sudden shape in his mind—­it would be only justice for him to get also the doctor’s opinion of Celia.  Even while they offended and repelled him, he could not close his eyes to the fact that the doctor’s experiments and occupations were those of a patient and exact man of science—­a philosopher.  And what he had said about women—­there was certainly a great deal of acumen and shrewd observation in that.  If he would only say what he really thought about Celia, and about her relations with the priest!  Yes, Theron recognized now there was nothing else that he so much needed light upon as those puzzling ties between Celia and Father Forbes.

He paused, with a simulated curiosity, about one of the flower-beds.  “Speaking of women and religion”—­he began, in as casual a tone as he could command—­“I notice curiously enough in my own case, that as I develop in what you may call the—­the other direction, my wife, who formerly was not especially devote, is being strongly attracted by the most unthinking and hysterical side of—­of our church system.”