"There will be plenty to talk of there," said Dr. Peterssen. "We will settle preliminaries here, before we part."
"What do you want?" asked Leonard, with a dark look.
"A clear understanding, and an undertaking in writing. You see, old comrade, I am doing your dirty work, not my own. I don't object to your enjoying the lion's share of the spoil, but I must have some guarantee of a sure and certain income."
"It is already agreed that you are to have three hundred a year, which with the three hundred you will receive from the father of your patient, makes you very comfortable."
"Not as comfortable as I ought to be," said Dr. Peterssen, placidly.
"What the mischief do you want? You have got a check for two thousand out of me."
"A retainer, my dear Leonard, merely a retainer. I should have stuck out for more, but I am always sacrificing myself for others. The three hundred must be six. Don't look black; a heart-stricken expression is advisable, with strangers observing us. The eyes of half-a-dozen are fixed on us at the present moment, and there would be the devil to pay if they suspected there was the smallest difference of opinion between us. Remember the stake you are playing for."
"You seem to hold the winning cards."
"I never play a game without them, dear old chum, but you must admit that my winnings are small in comparison with yours. Notice the smile of sad resignation on my face, with which I cajole our friends the simple villagers. Yes, Leonard, the three hundred must be six."
"I carry your brother Gerald from the carriage back to the inn. He is not in a fit state to travel, I say in reply to questions; I will not risk his life. I nurse him into health, I restore his senses--quite possible, I believe. I keep a watchful eye upon Emilia also, in order that you shall play no tricks, and she, too, gets well. Then I bring the two together, and leave you, noble captain, to your own devices. All very beautifully arranged, is it not, sweet child?"