“And for one who can never repay!” echoed the doctor still more sadly.
“Who can tell that?” said Cashel. “There's many a coinage costlier than ever the mint fashioned; he may requite me thus.”
The doctor started. “You mean—no!—no!” cried he, interrupting himself, “that were too great good fortune. I must tell you, sir,” added he, in a firm voice, “that there is nothing—absolutely nothing—to give you in requital for such aid. My friend's alternative is a prison, or be your debtor for what he cannot pay.”
“I am content,—perfectly content,” said Roland. “There is no need to say another word on the matter. Do not suffer him to endure any anxiety we can spare him; tell him at once the thing is done.”
“We must think over this a little,” said Tiernay, musing. “Con is a difficult fellow to deal with; there must be something which shall give it the semblance of a loan; he must be made to believe it is only a change of creditors.”
“Could not we arrange it without his knowledge, while you could affect to have made some settlement which has satisfied the others?”
“Too late,—too late, for that; he has seen Hoare himself.”
“Hoare!—the money-lender from Dublin?” said Cashel, blushing at the recollection of his own acquaintance with him.
“Ay, sir, of course you know him! A man cannot enjoy such distinguished friendships as you have without the aid of usurers?”
Cashel smiled good-humoredly, and went on,—