The newly arrived doctor was an army surgeon, and proceeded, with all the readiness experience had taught him, to examine Forester's wound; while Sandy, to save time, opened old Hickman's case on the bed, and arranged the instruments.
“Look here, Mr. Daly,” said the doctor, as he drew some lint from the antiquated leather pocket,—“look here, and see how our old friend practises the art of medicine.” He took up, as he spoke, a roll of paper, and held it towards Daly: it was a packet of bill stamps of various value, for old Peter could never suffer himself to be taken short, and was always provided with the ready means of transacting money affairs with his patients.
“Here's my d——d old bond,” said Daly, laughing, as he drew forth a much-crumpled and time-discolored parchment; “I'd venture to say the man would deserve well of his country who would throw this confounded pocket-book, and its whole contents, into that fire.”
“Ye maybe want some o' the tools yet,” said Sandy, dryly, for, taking his master's observations in the light of a command, he was about to commit the case and the paper to the flames.
“Take care! take care!” said Mulville, in a whisper; “it might be a felony.”
“It's devilish little Sandy would care what name they would give it,” replied Daly; “he 'd put the owner on the top of them, and burn all together, on a very brief hint;” then, lowering his voice, he added, “What's his chance?”
“The chance of every young fellow of two or three-and-twenty to live through what would kill any man of my time of life. With good care and quiet, but quiet above all, he may rub through it. We must leave him now.”
“You 'll remain here,” said Daly; “you 'll not quit this, I hope?”
“For a day or two at least, I 'll not leave him.” And with this satisfactory assurance Daly closed the door, leaving Sandy on guard over the patient.
“Here's your case of instruments, Hickman,” said Daly, as the old doctor sat motionless in his gig, awaiting their reappearance; for, in his dread of further violence, he had preferred thus patiently to await their return, than venture once more into the company of Sandy M'Grane. “We 've robbed you of nothing except some lint; and,” added he in a whisper to Muiville, “I very much doubt if that case were ever opened and closed before with so slight an offence against the laws of property.”