“Dying?”
“Yes. I’ve come for the best doctor in London.”
“And you sit still there!” cried Tom. “Have you sent him?”
“No,” said Hopper coolly. “Wait a minute. Tom, my lad, do you think you can throw away your pride to save her?”
“I’d throw away my life,” he cried passionately.
“That wouldn’t save hers. Here, take this. Quick—there’s a hundred pounds. Take it, you young fool! Go down at once to her, and throw away all nonsense. Tell her you love her; ask her to forgive you; and—”
“Yes—yes,” cried Tom. “Go on.”
“And marry her, you young idiot!”
“But a train?” cried Tom despairingly. “It will be too late to-night.”
“You have the money: if necessary, take a special,” said the old man. “What’s fifty or a hundred pounds to happiness, or life?”