The doctor stood gazing down at the sleeping man.
“Such temptations come to all,” he said softly; “and I have seen so many die that the passing away of one—well, what is it but the deep long sleep into which I could make him glide without pain?
“Ah, and afterwards? Poor lad! He came to me for sanctuary, and I had betrayed my trust. How could I look in the face of my son again—in the eye of my girl? Those clear eyes would read my secret, and I should be as one accurst.”
He bent down over the sleeping man again, and in spite of himself his hand stole gently towards his heart, trembling.
“They are worth thousands,” he said, “and they lie there as if of the value of a few pence. He came to me for refuge. Well, he shall not find that I have failed.”
There was no tremor in his hand now as he re-arranged the cover over Mark Heath’s breast, to stand afterwards calmly watching his guest; and then to go out into the surgery, turn down the gas, and slowly pace the floor, thinking deeply.
Every inch of the surgery was so familiar that the darkness was the same to him as the light, and the bitter coldness of the place seemed to refresh him.
At the end of a few minutes he stood perfectly still, thinking; and then going to one of the shelves, he ran his hand softly along the top row of small bottles, took one, and turned down the gas.
As he entered the consulting-room again, he glanced at the label, nodded his head in a satisfied manner, and after a glance at his patient he seemed to make up his mind what to do.
“Perhaps I shall sleep,” he thought, “and if I do he may wake. It will be a simple way.”