"It is not myself, Sir George," she said, then making a great effort to control her voice—"I have come about my father—my father is one of your patients. His name is Harman."
Sir George turned to a large book at his side, opened it at a certain page, read quietly for a moment, then closing it, fixed his keen eyes on the young lady.
"You are right," he said, "your father, Mr. Harman, is one of my patients. He came to see me no later than last week."
"Sir," said Charlotte, and her voice grew steadier and braver as she spoke, "I am in perfect health, and my father is ill. I have come here to-day to learn from your lips the exact truth as to his case."
"The exact truth?" said the doctor. "Does your father know you have come here, Miss—Miss Harman?"
"He does not, Sir George. My father is a widower, and I am his only child. He has endeavored to keep this thing from me, and hitherto has partially succeeded. Yesterday, through another source, I learned that he is very seriously ill. I have come to you to know the truth. You will tell it to me, will you not?"
"I certainly can tell it to you."
"And you will?"
"Well, the fact is, Miss Harman, he is anxious that you should not know. I am scarcely prepared to fathom your strength of character. Any shock will be of serious consequence to him. How can I tell how you will act when you know all?"
"You are preparing me for the worst now, Sir George. I solemnly promise you in no way to use my knowledge so as to give my father the slightest shock."