So it proved to be; for he had scarcely ceased speaking when the man struggled to his feet and looked about him in dazed bewilderment.
"Oh, papa, darling, have they killed you!" sobbed the young girl, springing wildly forward and throwing her arms about the dust-begrimed man.
"I don't know, Bernardine," he answered in a shrill voice. "I am sure every bone in my body is broken—quite sure."
"No," interrupted Doctor Gardiner, pitying the young girl in her distress; "you are only bruised. I am a doctor; if you will give me your address, I will look in and give you something when I return this way. I may return in an hour's time, I may be as late as to-morrow morning."
"We—we—could not pay for the services of a doctor, sir," sobbed the young girl. "If there is anything the matter, I will have to take poor papa to the hospital."
"I would never go to the hospital, Bernardine," whined the man in a low tone. "That will be the last of me if I ever have to go there."
"I would make no charge whatever," said Doctor Gardiner. "My services would be rendered gratis," he added, earnestly.
The young girl looked at him with tears shining in her great dark eyes.
"We live in the tenement just around the corner, sir," she said, "on the sixth floor. My father is David Moore, the basket-maker."
Doctor Gardiner dared not remain another moment talking with them, and with a hasty bow he re-entered his carriage. But during the remainder of his journey he could think of nothing but the sad, beautiful face of Bernardine Moore, the basket-maker's daughter.