That desirable consummation arrived at last. The man departed, and paced away on his beat with his official tread. George returned indoors.
"I fancied you were waiting to see me," observed Mr. King. "Is anything the matter?"
"Not with me. I want to put you upon your honour, doctor," continued George, a momentary smile crossing his lips.
"To put me upon my honour!" echoed the surgeon, staring at George.
"I wish to let you into a secret: but you must give me your word of honour that you will be a true man, and not betray it. In short, I want to enlist your sympathies, your kindly nature, heartily in the cause."
"I suppose some of the poor have got into trouble?" cried Mr. King, not very well knowing what to make of the words.
"No," said George. "Let me put a case to you. One under the ban of the law and his fellow-men, whom a word could betray to years of punishment—lies in sore need of medical skill; if he cannot obtain it he may soon die. Will you be a good Samaritan, and give it; and faithfully keep the secret?"
Mr. King regarded George attentively, slowly rubbing his bald head: he was a man of six-and-sixty now. "Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" he asked.
George paused, perhaps rather taken back; but the surgeon's face was kindly, its expression benevolent. "What if I were? Would you be true to him?"
"Yes, I would: and I am surprised that you thought it necessary to ask. Were the greatest criminal on earth lying in secret, and wanting my aid, I would give it and be silent. I go as a healing man; not in the name of the law. Were a doctor taken to a patient under such circumstances, to betray trust, he would violate his duty. Medical men are not informers."