"Take care of that young man," he said. "He is a prisoner of great importance. Answer no questions concerning him, but treat him well. It is necessary that his health should be preserved."
"I suspected quite as much," replied the head jailer. "I have brains. He is no common thief. They wish him for something else, hey?"
"Ay," said the doctor, "that is it. You will find it out in good time, but now I see that you are in the secret keep it close."
To his surprise, shortly after dark our prisoner heard a shuffling at the door of the cell. He had been shivering in the straw in a thin worn blanket.
"Who's there?" he said, his teeth rattling, and his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of what was going on. There was no answer, but as he put out his hand he touched a bundle. He drew it toward him. It was a heavy patch-work quilt. He drew it around him, grateful for the warmth, and thankful in his heart to his unknown benefactor. Immediately he fell asleep as softly as a child might in its cradle.
The days passed quickly. At first it seemed as if George would go wild for the lack of some one to talk to. If it were not for the voices that he could hear at times, and for a few rays of sunlight that shot down the corridor, he would have gone mad. But the jailers treated him kindly; his food was plain, and it was evident that extra attention was being paid to him.
When the man who had first taken the gold piece appeared at the end of the first week, George held another toward him.
"Get me a book, something to read, for pity's sake," he said.
The man had taken the gold piece. "Ay, growl," he said. "'Twill do you lots of good. Where do you suspect you are—at an inn, my friend?"
He had returned, however, later in the day, and thrust a volume quickly through the bars.