"Who knew his rights, and, knowing, dared maintain."
He had resigned a coach fare—slaved a night—and thought he had relieved his patient. He had a right to his fee.
On the other hand he paused, because, though he had small practice, he was tolerably well off, and did not care for money itself, and he suspected his patient to be no Cresus.
Meanwhile, the purse was in Helen's hand. He took it from her, and saw but a few sovereigns within the well-worn network. He drew the child a little aside.
"Answer me, my dear, frankly—is your papa rich?" And he glanced at the shabby clothes strewed on the chair, and Helen's faded frock.
"Alas, no!" said Helen, hanging her head.
"Is that all you have?"
"All."
"I am ashamed to offer you two guineas," said Mr. Digby's hollow voice from the bed.
"And I should be still more ashamed to take them. Good-bye, sir. Come here, my child. Keep your money, and don't waste it on the other doctor more than you can help. His medicines can do your father no good. But I suppose you must have some. He's no physician, therefore there's no fee. He'll send a bill—it can't be much. You understand. And now, God bless you."