"Robbins," he answered. "Doctor Robbins, of London, at thy service," and he bowed.
"Doctor Robbins," I continued, "I know no one in London that I would trust him to at a time like this."
"Ah! sad," he replied, "sad," and he shook his little round head like a monkey, a look of sorrow upon his face. "I heard thy story last night, when Sir Francis Drake related it to the gentlemen in the cabin. It is incredible—wonderful!"
"Thou must take the boy to thy house," I said, thoughtfully. "There is no one else, and I will repay thee well."
He started.
"My dear sir—my dear sir, I cannot take the boy. Thou art dreaming. I have no time—no place——"
"Thou must," I interrupted, "there is no one else. Either thou wilt take him, or his death be upon thy hands. I can do nothing for him confined in prison, probably to die."
"I pity thee," he answered sadly; "from the bottom of my heart I pity thee. But I have nowhere to put him; no one to look after him. What would I do with the lad on my hands?"
"Art married?" I asked.
"No," he answered, a faint smile upon his face. "I live with one sister, a maiden. What would she do with a boy sick unto death?"