“But, my lord, the man ought to be given up to justice,” said the physician, with a frown. “No one knows better than yourself that he is no fit subject for justice now, nor will he be for a good while to come.” “That is so. He’ll have a hard time of it before he gets through. The bone is shattered. There will be fever, and a great deal of pain; while if mortification sets in, he’ll get justice in another world.” “Then please oblige me by keeping the matter quiet, and do the best you can for him at my expense.” “Surely you don’t mean to keep the fellow here?” exclaimed the doctor, in amazement. “Certainly. What did you suppose I would do with him?” Earle asked quietly. “Send him to the alms-house or hospital. It belongs to the authorities to take care of such scamps.” “If a friend of yours had been injured in this way, would you advocate sending him to the hospital? Would the excitement and fatigue of the removal be beneficial?” Earle asked pointedly. “No; inflammation would probably follow, and the patient would doubtless die,” the physician coolly admitted. “That is the way I reasoned the question; therefore I hold myself, in a measure, responsible for this man’s life,” was the grave reply. “The earth would be well rid of a villain,” answered the doctor, gruffly. “It was only the luck of the thing that prevented your being where he is now, or perhaps a corpse.” “Not ‘luck,’ my friend, but the hand of Providence,” Earle interposed, with his rare smile. “Your judgment and my conscience tell me that the man will die unless he has the very best of care. He must be kept quiet, and free from anxiety; so I have decided that he shall remain here until he recovers.” “But who will take care of him?” asked the physician, his gruffness all gone, and a look that was not disapprobation in his eye. “I will see that he lacks for no care or attention; as a wounded and suffering man, he will be the same to me as a friend or guest until he gets well; and as such I shall expect you will also exercise your utmost skill, and do the very best you can for him,” Earle said, quietly. “Well, well, well!” muttered the astonished disciple of Esculapius; and then he stood regarding his companion for a moment, with raised eyebrows, and his mouth puckered into the smallest possible compass. “Unless you object to treating such a patient,” Earle added, with a little hauteur. “No, no, no; bless you, no!” Dr. Sargeant returned quickly. “I will do my very best for the poor wretch; you are right—it would be sacrificing his life to have him removed, and you may rely upon my discretion.” And the noted doctor went away somewhat mystified as to what manner of man the young marquis might be, that he was willing to turn his magnificent home into a hospital for thieves and robbers. Earle went back to his charge, whom he found restless, feverish and burning with intolerable thirst.