"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?" "Dost thou believe in a God?" I asked. "Art thou a Christian?" "Surely," he replied indignantly. "Dost thou take me for a heathen, that thou shouldst ask me such a question?" "Well," I answered, "dost thou remember the tale of the good Samaritan, how the poor man, stricken by his wound, fell by the wayside, and how the priest with holy look passed by on the other side, then the Samaritan, seeing him, took pity upon him, and binding up his wounds, put him upon his own beast, and carrying him to the inn, paid for his lodging and left him there? Thou hast thy choice. Wilt thou be the priest or the good Samaritan?" The tears were in his eyes as he answered: "I will take the lad and keep him until he is restored to health and strength." "I thank thee," I answered. "I know not whether I will see thee again, but I shall not forget thy kindness. May thy God reward thee if I cannot, and as thou dealest with the lad, so may he deal with thee," and I put into his hands my purse. It had some money left in it. "Tell the boy that my thoughts shall be of him, and that I shall ever treasure in sweetest remembrance his friendship and love. It will brighten the pathway, and if I do not see him again, may God be with him." And turning, I passed to the door. The little Doctor followed me, and stretched out his hand. "Thou art a man," he said, "whatever thy faults. I will hold ever sacred the trust thou hast given me, and will deal with the boy as I would with my own." I wrung his hand, and crossing the room, I bent for a moment and pressed a kiss upon the cold forehead of the boy; then I passed from the room. The ship had turned, and was moving up the Thames at a rapid rate of speed towards London. I had gone upon deck, and wrapped in my cloak, stood watching the twinkling lights on the banks of the river, that marked where some pleasure house or dwelling lay. Someone touched me upon my arm, and looking up I saw the war-worn face of Sir William Stone.