The doctor dropped his questioning and turned to his patient. He subjected the man to the stomach-pump and hot baths. Donaldson assisted and watched every detail of the vigorous treatment with increasing interest. At the end of two hours Arsdale was allowed to sleep. Seton put on his coat and wrote out instructions for the further care of the man. But before leaving he again turned his shrewd eyes upon Donaldson himself. "My boy," he said kindly, "you ought to pay some attention to your own health. I hate to see a man of your age go to pieces." He squinted curiously at Donaldson's eyes. The latter withdrew a little. "What makes you think there is anything wrong with me?" he asked. "Your eyes for one thing," he answered. "Nonsense. If I need anything, its only a good sweating, such as you gave Arsdale." "There are some poisons not so easily sweated out." Donaldson hesitated. While watching this man at work upon the boy, he had felt a temptation which was now burning hot within him. It was possible that it was not too late even now to clean his own system of the drug he had swallowed. This man, he knew, would bring to his aid all the wisdom of medical science. Barstow may have been mistaken, although he knew the careful chemist well enough to realize this was well nigh an impossibility. The next second he held out his hand. It was steady. He smiled as he saw Seton pause a moment to note if it trembled. "Thanks for all you 've done, doctor," he said. "Do you think I can take him home tomorrow?" "If you follow my instructions. The boy really has a sound physique. He ought to pull out quickly." As the door closed upon the doctor, Donaldson drew a breath of relief. Thank God he had resisted his impulse. He would keep true to his compact. He must remain true to himself. That was all that was now left. There must be no shirking--no flinching. If he had played the fool, he must not play the coward. The subtle tempter had suggested the girl, but he realized that he had better not come to her at all than to come as one who had played unfairly with himself. To be unfaithful to the spirit of his undertaking would be as weak a thing as not to fulfill the letter of his oath. His shadowy duty to the girl would not justify himself in evading a crisis demanding his life for the life of another, nor would it vindicate the greater evasion. It was a matter of honor to remain true to that which at the start had justified the whole hazard to him. It was this which restrained him even from learning whether or not Barstow was in town. The man on the bed was breathing heavily, his lips moving at every breath in a way to form a grimace. He made in this condition the whole room as tawdry as a tavern tap. And at the feet of this thing he was tossing his meager store of golden minutes.