"Did you? I understood them to say----But there's no harm done; I was coming down this way. A nice warm afternoon!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair as if he would take a little rest. "Are you having a tooth drawn, Dumps?" "No, sir, but I've got the face-ache awful," was Dumps's reply, who was holding a handkerchief to his right cheek. "It's what they call tic-douloureux, I fancy, for it comes on by fits and starts. I'm out of sorts altogether, and thought I'd ask Doctor King to make me up a bottle of physic." So the physic was for Dumps. Mr. King seemed a long time over it, measuring this liquid, measuring that, shaking it all up together, and gossiping the while. George, in his impatience, thought it would never come to an end. Dumps seemed to be in no hurry to depart, Mr. King in no hurry to dismiss him. They talked over half the news of the parish. They spoke of Rupert Trevlyn and his prolonged absence, and Mr. Dumps gave it as his opinion that "if he wasn't in hiding somewhere, he was gone for good." Whether Mr. Dumps meant gone to some foreign terrestrial country, or into a celestial, he did not explain. Utterly out of patience he rose and left the room, standing outside against the door-post, as if he would watch the passers-by. Perhaps the movement imparted an impetus to Mr. Dumps, for he also rose and took his bottle of medicine from the hands of the surgeon. But he lingered yet: and George thought he never would come forth. That desirable consummation arrived at last. The man departed, and paced away on his beat with his official tread. George returned indoors. "I fancied you were waiting to see me," observed Mr. King. "Is anything the matter?" "Not with me. I want to put you upon your honour, doctor," continued George, a momentary smile crossing his lips. "To put me upon my honour!" echoed the surgeon, staring at George. "I wish to let you into a secret: but you must give me your word of honour that you will be a true man, and not betray it. In short, I want to enlist your sympathies, your kindly nature, heartily in the cause." "I suppose some of the poor have got into trouble?" cried Mr. King, not very well knowing what to make of the words. "No," said George. "Let me put a case to you. One under the ban of the law and his fellow-men, whom a word could betray to years of punishment--lies in sore need of medical skill; if he cannot obtain it he may soon die. Will you be a good Samaritan, and give it; and faithfully keep the secret?" Mr. King regarded George attentively, slowly rubbing his bald head: he was a man of six-and-sixty now. "Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" he asked. George paused, perhaps rather taken back; but the surgeon's face was kindly, its expression benevolent. "What if I were? Would you be true to _him_?"