poonful now--and where's Mr.
Dangerfield?'

'And do you really mean to say, Sir, he promised you a fee of
_five_--eh?' said Toole, who could not restrain his somewhat angry
curiosity.

'Five hundred guineas--ha, ha, ha! be gannies, Sir, there's a power of
divarsion in that.'

''Tis a munificent fee, and prompted by a fine public spirit. We are all
his debtors for it! and to you, Sir, too. He's an early man, Sir, I'm
told. You'll not see him to-night. But, whatever he has promised is
already performed; you may rely on his honour.'

'If you come out at nine in the morning, Dr. Dillon, you'll find him
over his letters and desk, in his breakfast parlour,' said Toole, who,
apprehending that this night's work might possibly prove a hit for the
disreputable and savage luminary, was treating him, though a good deal
stung and confounded by the prodigious amount of the fee, with more
ceremony than he did at first. 'Short accounts, you know,' said Dillon,
locking the lid of his case down upon his instruments. 'But maybe, as
you say, 'tis best to see him in the morning--them rich fellows is often
testy--ha! ha! An' a word with you, Dr. Toole,' and he beckoned his
brother aside to the corner near the door--and whispered something in
his ear, and laughed a little awkwardly, and Toole, very red and grave,
lent him--with many misgivings, two guineas.

'An' see--don't let them give him too much of that--the chicken broth's
too sthrong--put some wather to that, Miss, i' you plaze--and give him
no more to-night--d'ye mind--than another half a wine-glass full of
clar't unless the docthor here tells you.'

So Dr. Dillon took leave, and his fiery steeds, whirling him onward,
devoured, with their resounding hoofs, the road to Dublin, where he had
mentally devoted Toole's two guineas to the pagan divinities whose
worship was nightly celebrated at the old St. Columbkill.

'We had best have it in the shape of a deposition, Sir, at once,' said
Lowe, adjusting himself at the writing-table by the bed-side, and taking
the pen in his fingers, he looked on the stern and sunken features of
the resuscitated doctor, recalled, as it were, from 'the caverns of the
dead and the gates of darkness,' to reveal an awful secret, and point
his cold finger at the head of the undiscovered murderer.

'Tell it as shortly as you can, Sir, but without haste,' said Toole,
with his finger on his pulse. Sturk looked dismal and frightened, like a
man with the han