he eager little woman.

'Doctor Toole, Madam, and he'll direct whatever may be necessary; and
should he wish to consult again, you can send for me; but he's quite
competent, Madam, and he'll tell you all we think.'

He had got to the end of the stairs while talking, and made his adieux,
and glided down and out; and before poor little Mrs. Sturk bethought her
how little she had got from him, she heard the roll of his coach wheels
whirling him back again to Dublin. I believe few doctors grow so
accustomed to the ghastly _eclaircissement_ as not very willingly to
shirk it when they may.

Toole shrank from it, too, and dodged, and equivocated, and evaded all
he could; but he did admit there was an unfavourable change; and when he
had gone--promising to be back at four o'clock--poor little Mrs. Sturk
broke down--all alone in the drawing-room--and cried a passionate flood
of tears; and thinking she was too long away, dried her eyes quickly,
and ran up, and into Barney's room with a smile on; and she battled with
the evil fear; and hope, that faithful angel that clings to the last,
hovered near her with blessed illusions, until an hour came, next day,
in the evening, about four o'clock, when from Barney's room there came a
long, wild cry. It was 'his poor foolish little Letty'--the long
farewell--and the 'noble Barney' was gone. The courtship and the married
days--all a faded old story now; and a few days later, reversed arms,
and muffled drums, and three volleys in the church-yard, and a little
file of wondering children, dressed in black, whom the old general
afterwards took up in his arms, one by one, very kindly, and kissed,
and told them they were to come and play in Belmont whenever they liked,
and to eat fruit in the garden, and a great deal more; for all which a
poor little lady, in a widow's cap, and a lonely room, hard-by, was very
grateful.

CHAPTER XCVI.

ABOUT THE RIGHTFUL MRS. NUTTER OF THE MILLS, AND HOW MR. MERVYN RECEIVED
THE NEWS.

Little Doctor Toole came out feeling rather queer and stunned from
Sturk's house. It was past three o'clock by this time, and it had
already, in his eyes, a changed and empty look, as his upturned eye for
a moment rested upon its gray front, and the window-panes glittering in
the reddening sun. He looked down the street towards the turnpike, and
then up it, towards Martin's-row and the Mills. And he bethought him
suddenly of poor Sally Nutter, and upbraided himself,