oole, breaking into a bold
exhortation on seeing signs of confusion and yielding in his fat
patient--'you'd tell me all that concerns your health, and know that Tom
Toole would put his hand in the fire before he'd let a living soul hear
a symptom of your case; and here's some paltry little folly or trouble
that I would not--as I'm a gentleman--give a half-penny to hear, and
you're afraid to tell me--though until you do, neither I, nor all the
doctors in Europe, can do you a ha'porth o' good.'

'Sure I've nothing to tell, doctor dear,' whimpered poor Mrs. Mack,
dissolving into her handkerchief.

'Look ye--there's no use in trying to deceive a doctor that knows what
he's about.' Toole was by this time half mad with curiosity. 'Don't tell
me what's on your mind, though I'd be sorry you thought I wasn't ready
and anxious, to help you with my best and most secret services; but I
confess, my dear Ma'am, I'd rather not hear--reserve it for some friend
who has your confidence--but 'tis plain from the condition you're
in'--and Toole closed his lips hard, and nodded twice or thrice--'you
have not told either the major or your daughter; and tell it you must to
_some_ one, or take the consequences.'

'Oh! Dr. Toole, I _am_ in trouble--and I'd like to tell you; but won't
you--won't you promise me now, on your solemn honour, if I do, you won't
tell a human being?' blubbered the poor matron.

'Conscience, honour, veracity, Ma'am--but why should I say any
more--don't you know me, my dear Mrs. Mack?' said Toole in a hot fidget,
and with all the persuasion of which he was master.

'Indeed, I do--and I'm in great trouble--and sometimes think no one can
take me out of it,' pursued she.

'Come, come, my dear Madam, is it money?' demanded Toole.

'Oh! no--it's--'tis a dreadful--that is, there _is_ money in it--but oh!
dear Doctor Toole, there's a frightful woman, and I don't know what to
do: and I sometimes thought you might be able to help me--you're so
clever--and I was going to tell you, but I was ashamed--there now, it's
out,' and she blubbered aloud.

'_What's_ out?' said Toole, irritated. 'I can't stop here all day, you
know; and if you'd rather I'd go, say so.'

'Oh no, but the major, nor Maggy does not know a word about it; and so,
for your life, don't tell them; and--and--here it is.'

And from her pocket she produced a number of the _Freeman's Journal_,
five or six weeks old and a great deal soiled.

'Read it, read it,