all, Sir. But I couldn't feel easy till it was off my mind.'

'At eight o'clock I shall expect you. Good-night, Irons.'

And with his hands in his pockets he watched Irons off the ground. His
visage darkened as for a while his steady gaze was turned toward Dublin.
He was not quite so comfortable as he might have been.

Meanwhile Black Dillon, at Mrs. Sturk's request, had stalked up stairs
to the patient's bed-side.

'Had not I best send at once for Mr. Dangerfield?' she enquired.

'No occasion, Ma'am,' replied the eminent but slightly fuddled
'Saw-bones,' spitting beside him on the floor 'until I see whether I'll
operate to-night. What's in that jug, Ma'am? Chicken-broth? That'll do.
Give him a spoonful. See--he swallows free enough;' and then Black
Dillon plucked up his eyelids with a roughness that terrified the
reverential and loving Mrs. Sturk, and examined the distorted pupils.

'You see the cast in that eye, Ma'am; there's the pressure on the
brain.'

Dillon was lecturing her upon the case as he proceeded, from habit, just
as he did the students in the hospital.

'No convulsions, Ma'am?'

'Oh, no, Sir, thank Heaven; nothing in the least--only quiet sleep, Sir;
just like that.'

'Sleep, indeed--that's no sleep, Ma'am. Boo-hooh! I couldn't bawl that
way in his face, Ma'am, without disturbing him, Ma'am, if it was. Now
we'll get him up a bit--there, that's right--aisy. He was lying, Ma'am,
I understand, on his back, when they found him in the park, Ma'am--so
Mr. Dangerfield says--ay. Well, slip the cap off--backward--backward,
you fool; that'll do. Who plastered his head, Ma'am?'

'Doctor Toole, Sir.'

'Toole--Toole--h'm--I see--hey--hi--tut! 'tis the devil's pair of
fractures, Ma'am. See--nearer--d'ye see, there's two converging
lines--d'ye see, Ma'am?' and he indicated their directions with the
silver handle of an instrument he held in his hand, 'and serrated at the
edges, I'll be bound.'

And he plucked off two or three strips of plaster with a quick whisk,
which made poor little Mrs. Sturk wince and cry, 'Oh, dear, Sir!'

'Threpan, indeed!' murmured Black Dillon, with a coarse sneer, 'did they
run the scalpel anywhere over the occiput, Ma'am?'

'I--I--truly, Sir--I'm not sure,' answered Mrs. Sturk, who did not
perfectly understand a word he said.

The doctor's hair had not been cut behind. Poor Mrs. Sturk, expecting
his recovery every day, would not have permitted the sacrilege, and his
dishe