In the hollow by the park wall it appeared again, distinctly; and here it was plain the transit of the wall had been made, for the traces of the mud were evident enough upon its surface, and the mortar at top was displaced, and a little tuft of grass in the mud, left by the clodded shoesole.  Here the fellow had got over.

They followed, and, despairing of finding it upon the road, they diverged into the narrow slip of ground by the river bank, and just within the park-gate, in a slight hollow, the clay of which was still impressible, they found the track again.  It led close up to the river bank, and there the villain seemed to have come to a stand still; for the sod just for so much as a good sized sheet of letter-paper might cover, was trod and broken, as if at the water’s edge he had stood for a while, and turned about and shifted his feet, like a fellow that is uneasy while he is stationary.

From this stand-point they failed to discover any receding foot-print; but close by it came a little horse track, covered with shingle, by which, in those days, the troops used to ride their horses to water.  He might have stepped upon this, and following it, taken to the streets; or he might—­and this was Lowe’s theory—­have swam the river at this point, and got into some of those ruffian haunts in the rear of Watling and St. James’s streets.  So Lowe, who, with a thief or a murderer in the wind, had the soul of a Nimrod, rode round to the opposite bank, first telling Toole, who did not care to press his services at Sturk’s house, uninvited, that he would send out the great Doctor Pell to examine the patient, or the body, as the case might turn out.

By this time they were carrying Doctor Sturk—­that gaudy and dismal image—­up his own staircase—­his pale wife sobbing and shivering on the landing, among whispered ejaculations from the maids, and the speechless wonder of the awe-stricken children, staring through the banisters—­to lay him in the bed where at last he is to lie without dreaming.

CHAPTER LIV.

IN WHICH MISS MAGNOLIA MACNAMARA AND DR. TOOLE, IN DIFFERENT SCENES, PROVE THEMSELVES GOOD SAMARITANS; AND THE GREAT DOCTOR PELL MOUNTS THE STAIRS OF THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD.

So pulse or no pulse, dead or alive, they got Sturk into his bed.

Poor, cowed, quiet little Mrs. Sturk, went quite wild at the bedside.

‘Oh! my Barney—­my Barney—­my noble Barney,’ she kept crying.  ’He’s gone—­he’ll never speak again.  Do you think he hears?  Oh, Barney, my darling—­Barney, it’s your own poor little Letty—­oh—­Barney, darling, don’t you hear.  It’s your own poor, foolish Letty.’

But it was the same stern face, and ears of stone.  There was no answer and no sign.

And she sent a pitiful entreaty to Doctor Toole, who came very good-naturedly—­and indeed he was prowling about the doorway of his domicile in expectation of the summons.  And he shook her very cordially by the hand, and quite ‘filled-up,’ at her woebegone appeal, and told her she must not despair yet.