The white figure turned the corner, and glided onward in a straight, swift line—­straight and swift as fate—­to the door of Doctor Sturk.

He knocked softly at the hall-door, and swiftly stepped in and shut it.

‘How’s your master?’

’Jist the same way, plaze yer honour; jist sleepin’—­still sleepin’—­sleepin’ always,’ answered the maid.

‘Has the Dublin doctor come?’

‘No.’

‘The mistress—­where’s she?’

‘In the room, Sir, with the masther.’

’Present my service to her—­Mr. Dangerfield’s compliments, you know—­and say I await her permission to come up stairs.’

Presently the maid returned, with poor Mrs. Sturk’s invitation to Mr.
Dangerfield to walk up.

Up he went, leaving his white surtout and cocked hat in the hall, and entered the chamber where pale little Mrs. Sturk, who had been crying a great deal, sat in a dingy old tabby saque, by the light of a solitary mould-candle at the bed-side of the noble Barney.

The mutton-fat wanted snuffing; but its light danced and splintered brilliantly over Mr. Dangerfield’s resplendent shoe-buckles, and up and down his cut-steel buttons, and also glimmered in a more phosphoric way upon his silver spectacles, as he bowed at the door, arrayed in a puce cut velvet coat, lined with pink, long embroidered satin waistcoat, fine lace ruffles and cravat, his well-shaped leg gleaming glossily in silk, and altogether, in his glimmering jewellery, and purple and fine linen, resembling Dives making a complimentary visit to the garret of Lazarus.

Poor little Mrs. Sturk felt her obligations mysteriously enlarged by so much magnificence, and wondered at the goodness of this white-headed angel in point, diamonds, and cut velvet, who had dropped from the upper regions upon the sad and homely floor of her Barney’s sick chamber.

’Dr. Dillon not yet arrived, Madam?  Well, ’tis precisely his hour; we shall have him soon.  How does the patient?  Ha! just as usual.  How?—­why there’s a change, isn’t there?’

‘As how, Sir?’ enquired Mrs. Sturk, with a scared look.

’Why, don’t you see?  But you mustn’t be frightened; there’s one coming in whom I have every confidence.’

‘I don’t see, Sir.  What is it, Mr. Dangerfield?  Oh, pray, Sir?’

’Why—­a—­nothing very particular, only he looks more languid than when I saw him last, and discoloured somewhat, and his face more sunk, I think—­eh?’

’Oh, no, Sir—­’tis this bad light—­nothing more, indeed, Sir.  This evening, I assure you, Mr. Dangerfield, at three o’clock, when the sun was shining, we were all remarking how well he looked.  I never saw—­you’d have said so—­such a wonderful improvement.’

And she snuffed the candle, and held it up over Barney’s grim features.

’Well, Madam, I hope we soon may find it.  ’Twill be a blessed sight—­eh?—­when he sits up in that bed, Madam, as I trust he may this very night, and speak—­eh?’