‘Mighty curious.’

Then a lot of mumbling, and

‘Cruciform, of course.’

This was said by Doctor Dillon, near the door, where he had come to take an additional candle from the table that stood there; as he receded it lost itself in mumble again, and then she heard quite plainly—­

‘Keep your hand there.’

And a few seconds after,

‘Hold it there and don’t let it drip.’

And then a little more mumbled dialogue, and she thought she heard—­

‘Begin now.’

And there was a dead silence of many seconds; and Mrs. Sturk felt as if she must scream, and her heart beat at a gallop, and her dry, white lips silently called upon her Maker for help, and she felt quite wild, and very faint; and heard them speak brief, and low together, and then another long silence; and then a loud voice, in a sort of shriek, cry out that name—­holy and awful—­which we do not mix in tales like this.  It was Sturk’s voice; and he cried in the same horrid shriek, ‘Murder—­mercy—­Mr. Archer!’

And poor Mrs. Sturk, with a loud hysterical cry, that quivered with her agony, answered from without, and wildly rattled at the door-handle, and pushed with all her feeble force to get in, in a kind of crescendo screaming—­’Oh, Barney—­Barney—­Barney—­sweetheart—­what are they doing?’

‘Oh! blessed hour!—­Ma’am—­’tis the master himself that is talking;’ and with a very pale face the maid, who stood in the doorway beside her, uttered her amazed thanksgiving.

And the doctors’ voices were now heard plainly enough soothing the patient, and he seemed to have grown more collected; and she heard him—­she thought—­repeat a snatch of a prayer, as a man might just rescued from a shipwreck; and he said in a tone more natural in one so sick and weak, ’I’m a dead man—­he’s done it—­where is he?—­he’s murdered me.’

‘Who?’ demanded Toole’s well-known voice.

‘Archer—­the villain—­Charles Archer.’

‘Give me the cup with the claret and water, and the spoon—­there it is,’ said Dillon’s rough bass tones.

And she heard the maid’s step crossing the floor, and then there was a groan from Sturk.

’Here, take another spoonful, and don’t mind talking for a while.  It’s doing mighty well.  There, don’t let him slip over—­that’s enough.’

Just then Toole opened the door enough to put his head through, and gently restraining poor Mrs. Sturk with his hand, he said with a vigorous whisper—­

’’Twill all go well, Ma’am, we hope, if he’s not agitated; you must not go in, Ma’am, nor talk to him—­by-and-by you may see him, but he must be quiet now; his pulse is very regular at present—­but you see, Ma’am, we can’t be too cautious.’

While Toole was thus discoursing her at the door, she heard Dr. Dillon washing his hands, and Sturk’s familiar voice, sounding so strange after the long silence, say very languidly and slowly—­