‘Take a pen, Sir—­some one—­take and write—­write down what I say.’

‘Now, Ma’am, you see he’s bent on talking,’ said Toole, whose quick ear caught the promise of a revelation.  ’I must be at my post, Ma’am—­the bed post—­hey!  We may joke now, Ma’am, that the patient’s recovered his speech; and, you know, you mustn’t come in—­not till we tell you it’s safe—­there now—­rely on me—­I give you my word of honour he’s doing as well as we could have hoped for.’

And Toole shook her trembling little hand very cordially, and there was a very good-natured twinkle in his eye.

And Toole closed the door again, and they heard Sturk murmur something more; and then the maid, who was within, was let out by Toole, and the door closed and bolted again, and a sort of cooing and murmuring recommenced.

After a while, Toole, absolutely pale, and looking very stern, opened the door, and, said he, in a quiet way—­

’Ma’am, may I send Katty down to the King’s House, with a note to Mr.—­a note to the King’s House, Ma’am—­I thank you—­and see, Katty, good girl, ask to see the gentleman himself, and take his answer from his own lips.’

And he tore off the back of a letter, and pencilled on it these words—­

’MY DEAR SIR,—­Dr. Sturk has been successfully operated upon by me and another gentleman; and being restored to speech and recollection, but very weak, desires earnestly to see you, and make an important disclosure to you as a justice of the peace. 
               ’I am, Sir, your very obedient, humble servant,
          
                                           ’THOMAS TOOLE.

Upon this note he clapt a large seal with the Toole arms, and when it was complete, placed it in the hands of Katty, who, with her riding-hood on and her head within it teeming with all sorts of wild conjectures and horrible images, and her whole soul in a whirl of curiosity, hurried along the dark street, now and then glinted on by a gleam through a shutter, or enlivened by the jingle of a harpsichord, or a snatch of talk and laughter heard faintly through the windows, and along the Dublin-road to the gate of the King’s House.  The hall-door of this hospitable mansion stood open, and a flood of red candle-light fell upon one side of the gray horse, saddle, and holster pipes, which waited the descent of Mr. Lowe, who was shaking hands with the hospitable colonel at the threshold.

Katty was just in time, and the booted gentleman, in his surtout and cape, strode back again into the light of the hall-door, and breaking the seal, there read, with his clear cold eye, the lines which Toole had pencilled, and thrusting it into his coat pocket, and receiving again the fuddled butler’s benedictions—­he had given him half-a-crown—­he mounted his gray steed, and at a brisk trot, followed by his servant, was, in little more than two minutes’ time, at Dr. Sturk’s door.

Moore, the barber, functus officio, was now sitting in the hall, with his razors in his pocket, expecting his fee, and smelling pleasantly of the glass of whiskey which he had just drunk to the health and long life of the master—­God bless him—­and all the family.