The ambassador looked in and drew back.

’Oh, then, ’tisn’t the mistress you want, but the master’s old housekeeper; ask her.’

And she pointed with her thumb towards Molly, whose head was over the banister.

So, as he followed that honest hand-maiden up stairs, he drew from his coat-pocket a bundle of papers, and glanced at their endorsements, for he had a long exposition to make, and then some important measures to execute.

Toole had to make up for lost time; and as he rode at a smart canter into the village, he fancied he observed the signs of an unusual excitement there.  There were some faces at the windows, some people on the door-steps; and a few groups in the street; they were all looking in the Dublin direction.  He had a nod or two as he passed.  Toole thought forthwith of Mr. David O’Reegan—­people generally refer phenomena to what most concerns themselves—­and a dim horror of some unknown summary process dismayed him; but his hall-door shone peaceably in the sun, and his boy stood whistling on the steps, with his hands in his pockets.  Nobody had been there since, and Pell had not yet called at Sturk’s.

‘And what’s happened—­what’s the neighbours lookin’ after?’ said Toole, as his own glance followed the general direction, so soon as he had dismounted.

’’Twas a coach that had driven through the town, at a thundering pace, with some men inside, from the Knockmaroon direction, and a lady that was screeching.  She broke one of the coach windows in Martin’s-row, and the other—­there, just opposite the Phoenix.’  The glass was glittering on the road.  ’She had rings on her hand, and her knuckles were bleeding, and it was said ’twas poor Mrs. Nutter going away with the keepers to a mad-house.’

Toole turned pale and ground his teeth, looking towards Dublin.

’I passed it myself near Island-bridge; I did hear screeching, but I thought ’twas from t’other side of the wall.  There was a fellow in an old blue and silver coat with the driver—­eh?’

‘The same,’ said the boy; and Toole, with difficulty swallowing down his rage, hurried into the house, resolved to take Lowe’s advice on the matter, and ready to swear to poor Sally’s perfect sanity—­’the crature!—­the villains!’

But now he had only a moment to pull off his boots, to get into his grand costume, and seize his cane and his muff, too—­for he sported one; and so transformed and splendid, he marched down the paved trottoir—­Doctor Pell happily not yet arrived—­to Sturk’s house.  There was a hackney coach near the steps.

CHAPTER XCV.

IN WHICH DOCTOR PELL DECLINES A FEE, AND DOCTOR STURK A PRESCRIPTION.

In entering the front parlour from whence, in no small excitement, there issued the notes of a course diapason, which he fancied was known to him, he found Mr. Justice Lowe in somewhat tempestuous conference with the visitor.