So up stairs went Mrs. Sturk in a fuss.

‘That’s it,’ said Toole so soon as they were alone, nodding two or three times dejectedly, and looking very glum.  ’It’s set in—­the inflammation—­it’s set in, Sir.  He’s gone.  That’s the rigor.’

‘Poor gentleman,’ said Lowe, after a short pause, ’I’m much concerned for him, and for his family.’

‘’Tis a bad business,’ said Toole, gloomily, like a man that’s frightened.  And he followed Mrs. Sturk, leaving Lowe adjusting his papers in the parlour.

Toole found his patient laden with blankets, and shivering like a man in an ague, with blue sunken face.  And he slipped his hand under the clothes, and took his pulse, and said nothing but—­’Ay—­ay—­ay’—­quietly to himself, from time to time, as he did so; and Sturk—­signing, as well as he could, that he wanted a word in his ear—­whispered, as well as his chattering teeth would let him,

‘You know what this is.’

‘Well—­well—­there now, there; drink some of this,’ said Toole, a little flurried, and trying to seem cool.

‘I think he’s a little bit better, doctor,’ whispered poor little Mrs. Sturk, in Toole’s ear.

‘Twill pass away.  Ma’am.’

Toole was standing by the bedside, looking rather woefully and frightened on Sturk’s face, and patting and smoothing the coverlet with the palm of his stumpy, red hand; and whispering to himself from time to time, ‘Yes, yes,’ although with rather a troubled and helpless air.

Just then came the roll of a coach to the door, and a long peal at the knocker; and little Toole ran down to meet the great Doctor Pell in the hall.  He was in, in a moment, and turned aside with Toole into the drawing-room.  And Toole’s voice was heard pretty volubly.  It was only a conference of about two minutes.  And Dr. Pell said in his usual tall way, as they came out—­

‘How long ago, Sir?’

‘About ten—­no, hardly so much—­eight minutes ago,’ answered Toole, as he followed that swift phantom up the stairs.

‘Your most obedient, Ma’am,’ said the slim and lofty doctor, parenthetically saluting the good lady; and he stood by the bedside, having laid his muff on the chair.

’Well, Sir, and how do you feel?  There now, that will do, Sir; don’t mind speaking; I see.  And he put his hand under the clothes, and laid it on Sturk’s arm, and slid it down to his hand, and felt his pulse.

‘And he’s been near ten minutes this way?’ said the doctor.

’Oh, he was a great deal worse; ’tis a vast deal better now; isn’t it, Doctor Toole?’

‘The rigor is subsiding, then.  Has he had a sweat, Ma’am?’ said Pell.

’Oh, no—­nothing like—­quite nice and cool, doctor—­and no fever; nice quiet sleep; and his appetite wonderful; tell him, Doctor Toole.’

‘Oh, yes, Ma’am—­Doctor Pell knows; I told him all, Ma’am,’ said Toole, who was looking with a blank and dismal sort of contemplation upon Sturk’s fallen countenance.