Come in here, if you please, and we'll tell you what you're to do.' So, being nothing loath, she made her courtesy and glided in.
'Oh! doctor,' gasped poor Mrs.Sturk, holding by the hem of his garment, 'do you think it will kill him ?' 'No, Ma'am--not to-night, at any rate,' he answered, drawing back; but still she held him.
'Oh! doctor, you think it _will_ kill him ?' 'No, Ma'am--there's always some danger.' 'Danger of what, Sir ?' 'Fungus, Ma'am--if he gets over the chance of inflammation.

But, on the other hand, Ma'am, we may do him a power of good; and see, Ma'am, 'twill be best for you to go down or into the nursery, and we'll call you, Ma'am, if need be--that is, if he's better, Ma'am, as we hope.' 'Oh! Mr.Moore, it's you,' sobbed the poor woman, holding fast by the sleeve of the barber, who that moment, with many reverences and 'your servant, Ma'am,' had mounted to the lobby with the look of awestruck curiosity, in his long, honest face, which the solemn circumstance of his visit warranted.
'You're the man we sent for ?' demanded Dillon, gruffly.
''Tis good Mr.Moore,' cried trembling little Mrs.Sturk, deprecating and wheedling him instinctively to make him of her side, and lead him to take part with her and resist all violence to her husband--flesh of her flesh, and bone of her bone.
'Why don't you spake, Sor-r-r?
Are you the barber we sent for or no?
What ails you, man ?' demanded the savage Doctor Dillon, in a suppressed roar.
'At your sarvice, Ma'am--Sir,' replied Moore, with submissive alacrity.
'Come in here, then.

Come in, will you ?' cried the doctor, hauling him in with his great red hand.
'There now--there now--there--there,' he said gruffly, extending his palm to keep off poor Mrs.Sturk.
So he shut the door, and poor Mrs.Sturk heard him draw the bolt, and felt that her Barney had passed out of her hands, and that she could do nothing for him now but clasp her hands and gasp up her prayers for his deliverance; and so great indeed was her anguish and panic, that she had not room for the feminine reflection how great a brute Doctor Dillon was.
So she heard them walking this way and that, but could not distinguish what they said, only she heard them talking; and once or twice a word reached her, but not very intelligible, such as-- ''Twas Surgeon Beauchamp's--see that' '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-- '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.