“Are you the friend of that young lady, Sir, that’s down at M’Cafferty’s?”
“Yes, I’m her friend,” was the dry answer.
“Then I’ve come to tell you she’s going fast into a fever—a brain fever, too.”
“That’s bad” muttered O’Rorke below his breath.
“One ought to know something about her—whence she came, and how she came. There are symptoms that ought to be traced to their causes, for she raves away about people and things the most opposite and unlike——”
“Are you able to cure her? that’s the question,” said O’Rorke.
“No doctor could ever promise that much yet.”
“I thought as much,” said O’Rorke, with an insolent toss of his head.
“I am willing to do my best,” said the doctor, not noticing the offensive gesture; “and if you want other advice, there’s Doctor Rogan of Westport can be had easy enough.”
“Send for him, then, and hold a consultation; her life is of consequence, mind that!”