“Otto is right,” said the doctor, with a laugh, “at least if feeling may be permitted to do duty for time in gauging the friendship.”
“Well, Dr Marsh, we are happy to make your acquaintance, despite the sadness of the circumstances,” said Dominick, “and will do all we can for you and your friends; meanwhile, may I ask you to come to the camp and relieve the mind of your worshipper, for I can scarcely call her less.”
Poor Dr Marsh, feeling greatly exhausted by excitement as much as by exertion, was on the point of excusing himself and begging his host to fetch the widow up to the cave, when he was saved the trouble by the widow herself, whose voice was just then heard outside.
“What’s that yer sayin’, Joe?” she exclaimed in a remonstrative tone, “ye seed ’im go into that rabbit-hole? Never! Don’t tell me! Arrah it’s on his hands an knees he’d have to do it.”
The voice which replied was pitched in a much deeper and softer key, but it was heard distinctly to say, “Ay, widdy Lynch, that’s the door I seed him an’ a boy go through; so ye’d better rap at it an’ inquire.”
“Faix, an’ that’s jist what I’ll do, though I don’t half belave ye.”
She was about to apply her large red knuckles to the door in question when her intention was frustrated and her doubts were scattered by the door opening and Dominick presenting himself.
“Come in, Mrs Lynch, come in. Your doctor is here, alive and well.”
“Well, is it—ah! I wish he was! Are ye there, darlin’?”
“Yes, yes,” came from within, in a laughing voice. “Here I am, Mrs Lynch, all right and comfortable. Come in.”