“The famly is out av town,” responded a very dilapidated-looking old woman to Kirwan’s query.
“Indeed! I shall leave a card.”
“Av ye plaze; but shure where’s the use? They’ll not get it this three months.”
“Where are they travelling?”
“In furrin parts.”
“I shall write a line.”
“Step in, sir, and welkim.”
This elderly damsel ushered them into an apartment from which the carpet had been removed, the curtains taken down, the gasalier and pictures muffled, and the furniture piled up and partly concealed by matting. Kirwan took out his letter of introduction, and, opening it, proceeded to write a line of regret upon missing Mr. Darcy. The young doctor moved about the room, amusing himself by listlessly gazing out through the half-opened shutter. Presently he approached a massive book-case, and endeavored to peer through the interstices afforded by the gaping of the brown paper that concealed the books.
Little did he imagine what an influence this simple action was destined to bear upon his near future! His wandering gaze suddenly merged into earnestness, then it became fascinated, then fixed.
“Come here!” he said to the attendant, his voice hoarse from suppressed emotion.