'Yes, yes, I remember that--a cheating gipsy--why, it's going on still--I saw it again yesterday, I think--a lying jade!--and this is the rogue that troubles you?' said Toole with his finger on the paragraph, as the paper lay on the table. 'Give it to me, doctor, dear. I would not have them see it for the world--and--and--oh! doctor--sure you wouldn't tell.' 'Augh, bother!--didn't I swear my soul, Ma'am; and do you think I'm going to commit a perjury about "Mary Matchwell"--phiat!' Well, with much ado, and a great circumbendibus, and floods of tears, and all sorts of deprecations and confusions, out came the murder at last. Poor Mrs. Mack had a duty to perform by her daughter. Her brother was the best man in the world; but what with 'them shockin' forfitures' in her father's time (a Jacobite granduncle had forfeited a couple of town-lands, value L37 per annum, in King William's time, and to that event, in general terms, she loved to refer the ruin of her family), and some youthful extravagances, his income, joined to hers, could not keep the dear child in that fashion and appearance her mother had enjoyed before her, and people without pedigree or solid pretension of any sort, looked down upon her, just because they had money (she meant the Chattesworths), and denied her the position which was hers of right, and so seeing no other way of doing the poor child justice, she applied to 'M. M.' 'To find a husband for Mag, eh?' said Toole. 'No, no. Oh, Dr. Toole, 'twas--'twas for _me_,' sobbed poor Mrs. Mack. Toole stared for a moment, and had to turn quickly about, and admire some shell-work in a glass box over the chimneypiece very closely, and I think his stout short back was shaking tremulously as he did so; and, when he turned round again, though his face was extraordinarily grave, it was a good deal redder than usual. 'Well, my dear Madam, and where's the great harm in that, when all's done?' said Toole. 'Oh, doctor, I had the unpardonable _wake_ness, whatever come over me, to write her two letters on the subject, and she'll print them, and expose me, unless,'--here she rolled herself about in an agony of tears, and buried her fat face in the back of the chair. 'Unless you give her money, I suppose,' said Toole. 'There's what invariably comes of confidential communications with female enchanters and gipsies! And what do you propose to do?' 'I don't know--what can I do? She got the L5 I borrowed from my brother, and he can't lend me more; and I can't tell him what I done with that; and she has L3 10s. I--I raised on my best fan, and the elegant soiclainet, you know--I bought it of Knox & Acheson, at the Indian Queen, in Dame-street;' and his poor patient turned up her small tearful blue eyes imploringly to his face, and her good-natured old features were quivering all over with tribulation. 'And Mag knows nothing of all this?' said Toole.