'Is this the tenement called the Mills, formerly in the occupation of
the late Charles Nutter--eh?' demanded the gentleman, thrusting his face
from the window, before the coachman had got to the door.
'It is, Sir,' replied Toole, putting Moggy aside, and suspecting, he
could not tell what amiss, and determined to show front, and not averse
from hearing what the visit was about. 'But Mrs. Nutter is very far from
well, Sir; in fact, in her bed-chamber, Sir, and laid upon her bed.'
'Mrs. Nutter's _here_, Sir,' said the man phlegmatically. He had just
got out on the ground before the door, and extended his hand toward Mary
Matchwell, whom he assisted to alight.
'_This_ is Mrs. Nutter, relict of the late Charles Nutter, of The Mills,
Knockmaroon, in the parish of Chapelizod.'
'At your service, Sir,' said Mary Matchwell, dropping a demure courtesy,
and preparing to sail by him.
'Not so fast, Ma'am, if you please,' said Toole, astonished, but still
sternly and promptly enough. 'In with you, Moggy, and bar the kitchen
door.'
And shoving the maid back, he swung the door to, with a slam. He was
barely in time, and Mary Matchwell, baffled and pale, confronted the
doctor, with the devil gleaming from her face.
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