The Young Doctor tapped Kernaghan's head gently with his whip. "Patsy,"
said he, "you talk a lot. There's no greater talker between here and
Donegal. But still I think you know what to say and whom to say it to."

Kernaghan's cap came off. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked
at the other with a primitive intelligence which showed him to be what
the Young Doctor knew him to be--better than his looks, or his place in
the world, or his reputation.

"Thank you kindly, y'r anner," he said, softly. "I'm troubled about
things here, I am. That's why I spoke to ye. I'm afraid of the old
fella, for his place is not in the pen wid that young thing, an' he'll
break her heart, or kill her, if he gets to know the truth."

"What do you mean by 'the truth,' Patsy?" was the sharp query.

"I mean nothin' at all, save that in there wild youth is spakin' to wild
youth--honest and dacint and true. But there's manny a tragedy comes out
of that, y'r anner."

"Orlando has been sitting up for two days," said the Young Doctor
meditatively, "and in two days more he can be removed. Patsy, you are
staying on here.--I know, and I trust you. The girl and the young man
have both been my patients. I think as much of both of them as I can
think of any man or woman. He's straight and--"

"But a girl's mad when the love-song rises in her heart," interjected
Kernaghan.