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diff --git a/17769-h/17769-h.htm b/17769-h/17769-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c2cfc50 --- /dev/null +++ b/17769-h/17769-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24885 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The House by the Church-Yard, by J. Sheridan Le Fanu</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: + 0.3em; margin-right: 0.3em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 75%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The House by the Church-Yard, by J. Sheridan +Le Fanu</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The House by the Church-Yard</p> +<p>Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu</p> +<p>Release Date: February 15, 2006 [eBook #17769]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Janet Blenkinship,<br /> + and Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe<br /> + (http://dp.rastko.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE HOUSE</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h1>THE CHURCH-YARD</h1> + +<h3>J. SHERIDAN LE FANU</h3> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF 'UNCLE SILAS' AND 'TORLOGH O'BRIEN'<br /><br /></h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class='center'><i>Dublin</i>:<br /> +JAMES DUFFY AND CO., <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span> NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.<br /> +1904.</p> + +<p class='center'><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">Edmund Burke</span> & <span class="smcap">Co.</span>, 61 & 62 GREAT STRAND +STREET, DUBLIN.<br /><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<h3>CONTENTS.</h3> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="85%" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents"> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>A Prologue—being a dish of village chat</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'>The rector's night-walk to his church</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_9'>9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'>The nameless coffin</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_12'>12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'>Mr. Mervyn in his inn</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_15'>15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'>The Fair-green of Palmerstown</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_18'>18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'>How the Royal Artillery entertained some of the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'></td><td align='left'>neighbours at dinner</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_25'>25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'>In which the minstrelsy proceeds</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_32'>32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'>Showing how two gentlemen may misunderstand one another,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>without enabling the company to understand their quarrel</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_35'>35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>Relating how Doctor Toole and Captain Devereux went</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>on a moonlight errand</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_40'>40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'>How a squire was found for the knight of the rueful</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>countenance</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_44'>44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'>The dead secret, showing how the fireworker proved to</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Puddock that Nutter had spied out the nakedness of the land</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_48'>48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'>Some talk about the haunted housebeing, as I suppose,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>only old woman's tales</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_53'>53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'>Some odd facts about the Tiled Housebeing an</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>authentic narrative of the ghost of a hand</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_57'>57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'>In which the rector visits the Tiled House,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and Doctor Toole looks after the Brass Castle</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_63'>63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'>Relating how Puddock purged O'Flaherty's heada</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>chapter which, it is hoped, no genteel person will read</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_66'>66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'>Æsculapius to the rescue</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_69'>69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'>The ordeal by battle</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_73'>73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII.</td><td align='left'>Lieutenant Puddock receives an invitation and a rap</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>over the knuckles</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_81'>81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII.</td><td align='left'>Relating how the gentlemen sat over their claret,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and how Doctor Sturk saw a face</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_86'>86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX.</td><td align='left'>In which the gentlemen follow the ladies</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_91'>91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX.</td><td align='left'>In which Mr. Dangerfield visits the church of Chapelizod,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and Zekiel Irons goes a-fishing</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_94'>94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI.</td><td align='left'>Relating among other things how Doctor Toole walked</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>up to the Tiled House, and of his pleasant discourse with</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Mr. Mervyn</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_100'>100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII.</td><td align='left'>Telling how Mr. Mervyn fared at Belmont, and of a pleasant</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>little dejeuner by the margin of the Liffey</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_104'>104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII.</td><td align='left'>Which concerns the grand dinner at the King's House, and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>who were there, and something of their talk, reveries,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>disputes, and general jollity</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_108'>108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV.</td><td align='left'>In which two young persons understand one another better,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>perhaps, than ever they did before, without saying so</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_113'>113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV.</td><td align='left'>In which the sun sets, and the merry-making is kept up</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>by candle-light in the King's House, and Lily receives a</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>warning which she does not comprehend</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_116'>116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI.</td><td align='left'>Relating how the band of the Royal Irish Artillery played,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and, while the music was going on, how variously different</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>people were moved</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_122'>122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVII.</td><td align='left'>Concerning the troubles and the shapes that began to gather</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>about Doctor Sturk</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_125'>125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVIII.</td><td align='left'>In which Mr. Irons recounts some old recollections about</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>the Pied-horse and the Flower de Luce</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIX.</td><td align='left'>Showing how poor Mrs. Macnamara was troubled and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>haunted too, and opening a budget of gossip</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_132'>132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXX.</td><td align='left'>Concerning a certain woman in black</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_137'>137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXI.</td><td align='left'>Being a short history of the great battle of Belmont that</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>lasted for so many days, wherein the belligerents showed</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>so much constancy and valour, and sometimes one side</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and sometimes t'other was victorious</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXII.</td><td align='left'>Narrating how Lieutenant Puddock and Captain Devereux</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>brewed a bowl of punch, and how they sang and discoursed</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>together</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_143'>143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXIII.</td><td align='left'>In which Captain Devereux's fiddle plays a prelude to</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>'Over the hills and far away'</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_146'>146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXIV.</td><td align='left'>In which Lilias hears a stave of an old song and there is a</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>leave-taking beside the river</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_148'>148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXV.</td><td align='left'>In which Aunt Becky and Doctor Toole, in full blow,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>with Dominick the footman, behind, visit Miss Lily at</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>the Elms</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_152'>152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXVI.</td><td align='left'>Narrating how Miss Lilias visited Belmont, and saw a</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>strange cocked-hat in the shadow by the window</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_155'>155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXVII.</td><td align='left'>Showing how some of the feuds in Chapelizod wared</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>fiercer, and others were solemnly condoned</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_158'>158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXVIII.</td><td align='left'>Dreams and troubles, and a dark look-out</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_163'>163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXXIX.</td><td align='left'>Telling how Lilias Walsingham found two ladies awaiting</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>her arrival at the Elms</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_166'>166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XL.</td><td align='left'>Of a messenger from Chapelizod vault who waited in the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Tiled House for Mr. Mervyn</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_168'>168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLI.</td><td align='left'>In which the rector comes home, and Lily speaks her</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>mind, and time glides on, and Aunt Rebecca calls at</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>the Elms</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_173'>173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLII.</td><td align='left'>In which Doctor Sturk tries this way and that for a reprieve</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>on the eve of execution</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_177'>177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLIII.</td><td align='left'>Showing how Charles Nutter's blow descended, and what</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>part the silver spectacles bore in the crisis</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_180'>180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLIV.</td><td align='left'>Relating how, in the watches of the night, a vision came</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>to Sturk, and his eyes were opened</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_184'>184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLV.</td><td align='left'>Concerning a little rehearsal in Captain Cluffe's lodging,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and a certain confidence between Doctor Sturk and Mr.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Dangerfield</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_187'>187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLVI.</td><td align='left'>The closet scene, with the part of Polonius omitted</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_191'>191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLVII.</td><td align='left'>In which pale Hecate visits the Mills, and Charles Nutter,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Esq., orders tea</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_195'>195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLVIII.</td><td align='left'>Swans on the water</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_202'>202</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XLIX.</td><td align='left'>Swans in the water</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_206'>206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>L.</td><td align='left'>Treating of some confusion, in consequence, in the club-room</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>of the Phœnix and elsewhere, and of a hat that</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>was picked up</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_208'>208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LI.</td><td align='left'>How Charles Nutter's tea, pipe, and tobacco-box were all</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>set out for him in the small parlour at the Mills, and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>how that night was passed in the house by the church-yard</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LII.</td><td align='left'>Concerning a rouleau of guineas and the crack of a pistol</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_218'>218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LIII.</td><td align='left'>Relating after what fashion Doctor Sturk came home</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_221'>221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LIV.</td><td align='left'>In which Miss Magnolia and Doctor Toole, in different</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>scenes, prove themselves Good Samaritans; and the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>great Doctor Pell mounts the stairs of the House by the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Church-yard</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_225'>225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LV.</td><td align='left'>In which Doctor Toole, in full costume, stands upon the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>hearth-stone of the club, and illuminates the company</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>with his back to the fire</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_230'>230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LVI.</td><td align='left'>Doctor Walsingham and the Chapelizod Christians meet</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>to the sound of the holy bell, and a vampire sits in the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>church</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_233'>233</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LVII.</td><td align='left'>In which Doctor Toole and Mr. Lowe make a visit at</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>the Mills, and recognise something remarkable while</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>there</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_235'>235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LVIII.</td><td align='left'>In which one of little Bopeep's sheep comes home again,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>and various theories are entertained respecting Charles</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>Nutter and Lieutenant Puddock</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_239'>239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LIX.</td><td align='left'>Telling How a Coach Drew Up at the Elms, and Two Fine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>Ladies, Dressed For the Ball, Stepped in.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_244'>244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LX.</td><td align='left'>Being a Chapter of Hoops, Feathers, and Brilliants,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>and Bucks And Fiddlers.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_249'>249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXI.</td><td align='left'>In Which the Ghosts of a By-gone Sin Keep Tryst.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_254'>254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXII.</td><td align='left'>Of a Solemn Resolution Which Captain Devereux Registered</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>Among His Household Gods, With a Libation.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_257'>257</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXIII.</td><td align='left'>In Which a Liberty Is Taken With Mr. Nutter's Name,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>and Mr. Dangerfield Stands at the Altar.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_261'>261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXIV.</td><td align='left'>Being a Night Scene, in Which Miss Gertrude Chattesworth,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>Being Adjured By Aunt Becky, Makes Answer.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_266'>266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXV.</td><td align='left'>Relating Some Awful News That Reached the Village,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>and How Dr. Walsingham Visited Captain Richard</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>Devereux at His Lodgings.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_271'>271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXVI.</td><td align='left'>Of a Certain Tempest That Arose and Shook the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Captain's Spoons And Tea-cups; and How the Wind</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Suddenly Went Down.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_274'>274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXVII.</td><td align='left'>In Which a Certain Troubled Spirit Walks</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_278'>278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXVIII.</td><td align='left'>How an Evening Passes at the Elms, and Dr. Toole Makes</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>a Little Excursion; and Two Choice Spirits Discourse,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>and Hebe Trips in With The Nectar.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_281'>281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXIX.</td><td align='left'>Concerning a Second Hurricane That Raged in Captain</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Devereux's Drawing-room, and Relating How Mrs. Irons</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Was Attacked With a Sort Of Choking in Her Bed.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_285'>285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXX.</td><td align='left'>In Which an Unexpected Visitor Is Seen in the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Cedar-parlour of The Tiled House, and the Story of</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Mr. Beauclerc and the 'flower de Luce' Begins To</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Be Unfolded.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_290'>290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXI.</td><td align='left'>In Which Mr. Irons's Narrative Reaches Merton Moor.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_295'>295</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXII.</td><td align='left'>In Which the Apparition of Mr. Irons Is Swallowed in</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Darkness.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_300'>300</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXIII.</td><td align='left'>Concerning a Certain Gentleman, with a Black Patch</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Over His Eye, who made some Visits with a Lady,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>in Chapelizod and its Neighbourhood.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'>304</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXIV.</td><td align='left'>In Which Doctor Toole, in His Boots, Visits Mr. Gamble,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>and Sees an Ugly Client of That Gentleman's; and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Something Crosses an Empty Room.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_307'>307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXV.</td><td align='left'>How a Gentleman Paid a Visit at the Brass Castle, and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>There Read A Paragraph in an Old Newspaper.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_311'>311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXVI.</td><td align='left'>Relating How the Castle Was Taken, and How Mistress</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Moggy Took Heart Of Grace.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_316'>316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXVII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Irish Melody Prevails.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_321'>321</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXVIII.</td><td align='left'>In Which, While the Harmony Continues in Father Roach's</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Front Parlour, A Few Discords Are Introduced Elsewhere;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>and Doctor Toole Arrives in The Morning With a</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Marvellous Budget of News.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_325'>325</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXIX.</td><td align='left'>Showing How Little Lily's Life Began To Change Into</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>a Retrospect; And How on a Sudden She Began To Feel</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Better.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_330'>330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXX.</td><td align='left'>In Which Two Acquaintances Become, on a Sudden,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Marvellously Friendly In The Church-yard; and Mr.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Dangerfield Smokes a Pipe in the Brass Castle,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>and Resolves That the Dumb Shall Speak.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_333'>333</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXI.</td><td align='left'>In Which Mr. Dangerfield Receives a Visitor, and Makes</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>a Call.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_339'>339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Mr. Paul Dangerfield Pays His Respects and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Compliments At Belmont; Where Other Visitors Also</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Present Themselves.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_343'>343</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXIII.</td><td align='left'>In Which the Knight of the Silver Spectacles Makes the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Acquaintance Of The Sage 'black Dillon,' and Confers</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>With Him in His Retreat.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_349'>349</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXIV.</td><td align='left'>In Which Christiana Goes Over; and Dan Loftus</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Comes Home.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_353'>353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXV.</td><td align='left'>In Which Captain Devereux Hears the News; and Mr.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Dangerfield Meets An Old Friend After Dinner.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_357'>357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXVI.</td><td align='left'>In Which Mr. Paul Dangerfield Mounts the Stairs of the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>House by The Church-yard, and Makes Some Arrangements.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_364'>364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXVII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Two Comrades Are Tete-a-tete in Their Old</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Quarters, and Doctor Sturk's Cue Is Cut Off, and a</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Consultation Commences.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_370'>370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXVIII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Mr. Moore the Barber Arrives, and the Medical</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Gentlemen Lock The Door.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_376'>376</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>LXXXIX.</td><td align='left'>In Which a Certain Songster Treats the Company To a</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Dolorous Ballad Whereby Mr. Irons Is Somewhat Moved.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_384'>384</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XC.</td><td align='left'>Mr. Paul Dangerfield Has Something on His Mind, and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Captain Devereux Receives a Message.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_390'>390</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCI.</td><td align='left'>Concerning Certain Documents Which Reached Mr. Mervyn,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>and the Witches' Revels at the Mills.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_396'>396</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCII.</td><td align='left'>The Wher-wolf.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_401'>401</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCIII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Doctor Toole and Dirty Davy Confer in</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>the Blue-room.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_408'>408</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCIV.</td><td align='left'>What Doctor Sturk Brought To Mind, and All That</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Doctor Toole Heard At Mr. Luke Gamble's.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_414'>414</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCV.</td><td align='left'>In Which Doctor Pell Declines a Fee, and Doctor Sturk</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>a Prescription.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_422'>422</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCVI.</td><td align='left'>About the Rightful Mrs. Nutter of the Mills, and How</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>Doctor Toole Heard At Mr. Luke Gamble's.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_427'>427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCVII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Obediah Arrives.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_436'>436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCVIII.</td><td align='left'>In Which Charles Archer Puts Himself Upon the Country.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_441'>441</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XCIX.</td><td align='left'>The Story Ends.</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_452'>452</a></td></tr> +</table> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img001.jpg" alt="HEADER MOTIF" title="HEADER MOTIF" /></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2>A PROLOGUE—BEING A DISH OF VILLAGE CHAT.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></h2> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="Fig. 103" title="Fig. 103" /></div><p>e are going to talk, if you please, in the ensuing chapters, of what +was going on in Chapelizod about a hundred years ago. A hundred years, +to be sure, is a good while; but though fashions have changed, some old +phrases dropped out, and new ones come in; and snuff and hair-powder, +and sacques and solitaires quite passed away—yet men and women were men +and women all the same—as elderly fellows, like your humble servant, +who have seen and talked with rearward stragglers of that +generation—now all and long marched off—can testify, if they will.</p> + +<p>In those days Chapelizod was about the gayest and prettiest of the +outpost villages in which old Dublin took a complacent pride. The +poplars which stood, in military rows, here and there, just showed a +glimpse of formality among the orchards and old timber that lined the +banks of the river and the valley of the Liffey, with a lively sort of +richness. The broad old street looked hospitable and merry, with steep +roofs and many coloured hall-doors. The jolly old inn, just beyond the +turnpike at the sweep of the road, leading over the buttressed bridge by +the mill, was first to welcome the excursionist from Dublin, under the +sign of the Phœnix. There, in the grand wainscoted back-parlour, with +'the great and good King William,' in his robe, garter, periwig, and +sceptre presiding in the panel over the chimneypiece, and confronting +the large projecting window, through which the river, and the daffodils, +and the summer foliage looked so bright and quiet, the Aldermen of +Skinner's Alley—a club of the 'true blue' dye, as old as the Jacobite +wars of the previous century—the corporation of shoemakers, or of +tailors, or the freemasons, or the musical clubs, loved to dine at the +stately hour of five, and deliver their jokes, sentiments, songs, and +wisdom, on a pleasant summer's evening. Alas! the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> inn is as clean gone +as the guests—a dream of the shadow of smoke.</p> + +<p>Lately, too, came down the old 'Salmon House'—so called from the +blazonry of that noble fish upon its painted sign-board—at the other +end of the town, that, with a couple more, wheeled out at right angles +from the line of the broad street, and directly confronting the +passenger from Dublin, gave to it something of the character of a +square, and just left room for the high road and Martin's Row to slip +between its flank and the orchard that overtopped the river wall. Well! +it is gone. I blame nobody. I suppose it was quite rotten, and that the +rats would soon have thrown up their lease of it; and that it was taken +down, in short, chiefly, as one of the players said of 'Old Drury,' to +prevent the inconvenience of its coming down of itself. Still a peevish +but harmless old fellow—who hates change, and would wish things to stay +as they were just a little, till his own great change comes; who haunts +the places where his childhood was passed, and reverences the homeliest +relics of by-gone generations—may be allowed to grumble a little at the +impertinences of improving proprietors with a taste for accurate +parallelograms and pale new brick.</p> + +<p>Then there was the village church, with its tower dark and rustling from +base to summit, with thick piled, bowering ivy. The royal arms cut in +bold relief in the broad stone over the porch—where, pray, is that +stone now, the memento of its old viceregal dignity? Where is the +elevated pew, where many a lord lieutenant, in point, and gold lace, and +thunder-cloud periwig, sate in awful isolation, and listened to orthodox +and loyal sermons, and took French rappee; whence too, he stepped forth +between the files of the guard of honour of the Royal Irish Artillery +from the barrack over the way, in their courtly uniform, white, scarlet, +and blue, cocked hats, and cues, and ruffles, presenting arms—into his +emblazoned coach and six, with hanging footmen, as wonderful as +Cinderella's, and out-riders out-blazing the liveries of the troops, and +rolling grandly away in sunshine and dust.</p> + +<p>The 'Ecclesiastical Commissioners' have done their office here. The +tower, indeed, remains, with half its antique growth of ivy gone; but +the body of the church is new, and I, and perhaps an elderly fellow or +two more, miss the old-fashioned square pews, distributed by a +traditional tenure among the families and dignitaries of the town and +vicinage (who are they now?), and sigh for the queer, old, clumsy +reading-desk and pulpit, grown dearer from the long and hopeless +separation; and wonder where the tables of the Ten Commandments, in long +gold letters of Queen Anne's date, upon a vivid blue ground, arched +above, and flanking the communion-table, with its tall thin rails, and +fifty other things that appeared to me in my nonage, as stable as the +earth, and as sacred as the heavens, are gone to.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p>As for the barrack of the Royal Irish Artillery, the great gate leading +into the parade ground, by the river side, and all that, I believe the +earth, or rather that grim giant factory, which is now the grand feature +and centre of Chapelizod, throbbing all over with steam, and whizzing +with wheels, and vomiting pitchy smoke, has swallowed them up.</p> + +<p>A line of houses fronting this—old familiar faces—still look blank and +regretfully forth, through their glassy eyes, upon the changed scene. +How different the company they kept some ninety or a hundred years ago!</p> + +<p>Where is the mill, too, standing fast by the bridge, the manorial +appendage of the town, which I loved in my boyhood for its gaunt and +crazy aspect and dim interior, whence the clapper kept time mysteriously +to the drone of the mill-sluice? I think it is gone. Surely <i>that</i> +confounded thing can't be my venerable old friend in masquerade!</p> + +<p>But I can't expect you, my reader—polite and patient as you manifestly +are—to potter about with me, all the summer day, through this +melancholy and mangled old town, with a canopy of factory soot between +your head and the pleasant sky. One glance, however, before you go, you +will vouchsafe at the village tree—that stalworth elm. It has not grown +an inch these hundred years. It does not look a day older than it did +fifty years ago, <i>I</i> can tell you. There he stands the same; and yet a +stranger in the place of his birth, in a new order of things, joyless, +busy, transformed Chapelizod, listening, as it seems to me, always to +the unchanged song and prattle of the river, with his reveries and +affections far away among by-gone times and a buried race. Thou hast a +story, too, to tell, thou slighted and solitary sage, if only the winds +would steal it musically forth, like the secret of Mildas from the +moaning reeds.</p> + +<p>The palmy days of Chapelizod were just about a hundred years ago, and +those days—though I am jealous of their pleasant and kindly fame, and +specially for the preservation of the few memorials they have left +behind, were yet, I may say, in your ear, with all their colour and +adventure—perhaps, on the whole, more pleasant to read about, and dream +of, than they were to live in. Still their violence, follies, and +hospitalities, softened by distance, and illuminated with a sort of +barbaric splendour, have long presented to my fancy the glowing and +ever-shifting combinations upon which, as on the red embers, in a +winter's gloaming, I love to gaze, propping my white head upon my hand, +in a lazy luxury of reverie, from my own arm-chair, while they drop, +ever and anon, into new shapes, and silently tell their 'winter's +tales.'</p> + +<p>When your humble servant, Charles de Cresseron, the compiler of this +narrative, was a boy some fourteen years old—how long ago precisely +that was, is nothing to the purpose, 'tis enough to say he remembers +what he then saw and heard a good deal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> better than what happened a week +ago—it came to pass that he was spending a pleasant week of his +holidays with his benign uncle and godfather, the curate of Chapelizod. +On the second day of his, or rather <i>my</i> sojourn (I take leave to return +to the first person), there was a notable funeral of an old lady. Her +name was Darby, and her journey to her last home was very considerable, +being made in a hearse, by easy stages, from her house of Lisnabane, in +the county of Sligo, to the church-yard of Chapelizod. There was a great +flat stone over that small parcel of the rector's freehold, which the +family held by a tenure, not of lives, but of deaths, renewable for +ever. So that my uncle, who was a man of an anxious temperament, had +little trouble in satisfying himself of the meerings and identity of +this narrow tenement, to which Lemuel Mattocks, the sexton, led him as +straight and confidently as he could have done to the communion-table.</p> + +<p>My uncle, therefore, fiated the sexton's presentment, and the work +commenced forthwith. I don't know whether all boys have the same liking +for horrors which I am conscious of having possessed—I only know that I +liked the churchyard, and deciphering tombstones, and watching the +labours of the sexton, and hearing the old world village talk that often +got up over the relics.</p> + +<p>When this particular grave was pretty nearly finished—it lay from east +to west—a lot of earth fell out at the northern side, where an old +coffin had lain, and good store of brown dust and grimy bones, and the +yellow skull itself came tumbling about the sexton's feet. These +fossils, after his wont, he lifted decently with the point of his +shovel, and pitched into a little nook beside the great mound of mould +at top.</p> + +<p>'Be the powers o' war! here's a battered head-piece for yez,' said young +Tim Moran, who had picked up the cranium, and was eyeing it curiously, +turning it round the while.</p> + +<p>'Show it here, Tim;' 'let <i>me</i> look,' cried two or three neighbours, +getting round as quickly as they could.</p> + +<p>'Oh! murdher;' said one.</p> + +<p>'Oh! be the powers o' Moll Kelly!' cried another.</p> + +<p>'Oh! bloody wars!' exclaimed a third.</p> + +<p>'That poor fellow got no chance for his life at all, at all!' said Tim.</p> + +<p>'That was a bullet,' said one of them, putting his finger into a clean +circular aperture as large as a half-penny.</p> + +<p>'An' look at them two cracks. Och, murther!'</p> + +<p>'There's only one. Oh, I see you're right, <i>two</i>, begorra!'</p> + +<p>'Aich o' them a wipe iv a poker.'</p> + +<p>Mattocks had climbed nimbly to the upper level, and taking the skull in +his fist, turned it about this way and that, curiously. But though he +was no chicken, his memory did not go far enough back to throw any light +upon the matter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Could it be the Mattross that was shot in the year '90, as I often +heerd, for sthrikin' his captain?' suggested a by-stander.</p> + +<p>'Oh! that poor fellow's buried round by the north side of the church,' +said Mattocks, still eyeing the skull. 'It could not be Counsellor +Gallagher, that was kilt in the jewel with Colonel Ruck—he was hot in +the head—bud it could not be—augh! not at all.'</p> + +<p>'Why not, Misther Mattocks?'</p> + +<p>'No, nor the Mattross neither. This, ye see, is a dhry bit o' the yard +here; there's ould Darby's coffin, at the bottom, down there, sound +enough to stand on, as you see, wid a plank; an' he was buried in the +year '93. Why, look at the coffin this skull belongs to, 'tid go into +powdher between your fingers; 'tis nothin' but tindher.'</p> + +<p>'I believe you're right, Mr. Mattocks.'</p> + +<p>'Phiat! to be sure. 'Tis longer undher ground by thirty years, good, or +more maybe.'</p> + +<p>Just then the slim figure of my tall mild uncle, the curate, appeared, +and his long thin legs, in black worsted stockings and knee-breeches, +stepped reverently and lightly among the graves. The men raised their +hats, and Mattocks jumped lightly into the grave again, while my uncle +returned their salute with the sad sort of smile, a regretful kindness, +which he never exceeded, in these solemn precincts.</p> + +<p>It was his custom to care very tenderly for the bones turned up by the +sexton, and to wait with an awful solicitude until, after the reading of +the funeral service, he saw them gently replaced, as nearly as might be, +in their old bed; and discouraging all idle curiosity or levity +respecting them, with a solemn rebuke, which all respected. Therefore it +was, that so soon as he appeared the skull was, in Hibernian phrase, +'dropt like a hot potato,' and the grave-digger betook himself to his +spade so nimbly.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Uncle Charles,' I said, taking his hand, and leading him towards +the foot of the grave; 'such a wonderful skull has come up! It is shot +through with a bullet, and cracked with a poker besides.'</p> + +<p>''Tis thrue for him, your raverence; he was murthered twiste over, +whoever he was—rest his sowl;' and the sexton, who had nearly completed +his work, got out of the grave again, with a demure activity, and +raising the brown relic with great reverence, out of regard for my good +uncle, he turned it about slowly before the eyes of the curate, who +scrutinised it, from a little distance, with a sort of melancholy +horror.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Lemuel,' said my uncle, still holding my hand, ''twas undoubtedly +a murder; ay, indeed! He sustained two heavy blows, beside that gunshot +through the head.'</p> + +<p>''Twasn't gunshot, Sir; why the hole 'id take in a grape-shot,' said an +old fellow, just from behind my uncle, in a pensioner's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> cocked hat, +leggings, and long old-world red frock-coat, speaking with a harsh reedy +voice, and a grim sort of reserved smile.</p> + +<p>I moved a little aside, with a sort of thrill, to give him freer access +to my uncle, in the hope that he might, perhaps, throw a light upon the +history of this remarkable memorial. The old fellow had a rat-like gray +eye—the other was hid under a black patch—and there was a deep red +scar across his forehead, slanting from the patch that covered the +extinguished orb. His face was purplish, the tinge deepening towards the +lumpish top of his nose, on the side of which stood a big wart, and he +carried a great walking-cane over his shoulder, and bore, as it seemed +to me, an intimidating, but caricatured resemblance to an old portrait +of Oliver Cromwell in my Whig grandfather's parlour.</p> + +<p>'You don't think it a bullet wound, Sir?' said my uncle, mildly, and +touching his hat—for coming of a military stock himself, he always +treated an old soldier with uncommon respect.</p> + +<p>'Why, please your raverence,' replied the man, reciprocating his +courtesy; 'I <i>know</i> it's not.'</p> + +<p>'And what <i>is</i> it, then, my good man?' interrogated the sexton, as one +in authority, and standing on his own dunghill.</p> + +<p>'The trepan,' said the fogey, in the tone in which he'd have cried +'attention' to a raw recruit, without turning his head, and with a +scornful momentary skew-glance from his gray eye.</p> + +<p>'And do you know whose skull that was, Sir?' asked the curate.</p> + +<p>'Ay do I, Sir, <i>well</i>,' with the same queer smile, he answered. 'Come, +now, you're a grave-digger, my fine fellow,' he continued, accosting the +sexton cynically; 'how long do you suppose that skull's been under +ground?'</p> + +<p>'Long enough; but not so long, <i>my</i> fine fellow, as yours has been above +ground.'</p> + +<p>'Well, you're right there, for <i>I</i> seen him buried,' and he took the +skull from the sexton's hands; 'and I'll tell you more, there was some +dry eyes, too, at his funeral—ha, ha, ha!'</p> + +<p>'You were a resident in the town, then?' said my uncle, who did not like +the turn his recollections were taking.</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir, that I was,' he replied; 'see that broken tooth, there—I +forgot 'twas there—and the minute I seen it, I remembered it like this +morning—I could swear to it—when he laughed; ay, and that sharp corner +to it—hang him,' and he twirled the loose tooth, the last but two of +all its fellows, from' its socket, and chucked it into the grave.</p> + +<p>'And were you—you weren't in the army, <i>then</i>?' enquired the curate, +who could not understand the sort of scoffing dislike he seemed to bear +it.</p> + +<p>'Be my faith I was <i>so</i>, Sir—the Royal Irish Artillery,' replied he, +promptly.</p> + +<p>'And in what capacity?' pursued his reverence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Drummer,' answered the mulberry-faced veteran.</p> + +<p>'Ho!—Drummer? That's a good time ago, I dare say,' said my uncle, +looking on him reflectively.</p> + +<p>'Well, so it is, not far off fifty years,' answered he. 'He was a +hard-headed codger, he was; but you see the sprig of shillelagh was too +hard for him—ha, ha, ha!' and he gave the skull a smart knock with his +walking-cane, as he grinned at it and wagged his head.</p> + +<p>'Gently, gently, my good man,' said the curate, placing his hand hastily +upon his arm, for the knock was harder than was needed for the purpose +of demonstration.</p> + +<p>'You see, Sir, at that time, our Colonel-in-Chief was my Lord +Blackwater,' continued the old soldier, 'not that we often seen him, for +he lived in France mostly; the Colonel-en-Second was General +Chattesworth, and Colonel Stafford was Lieutenant-Colonel, and under him +Major O'Neill; Captains, four—Cluffe, Devereux, Barton, and Burgh: +First Lieutenants—Puddock, Delany, Sackville, and Armstrong; Second +Lieutenants—Salt; Barber, Lillyman, and Pringle; Lieutenant +Fireworkers—O'Flaherty—'</p> + +<p>'I beg your pardon,' interposed my uncle, '<i>Fireworkers</i>, did you say?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'And what, pray, does a Lieutenant <i>Fireworker</i> mean?'</p> + +<p>'Why, law bless you, Sir! a Fireworker! 'twas his business to see that +the men loaded, sarved, laid, and fired the gun all right. But that +doesn't signify; you see this old skull, Sir: well, 'twas a nine days' +wonder, and the queerest business you ever heerd tell of. Why, Sir, the +women was frightened out of their senses, an' the men puzzled out o' +their wits—they wor—ha, ha, ha! an' I can tell you all about it—a +mighty black and bloody business it was—'</p> + +<p>'I—I beg your pardon, Sir: but I think—yes—the funeral has arrived; +and for the present, I must bid you good-morning.'</p> + +<p>And so my uncle hurried to the church, where he assumed his gown, and +the solemn rite proceeded.</p> + +<p>When all was over, my uncle, after his wont, waited until he had seen +the disturbed remains re-deposited decently in their place; and then, +having disrobed, I saw him look with some interest about the +church-yard, and I knew 'twas in quest of the old soldier.</p> + +<p>'I saw him go away during the funeral,' I said.</p> + +<p>'Ay, the old pensioner,' said my uncle, peering about in quest of him.</p> + +<p>And we walked through the town, and over the bridge, and we saw nothing +of his cocked hat and red single-breasted frock, and returned rather +disappointed to tea.</p> + +<p>I ran into the back room which commanded the church-yard in the hope of +seeing the old fellow once more, with his cane<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> shouldered, grinning +among the tombstones in the evening sun. But there was no sign of him, +or indeed of anyone else there. So I returned, just as my uncle, having +made the tea, shut down the lid of his silver tea-pot with a little +smack; and with a kind but absent smile upon me, he took his book, sat +down and crossed one of his thin legs over the other, and waited +pleasantly until the delightful infusion should be ready for our lips, +reading his old volume, and with his disengaged hand gently stroking his +long shin-bone.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, I, who thirsted more for that tale of terror which the +old soldier had all but begun, of which in that strangely battered skull +I had only an hour ago seen face to face so grizzly a memento, and of +which in all human probability I never was to hear more, looked out +dejectedly from the window, when, whom should I behold marching up the +street, at slow time, towards the Salmon House, but the identical old +soldier, cocked-hat, copper nose, great red single-breasted coat with +its prodigious wide button-holes, leggings, cane, and all, just under +the village tree.</p> + +<p>'Here he is, oh! Uncle Charles, here he comes,' I cried.</p> + +<p>'Eh, the soldier, is he?' said my uncle, tripping in the carpet in his +eagerness, and all but breaking the window.</p> + +<p>'So it is, indeed; run down, my boy, and beg him to come up.'</p> + +<p>But by the time I had reached the street, which you may be sure was not +very long, I found my uncle had got the window up and was himself +inviting the old boy, who having brought his left shoulder forward, +thanked the curate, saluting soldier-fashion, with his hand to his hat, +palm foremost. I've observed, indeed, than those grim old campaigners +who have seen the world, make it a principle to accept anything in the +shape of a treat. If it's bad, why, it costs them nothing; and if good, +so much the better.</p> + +<p>So up he marched, and into the room with soldierly self-possession, and +being offered tea, preferred punch, and the ingredients were soon on the +little round table by the fire, which, the evening being sharp, was +pleasant; and the old fellow being seated, he brewed his nectar, to his +heart's content; and as we sipped our tea in pleased attention, he, +after his own fashion, commenced the story, to which I listened with an +interest which I confess has never subsided.</p> + +<p>Many years after, as will sometimes happen, a flood of light was +unexpectedly poured over the details of his narrative; on my coming into +possession of the diary, curiously minute, and the voluminous +correspondence of Rebecca, sister to General Chattesworth, with whose +family I had the honour to be connected. And this journal, to me, with +my queer cat-like affection for this old village, a perfect +treasure—and the interminable <i>bundles</i> of letters, sorted and arranged +so neatly, with little abstracts of their contents in red ink, in her +own firm thin hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> upon the covers, from all and to all manner of +persons—for the industrious lady made fair copies of all the letters +she wrote—formed for many years my occasional, and always pleasant +winter night's reading.</p> + +<p>I wish I could infuse their spirit into what I am going to tell, and +above all that I could inspire my readers with ever so little of the +peculiar interest with which the old town has always been tinted and +saddened to my eye. My boyish imagination, perhaps, kindled all the more +at the story, by reason of it being a good deal connected with the +identical old house in which we three—my dear uncle, my idle self, and +the queer old soldier—were then sitting. But wishes are as vain as +regrets; so I'll just do my best, bespeaking your attention, and +submissively abiding your judgment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h4>THE RECTOR'S NIGHT-WALK TO HIS CHURCH.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p> D. 1767—in the beginning of the month of May—I mention it because, +as I said, I write from memoranda, an awfully dark night came down on +Chapelizod and all the country round.</p> + +<p>I believe there was no moon, and the stars had been quite put out under +the wet 'blanket of the night,' which impenetrable muffler overspread +the sky with a funereal darkness.</p> + +<p>There was a little of that sheet-lightning early in the evening, which +betokens sultry weather. The clouds, column after column, came up +sullenly over the Dublin mountains, rolling themselves from one horizon +to the other into one black dome of vapour, their slow but steady motion +contrasting with the awful stillness of the air. There was a weight in +the atmosphere, and a sort of undefined menace brooding over the little +town, as if unseen crime or danger—some mystery of iniquity—was +stealing into the heart of it, and the disapproving heavens scowled a +melancholy warning.</p> + +<p>That morning old Sally, the rector's housekeeper, was disquieted. She +had dreamed of making the great four-post, state bed, with the dark +green damask curtains—a dream that betokened some coming trouble—it +might, to be sure, be ever so small—(it had once come with no worse +result than Dr. Walsingham's dropping his purse, containing something +under a guinea in silver, over the side of the ferry boat)—but again it +might be tremendous. The omen hung over them doubtful.</p> + +<p>A large square letter, with a great round seal, as big as a crown piece, +addressed to the Rev. Hugh Walsingham, Doctor of Divinity, at his house, +by the bridge, in Chapelizod, had reached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> him in the morning, and +plainly troubled him. He kept the messenger a good hour awaiting his +answer; and, just at two o'clock, the same messenger returned with a +second letter—but this time a note sufficed for reply. ''Twill seem +ungracious,' said the doctor, knitting his brows over his closed folio +in the study; 'but I cannot choose but walk clear in my calling before +the Lord. How can I honestly pronounce hope, when in my mind there is +nothing but <i>fear</i>—let another do it if he see his way—I do enough in +being present, as 'tis right I should.'</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, a remarkably dark night—a rush and downpour of rain! +The doctor stood just under the porch of the stout brick house—of King +William's date, which was then the residence of the worthy rector of +Chapelizod—with his great surtout and cape on—his leggings buttoned +up—and his capacious leather 'overalls' pulled up and strapped over +these—and his broad-leafed hat tied down over his wig and ears with a +mighty silk kerchief. I dare say he looked absurd enough—but it was the +women's doing—who always, upon emergencies, took the doctor's wardrobe +in hand. Old Sally, with her kind, mild, grave face, and gray locks, +stood modestly behind in the hall; and pretty Lilias, his only child, +gave him her parting kiss, and her last grand charge about his shoes and +other exterior toggery, in the porch; and he patted her cheek with a +little fond laugh, taking old John Tracy's, the butler's, arm. John +carried a handsome horn-lantern, which flashed now on a roadside +bush—now on the discoloured battlements of the bridge—and now on a +streaming window. They stepped out—there were no umbrellas in those +days—splashing among the wide and widening pools; while Sally and +Lilias stood in the porch, holding candles for full five minutes after +the doctor and his 'Jack-o'-the-lantern,' as he called honest John, +whose arm and candle always befriended him in his night excursions, had +got round the corner.</p> + +<p>Through the back bow-window of the Phœnix, there pealed +forth—faint in the distance and rain—a solemn royal ditty, piped by +the tuneful Aldermen of Skinner's Alley, and neither unmusical nor +somehow uncongenial with the darkness, and the melancholy object of the +doctor's walk, the chant being rather monastic, wild, and dirge-like. It +was a quarter past ten, and no other sound of life or human +neighbourhood was stirring. If secrecy were an object, it was well +secured by the sable sky, and the steady torrent which rolled down with +electric weight and perpendicularity, making all nature resound with one +long hush—sh—sh—sh—sh—deluging the broad street, and turning the +channels and gutters into mimic mill-streams which snorted and hurtled +headlong through their uneven beds, and round the corners towards the +turbid Liffey, which, battered all over with rain, muddy, and sullen, +reeled its way towards the sea, rolling up to the heavens an aspect +black as their own.</p> + +<p>As they passed by the Phœnix (a little rivulet, by-the-bye,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> was +spouting down from the corner of the sign; and indeed the night was such +as might well have caused that suicidal fowl to abandon all thoughts of +self-incremation, and submit to an unprecedented death by drowning), +there was no idle officer, or lounging waiter upon the threshold. +Military and civilians were all snug in their quarters that night; and +the inn, except for the 'Aldermen' in the back parlour, was doing no +business. The door was nearly closed, and only let out a tall, narrow +slice of candle-light upon the lake of mud, over every inch of which the +rain was drumming.</p> + +<p>The doctor's lantern glided by—and then across the street—and so +leisurely along the foot-way, by the range of lightless hall doors +towards the Salmon House, also dark; and so, sharp round the corner, and +up to the church-yard gate, which stood a little open, as also the +church door beyond, as was evidenced by the feeble glow of a lantern +from within.</p> + +<p>I dare say old Bob Martin, the sexton, and grave Mr. Irons, the clerk, +were reassured when they heard the cheery voice of the rector hailing +them by name. There were now three candles in church; but the edifice +looked unpleasantly dim, and went off at the far end into total +darkness. Zekiel Irons was a lean, reserved fellow, with a black wig and +blue chin, and something shy and sinister in his phiz. I don't think he +had entertained honest Bob with much conversation from those thin lips +of his during their grizzly <i>tête-à-tête</i> among the black windows and +the mural tablets that overhung the aisle.</p> + +<p>But the rector had lots to say—though deliberately and gravely, still +the voice was genial and inspiring—and exorcised the shadows that had +been gathering stealthily around the lesser Church functionaries. Mrs. +Irons's tooth, he learned, was still bad; but she was no longer troubled +with 'that sour humour in her stomach.' There were sour humours, alas! +still remaining—enough, and to spare, as the clerk knew to his cost. +Bob Martin thanked his reverence; the cold rheumatism in his hip was +better.' Irons, the clerk, replied, 'he had brought two prayer-books.' +Bob averred 'he could not be mistaken; the old lady was buried in the +near-vault; though it was forty years before, he remembered it like last +night. They changed her into her lead coffin in the vault—he and the +undertaker together—her own servants would not put a hand to her. She +was buried in white satin, and with her rings on her fingers. It was her +fancy, and so ordered in her will. They said she was mad. He'd know her +face again if he saw her. She had a long hooked nose; and her eyes were +open. For, as he was told, she died in her sleep, and was quite cold and +stiff when they found her in the morning. He went down and saw the +coffin to-day, half an hour after meeting his reverence.'</p> + +<p>The rector consulted his great warming-pan of a watch. It was drawing +near eleven. He fell into a reverie, and rambled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> slowly up and down the +aisle, with his hands behind his back, and his dripping hat in them, +swinging nearly to the flags,—now lost in the darkness—now emerging +again, dim, nebulous, in the foggy light of the lanterns. When this +clerical portrait came near, he was looking down, with gathered brows, +upon the flags, moving his lips and nodding, as if counting them, as was +his way. The doctor was thinking all the time upon the one text:—Why +should this livid memorial of two great crimes be now disturbed, after +an obscurity of twenty-one years, as if to jog the memory of scandal, +and set the great throat of the monster baying once more at the old +midnight horror?</p> + +<p>And as for that old house at Ballyfermot, why any one could have looked +after it as well as he. 'Still he must live somewhere, and certainly +this little town is quieter than the city, and the people, on the whole, +very kindly, and by no means curious.' This latter was a mistake of the +doctor's, who, like other simple persons, was fond of regarding others +as harmless repetitions of himself. 'And his sojourn will be,' he says, +'but a matter of weeks; and the doctors mind wandered back again to the +dead, and forward to the remoter consequences of his guilt, so he heaved +a heavy, honest sigh, and lifted up his head and slackened his pace for +a little prayer, and with that there came the rumble of wheels to the +church door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h4>THE NAMELESS COFFIN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>hree vehicles with flambleaux, and the clang and snorting of horses +came close to the church porch, and there appeared suddenly, standing +within the disc of candle-light at the church door, before one would +have thought there was time, a tall, very pale, and peculiar looking +young man, with very large, melancholy eyes, and a certain cast of evil +pride in his handsome face.</p> + +<p>John Tracy lighted the wax candles which he had brought, and Bob Martin +stuck them in the sockets at either side of the cushion, on the ledge of +the pew, beside the aisle, where the prayer-book lay open at 'the burial +of the dead,' and the rest of the party drew about the door, while the +doctor was shaking hands very ceremoniously with that tall young man, +who had now stepped into the circle of light, with a short, black mantle +on, and his black curls uncovered, and a certain air of high breeding in +his movements. 'He reminded me painfully of him who is gone, whom we +name not,' said the doctor to pretty Lilias, when he got home; he has +his pale, delicately-formed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> features, with a shadow of his evil +passions too, and his mother's large, sad eyes.'</p> + +<p>And an elderly clergyman, in surplice, band, and white wig, with a hard, +yellow, furrowed face, hovered in, like a white bird of night, from the +darkness behind, and was introduced to Dr. Walsingham, and whispered for +a while to Mr. Irons, and then to Bob Martin, who had two short forms +placed transversely in the aisle to receive what was coming, and a +shovel full of earth—all ready. So, while the angular clergyman ruffled +into the front of the pew, with Irons on one side, a little in the rear, +both books open; the plump little undertaker, diffusing a steam from his +moist garments, making a prismatic halo round the candles and lanterns, +as he moved successively by them, whispered a word or two to the young +gentleman [Mr. Mervyn, the doctor called him], and Mr. Mervyn +disappeared. Dr. Walsingham and John Tracy got into contiguous seats, +and Bob Martin went out to lend a hand. Then came the shuffling of feet, +and the sound of hard-tugging respiration, and the suppressed energetic +mutual directions of the undertaker's men, who supported the ponderous +coffin. How much heavier, it always seems to me, that sort of load than +any other of the same size!</p> + +<p>A great oak shell: the lid was outside in the porch, Mr. Tressels was +unwilling to screw it down, having heard that the entrance to the vault +was so narrow, and apprehending it might be necessary to take the coffin +out. So it lay its length with a dull weight on the two forms. The lead +coffin inside, with its dusty black velvet, was plainly much older. +There was a plate on it with two bold capitals, and a full stop after +each, thus;—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>R. D. obiit May 11th, A.D. 1746. ætat 38.</p></div> + +<p>And above this plain, oval plate was a little bit of an ornament no +bigger than a sixpence. John Tracy took it for a star, Bob Martin said +he knew it to be a Freemason's order, and Mr. Tressels, who almost +overlooked it, thought it was nothing better than a fourpenny cherub. +But Mr. Irons, the clerk, knew that it was a coronet; and when he heard +the other theories thrown out, being a man of few words he let them have +it their own way, and with his thin lips closed, with their changeless +and unpleasant character of an imperfect smile, he coldly kept this +little bit of knowledge to himself.</p> + +<p>Earth to earth (rumble), dust to dust (tumble), ashes to ashes (rattle).</p> + +<p>And now the coffin must go out again, and down to its final abode.</p> + +<p>The flag that closed the entrance of the vault had been re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>moved. But +the descent of Avernus was not facile, the steps being steep and broken, +and the roof so low. Young Mervyn had gone down the steps to see it duly +placed; a murky, fiery light; came up, against which the descending +figures looked black and cyclopean.</p> + +<p>Dr. Walsingham offered his brother-clergyman his hospitalities; but +somehow that cleric preferred returning to town for his supper and his +bed. Mervyn also excused himself. It was late, and he meant to stay that +night at the Phœnix, and to-morrow designed to make his compliments +in person to Dr. Walsingham. So the bilious clergyman from town climbed +into the vehicle in which he had come, and the undertaker and his troop +got into the hearse and the mourning coach and drove off demurely +through the town; but once a hundred yards or so beyond the turnpike, at +such a pace that they overtook the rollicking <i>cortège</i> of the Alderman +of Skinner's Alley upon the Dublin road, all singing and hallooing, and +crowing and shouting scraps of banter at one another, in which +recreations these professional mourners forthwith joined them; and they +cracked screaming jokes, and drove wild chariot races the whole way into +town, to the terror of the divine, whose presence they forgot, and whom, +though he shrieked from the window, they never heard, until getting out, +when the coach came to a stand-still, he gave Mr. Tressels a piece of +his mind, and that in so alarming a sort, that the jolly undertaker, +expressing a funereal concern at the accident, was obliged to explain +that all the noise came from the scandalous party they had so +unfortunately overtaken, and that 'the drunken blackguards had lashed +and frightened his horses to a runaway pace, singing and hallooing in +the filthy way he heard, it being a standing joke among such roisterers +to put quiet tradesmen of his melancholy profession into a false and +ridiculous position.' He did not convince, but only half puzzled the +ecclesiastic, who muttering, 'credat Judæus,' turned his back upon Mr. +Tressels, with an angry whisk, without bidding him good-night.</p> + +<p>Dr. Walsingham, with the aid of his guide, in the meantime, had reached +the little garden in front of the old house, and the gay tinkle of a +harpsichord and the notes of a sweet contralto suddenly ceased as he did +so; and he said—smiling in the dark, in a pleasant soliloquy, for he +did not mind John Tracy,—old John was not in the way—'She always hears +my step—always—little Lily, no matter how she's employed,' and the +hall-door opened, and a voice that was gentle, and yet somehow very +spirited and sweet, cried a loving and playful welcome to the old man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h4>MR. MERVYN IN HIS INN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he morning was fine—the sun shone out with a yellow splendour—all +nature was refreshed—a pleasant smell rose up from tree, and flower, +and earth. The now dry pavement and all the row of village windows were +glittering merrily—the sparrows twittered their lively morning gossip +among the thick ivy of the old church tower—here and there the village +cock challenged his neighbour with high and vaunting crow, and the bugle +notes soared sweetly into the air from the artillery ground beside the +river.</p> + +<p>Moore, the barber, was already busy making his morning circuit, servant +men and maids were dropping in and out at the baker's, and old Poll +Delany, in her weather-stained red hood, and neat little Kitty Lane, +with her bright young careful face and white basket, were calling at the +doors of their customers with new laid eggs. Through half-opened hall +doors you might see the powdered servant, or the sprightly maid in her +mob-cap in hot haste steaming away with the red japanned 'tea kitchen' +into the parlour. The town of Chapelizod, in short, was just sitting +down to its breakfast.</p> + +<p>Mervyn, in the meantime, had had his solitary meal in the famous back +parlour of the Phœnix, where the newspapers lay, and all comers were +welcome. He was by no means a bad hero to look at, if such a thing were +needed. His face was pale, melancholy, statuesque—and his large +enthusiastic eyes, suggested a story and a secret—perhaps a horror. +Most men, had they known all, would have wondered with good Doctor +Walsingham, why, of all places in the world, he should have chosen the +little town where he now stood for even a temporary residence. It was +not a perversity, but rather a fascination. His whole life had been a +flight and a pursuit—a vain endeavour to escape from the evil spirit +that pursued him—and a chase of a chimera.</p> + +<p>He was standing at the window, not indeed enjoying, as another man +might, the quiet verdure of the scene, and the fragrant air, and all the +mellowed sounds of village life, but lost in a sad and dreadful reverie, +when in bounced little red-faced bustling Dr. Toole—the joke and the +chuckle with which he had just requited the fat old barmaid still +ringing in the passage—'Stay there, sweetheart,' addressed to a dog +squeezing by him, and which screeched out as he kicked it neatly round +the door-post.</p> + +<p>'Hey, your most obedient, Sir,' cried the doctor, with a short but grand +bow, affecting surprise, though his chief object in visit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>ing the back +parlour at that moment was precisely to make a personal inspection of +the stranger. 'Pray, don't mind me, Sir,—your—ho! Breakfast ended, eh? +Coffee not so bad, Sir; rather good coffee, I hold it, at the Phœnix. +Cream very choice, Sir?—I don't tell 'em so though (a wink); it might +not improve it, you know. I hope they gave you—eh?—eh? (he peeped into +the cream-ewer, which he turned towards the light, with a whisk). And no +disputing the eggs—forty-eight hens in the poultry yard, and ninety +ducks in Tresham's little garden, next door to Sturk's. They make a +precious noise, I can tell you, when it showers. Sturk threatens to +shoot 'em. He's the artillery surgeon here; and Tom Larkin said, last +night, it's because they only dabble and quack—and two of a trade, you +know—ha! ha! ha! And what a night we had—dark as Erebus—pouring like +pumps, by Jove. I'll remember it, I warrant you. Out on business—a +medical man, you know, can't always choose—and near meeting a bad +accident too. Anything in the paper, eh? ho! I see, Sir, haven't read +it. Well, and what do you think—a queer night for the purpose, eh? +you'll say—we had a funeral in the town last night, Sir—some one from +Dublin. It was Tressel's men came out. The turnpike rogue—just round +the corner there—one of the talkingest gossips in the town—and a +confounded prying, tattling place it is, I can tell you—knows the +driver; and Bob Martin, the sexton, you know—tells me there were two +parsons, no less—hey! Cauliflowers in season, by Jove. Old Dr. +Walsingham, our rector, a pious man, Sir, and does a world of good—that +is to say, relieves half the blackguards in the parish—ha! ha! when +we're on the point of getting rid of them—but means well, only he's a +little bit lazy, and queer, you know; and that rancid, raw-boned parson, +Gillespie—how the plague did they pick him up?—one of the mutes told +Bob 'twas he. He's from Donegal; I know all about him; the sourest dog I +ever broke bread with—and mason, if you please, by Jove—a prince +pelican! He supped at the Grand Lodge after labour, one night—<i>you're</i> +not a mason, I see; tipt you the sign—and his face was so pinched, and +so yellow, by Jupiter, I was near squeezing it into the punch-bowl for a +lemon—ha! ha! hey?'</p> + +<p>Mervyn's large eyes expressed a well-bred surprise. Dr. Toole paused for +nearly a minute, as if expecting something in return; but it did not +come.</p> + +<p>So the doctor started afresh, never caring for Mervyn's somewhat +dangerous looks.</p> + +<p>'Mighty pretty prospects about here, Sir. The painters come out by +dozens in the summer, with their books and pencils, and scratch away +like so many Scotchmen. Ha! ha! ha! If you draw, Sir, there's one +prospect up the river, by the mills—upon my conscience—but you don't +draw?'</p> + +<p>No answer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>'A little, Sir, maybe? Just for a maggot, I'll wager—like <i>my</i> good +lady, Mrs. Toole.' A nearer glance at his dress had satisfied Toole that +he was too much of a maccaroni for an artist, and he was thinking of +placing him upon the lord lieutenant's staff. 'We've capital horses +here, if you want to go on to Leixlip,' (where—this between ourselves +and the reader—during the summer months His Excellency and Lady +Townshend resided, and where, the old newspapers tell us, they 'kept a +public day every Monday,' and he 'had a levée, as usual, every +Thursday.') But this had no better success.</p> + +<p>'If you design to stay over the day, and care for shooting, we'll have +some ball practice on Palmerstown fair-green to-day. Seven baronies to +shoot for ten and five guineas. One o'clock, hey?'</p> + +<p>At this moment entered Major O'Neill, of the Royal Irish Artillery, a +small man, very neatly got up, and with a decidedly Milesian cast of +countenance, who said little, but smiled agreeably—</p> + +<p>'Gentlemen, your most obedient. Ha, doctor; how goes it?—anything +new—anything <i>on</i> the <i>Freeman</i>?'</p> + +<p>Toole had scanned that paper, and hummed out, as he rumpled it +over,—'nothing—very—particular. Here's Lady Moira's ball: fancy +dresses—all Irish; no masks; a numerous appearance of the nobility and +gentry—upwards of five hundred persons. A good many of your corps +there, major?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Lord Blackwater, of course, and the general, and Devereux, and +little Puddock, and——'</p> + +<p>'<i>Sturk</i> wasn't,' with a grin, interrupted Toole, who bore that +practitioner no good-will. 'A gentleman robbed, by two foot-pads, on +Chapelizod-road, on Wednesday night, of his watch and money, together +with his hat, wig and cane, and lies now in a dangerous state, having +been much abused; one of them dressed in an old light-coloured coat, +wore a wig. By Jupiter, major, if I was in General Chattesworth's place, +with two hundred strapping fellows at my orders, I'd get a commission +from Government to clear that road. It's too bad, Sir, we can't go in +and out of town, unless in a body, after night-fall, but at the risk of +our lives. [The convivial doctor felt this public scandal acutely.] The +bloody-minded miscreants, I'd catch every living soul of them, and burn +them alive in tar-barrels. By Jove! here's old Joe Napper, of +Dirty-lane's dead. Plenty of dry eyes after <i>him</i>. And stay, here's +another row.' And so he read on.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, stout, tightly-braced Captain Cluffe of the same corps, +and little dark, hard-faced, and solemn Mr. Nutter, of the Mills, Lord +Castlemallard's agents, came in, and half a dozen more, chiefly members +of the club, which met by night in the front parlour on the left, +opposite the bar, where they entertained themselves with agreeable +conversation, cards, backgammon, draughts, and an occasional song by Dr. +Toole, who was a florid tenor, and used to give them, 'While gentlefolks +strut in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> silver and satins,' or 'A maiden of late had a merry design,' +or some other such ditty, with a recitation by plump little +stage-stricken Ensign Puddock, who, in 'thpite of hith lithp,' gave +rather spirited imitations of some of the players—Mossop, Sheridan, +Macklin, Barry, and the rest. So Mervyn, the stranger, by no means +affecting this agreeable society, took his cane and cocked-hat, and went +out—the dark and handsome apparition—followed by curious glances from +two or three pairs of eyes, and a whispered commentary and criticism +from Toole.</p> + +<p>So, taking a meditative ramble in 'His Majesty's Park, the Phœnix;' +and passing out at Castleknock gate, he walked up the river, between the +wooded slopes, which make the valley of the Liffey so pleasant and +picturesque, until he reached the ferry, which crossing, he at the other +side found himself not very far from Palmerstown, through which village +his return route to Chapelizod lay.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h4>THE FAIR-GREEN OF PALMERSTOWN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>here were half-a-dozen carriages, and a score of led horses outside the +fair-green, a precious lot of ragamuffins, and a good resort to the +public-house opposite; and the gate being open, the artillery band, +rousing all the echoes round with harmonious and exhilarating thunder, +within—an occasional crack of a 'Brown Bess,' with a puff of white +smoke over the hedge, being heard, and the cheers of the spectators, and +sometimes a jolly chorus of many-toned laughter, all mixed together, and +carried on with a pleasant running hum of voices—Mervyn, the stranger, +reckoning on being unobserved in the crowd, and weary of the very +solitude he courted, turned to his right, and so found himself upon the +renowned fair-green of Palmerstown.</p> + +<p>It was really a gay rural sight. The circular target stood, with its +bright concentric rings, in conspicuous isolation, about a hundred yards +away, against the green slope of the hill. The competitors in their best +Sunday suits, some armed with muskets and some with fowling pieces—for +they were not particular—and with bunches of ribbons fluttering in +their three-cornered hats, and sprigs of gay flowers in their breasts, +stood in the foreground, in an irregular cluster, while the spectators, +in pleasant disorder, formed two broad, and many-coloured parterres, +broken into little groups, and separated by a wide, clear sweep of green +sward, running up from the marksmen to the target.</p> + +<p>In the luminous atmosphere the men of those days showed bright and gay. +Such fine scarlet and gold waistcoats—such sky-blue and silver—such +pea-green lutestrings—and pink silk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> linings—and flashing buckles—and +courtly wigs—or becoming powder—went pleasantly with the brilliant +costume of the stately dames and smiling lasses. There was a pretty +sprinkling of uniforms, too—the whole picture in gentle motion, and the +bugles and drums of the Royal Irish Artillery filling the air with +inspiring music.</p> + +<p>All the neighbours were there—merry little Dr. Toole in his grandest +wig and gold-headed cane, with three dogs at his heels,—he seldom +appeared without this sort of train—sometimes three—sometimes +five—sometimes as many as seven—and his hearty voice was heard bawling +at them by name, as he sauntered through the town of a morning, and +theirs occasionally in short screeches, responsive to the touch of his +cane. Now it was, 'Fairy, you savage, let that pig alone!' a yell and a +scuffle—'Juno, drop it, you slut'—or 'Cæsar, you blackguard, where are +you going?'</p> + +<p>'Look at Sturk there, with his lordship,' said Toole, to the fair +Magnolia, with a wink and a nod, and a sneering grin. 'Good natured dog +that—ha! ha! You'll find he'll oust Nutter at last, and get the agency; +that's what he's driving at—always undermining somebody.' Doctor Sturk +and Lord Castlemallard were talking apart on the high ground, and the +artillery surgeon was pointing with his cane at distant objects. 'I'll +lay you fifty he's picking holes in Nutter's management this moment.'</p> + +<p>I'm afraid there was some truth in the theory, and Toole—though he did +not remember to mention it—had an instinctive notion that Sturk had an +eye upon the civil practice of the neighbourhood, and was meditating a +retirement from the army, and a serious invasion of his domain.</p> + +<p>Sturk and Toole, behind backs, did not spare one another. Toole called +Sturk a 'horse doctor,' and 'the smuggler'—in reference to some affair +about French brandy, never made quite clear to me, but in which, I +believe, Sturk was really not to blame; and Sturk called him 'that +drunken little apothecary'—for Toole had a boy who compounded, under +the rose, his draughts, pills, and powders in the back parlour—and +sometimes, 'that smutty little ballad singer,' or 'that whiskeyfied +dog-fancier, Toole.' There was no actual quarrel, however; they met +freely—told one another the news—their mutual disagreeabilities were +administered guardedly—and, on the whole, they hated one another in a +neighbourly way.</p> + +<p>Fat, short, radiant, General Chattesworth—in full, artillery +uniform—was there, smiling, and making little speeches to the ladies, +and bowing stiffly from his hips upward—his great cue playing all the +time up and down his back, and sometimes so near the ground when he +stood erect and threw back his head, that Toole, seeing Juno eyeing the +appendage rather viciously, thought it prudent to cut her speculations +short with a smart kick.</p> + +<p>His sister Rebecca—tall, erect, with grand lace, in a splendid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> stiff +brocade, and with a fine fan—was certainly five-and-fifty, but still +wonderfully fresh, and sometimes had quite a pretty little pink +colour—perfectly genuine—in her cheeks; command sat in her eye and +energy on her lip—but though it was imperious and restless, there was +something provokingly likeable and even pleasant in her face. Her niece, +Gertrude, the general's daughter, was also tall, graceful—and, I am +told, perfectly handsome.</p> + +<p>'Be the powers, she's mighty handsome!' observed 'Lieutenant Fireworker' +O'Flaherty, who, being a little stupid, did not remember that such a +remark was not likely to pleasure the charming Magnolia Macnamara, to +whom he had transferred the adoration of a passionate, but somewhat +battered heart.</p> + +<p>'They must not see with my eyes that think so,' said Mag, with a +disdainful toss of her head.</p> + +<p>'They say she's not twenty, but I'll wager a pipe of claret she's +something to the back of it,' said O'Flaherty, mending his hand.</p> + +<p>'Why, bless your innocence, she'll never see five-and-twenty, and a bit +to spare,' sneered Miss Mag, who might more truly have told that tale of +herself. 'Who's that pretty young man my Lord Castlemallard is +introducing to her and old Chattesworth?' The commendation was a shot at +poor O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>'Hey—so, my Lord knows him!' says Toole, very much interested. 'Why +that's Mr. Mervyn, that's stopping at the Phœnix. A. Mervyn,—I saw +it on his dressing case. See how she smiles.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, she simpers like a firmity kettle,' said scornful Miss Mag.</p> + +<p>'They're very grand to-day, the Chattesworths, with them two livery +footmen behind them,' threw in O'Flaherty, accommodating his remarks to +the spirit of his lady-love.</p> + +<p>'That young buck's a man of consequence,' Toole rattled on; 'Miss does +not smile on everybody.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, she looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth, but I warrant +cheese won't choke her,' Magnolia laughed out with angry eyes.</p> + +<p>Magnolia's fat and highly painted parent—poor bragging, good-natured, +cunning, foolish Mrs. Macnamara, the widow—joined, with a venemous +wheeze in the laugh.</p> + +<p>Those who suppose that all this rancour was produced by mere feminine +emulations and jealousy do these ladies of the ancient sept Macnamara +foul wrong. Mrs. Mack, on the contrary, had a fat and genial soul of her +own, and Magnolia was by no means a particularly ungenerous rival in the +lists of love. But Aunt Rebecca was hoitytoity upon the Macnamaras, whom +she would never consent to more than half-know, seeing them with +difficulty, often failing to see them altogether—though Magnolia's +stature and activity did not always render that easy. To-day, for +instance, when the firing was brisk, and some of the ladies uttered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +pretty little timid squalls, Miss Magnolia not only stood fire like +brick, but with her own fair hands cracked off a firelock, and was more +complimented and applauded than all the marksmen beside, although she +shot most dangerously wide, and was much nearer hitting old Arthur Slowe +than that respectable gentleman, who waved his hat and smirked +gallantly, was at all aware. Aunt Rebecca, notwithstanding all this, and +although she looked straight at her from a distance of only ten steps, +yet she could not see that large and highly-coloured heroine; and +Magnolia was so incensed at her serene impertinence that when Gertrude +afterwards smiled and courtesied twice, she only held her head the +higher and flung a flashing defiance from her fine eyes right at that +unoffending virgin.</p> + +<p>Everybody knew that Miss Rebecca Chattesworth ruled supreme at Belmont. +With a docile old general and a niece so young, she had less resistance +to encounter than, perhaps, her ardent soul would have relished. +Fortunately for the general it was only now and then that Aunt Becky +took a whim to command the Royal Irish Artillery. She had other hobbies +just as odd, though not quite so scandalous. It had struck her active +mind that such of the ancient women of Chapelizod as were destitute of +letters—mendicants and the like—should learn to read. Twice a week her +'old women's school,' under that energetic lady's presidency, brought +together its muster-roll of rheumatism, paralysis, dim eyes, bothered +ears, and invincible stupidity. Over the fire-place in large black +letters, was the legend, 'BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!' and out came the +horn-books and spectacles, and to it they went with their A-B ab, etc., +and plenty of wheezing and coughing. Aunt Becky kept good fires, and +served out a mess of bread and broth, along with some pungent ethics, to +each of her hopeful old girls. In winter she further encouraged them +with a flannel petticoat apiece, and there was besides a monthly dole. +So that although after a year there was, perhaps, on the whole, no +progress in learning, the affair wore a tolerably encouraging aspect; +for the academy had increased in numbers, and two old fellows, liking +the notion of the broth and the 6d. a month—one a barber, Will Potts, +ruined by a shake in his right hand, the other a drunken pensioner, Phil +Doolan, with a wooden leg—petitioned to be enrolled, and were, +accordingly, admitted. Then Aunt Becky visited the gaols, and had a +knack of picking up the worst characters there, and had generally two or +three discharged felons on her hands. Some people said she was a bit of +a Voltarian, but unjustly; for though she now and then came out with a +bouncing social paradox, she was a good bitter Church-woman. So she was +liberal and troublesome—off-handed and dictatorial—not without good +nature, but administering her benevolences somewhat tyrannically, and, +for the most part, doing more or less of positive mischief in the +process.</p> + +<p>And now the general ('old Chattesworth,' as the scornful Mag<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>nolia +called him) drew near, with his benevolent smirk, and his stiff bows, +and all his good-natured formalities—for the general had no notion of +ignoring his good friend and officer, Major O'Neill, or his sister or +niece—and so he made up to Mrs. Macnamara, who arrested a narrative in +which she was demonstrating to O'Flaherty the general's lineal descent +from old Chattesworth—an army tailor in Queen Anne's time—and his +cousinship to a live butter dealer in Cork—and spicing her little +history with not a very nice epigram on his uncle, 'the counsellor,' by +Dr. Swift, which she delivered with a vicious chuckle in the +'Fireworker's' ear, who also laughed, though he did not quite see the +joke, and said, 'Oh-ho-ho, murdher!'</p> + +<p>The good Mrs. Mack received the general haughtily and slightly, and Miss +Magnolia with a short courtesy and a little toss of her head, and up +went her fan, and she giggled something in Toole's ear, who grinned, and +glanced uneasily out of the corner of his shrewd little eye at the +unsuspicious general and on to Aunt Rebecca; for it was very important +to Dr. Toole to stand well at Belmont. So, seeing that Miss Mag was +disposed to be vicious, and not caring to be compromised by her tricks, +he whistled and bawled to his dogs, and with a jolly smirk and flourish +of his cocked-hat, off he went to seek other adventures.</p> + +<p>Thus, was there feud and malice between two houses, and Aunt Rebecca's +wrong-headed freak of cutting the Macnamaras (for it was not 'snobbery,' +and she would talk for hours on band-days publicly and familiarly with +scrubby little Mrs. Toole), involved her innocent relations in scorn and +ill-will; for this sort of offence, like Chinese treason, is not visited +on the arch offender only, but according to a scale of consanguinity, +upon his kith and kin. The criminal is minced—his sons lashed—his +nephews reduced to cutlets—his cousins to joints—and so on—none of +the family quite escapes; and seeing the bitter reprisals provoked by +this kind of uncharity, fiercer and more enduring by much than any +begotten of more tangible wrongs, Christian people who pray, 'lead us +not into temptation,' and repeat 'blessed are the peace-makers,' will, +on the whole, do wisely to forbear practising it.</p> + +<p>As handsome, slender Captain Devereux, with his dark face, and great, +strange, earnest eyes, and that look of intelligence so racy and +peculiar, that gave him a sort of enigmatical interest, stepped into the +fair-green, the dark blue glance of poor Nan Glynn, of Palmerstown, from +under her red Sunday riding-hood, followed the tall, dashing, graceful +apparition with a stolen glance of wild loyalty and admiration. Poor +Nan! with thy fun and thy rascalities, thy strong affections and thy +fatal gift of beauty, where does thy head rest now?</p> + +<p>Handsome Captain Devereux!—Gipsy Devereux, as they called him for his +clear dark complexion—was talking a few minutes later to Lilias +Walsingham. Oh, pretty Lilias—oh, true lady—I never saw the pleasant +crayon sketch that my mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> used to speak of, but the tradition of +thee has come to me—so bright and tender, with its rose and violet +tints, and merry, melancholy dimples, that I see thee now, as then, with +the dew of thy youth still on thee, and sigh as I look, as if on a lost, +early love of mine.</p> + +<p>'I'm out of conceit with myself,' he said; 'I'm so idle and useless; I +wish that were all—I wish myself better, but I'm such a weak coxcomb—a +father-confessor might keep me nearer to my duty—some one to scold and +exhort me. Perhaps if some charitable lady would take me in hand, +something might be made of me still.'</p> + +<p>There was a vein of seriousness in this reverie which amused the young +lady; for she had never heard anything worse of him—very young ladies +seldom do hear the worst—than that he had played once or twice rather +high.</p> + +<p>'Shall I ask Gertrude Chattesworth to speak to her Aunt Rebecca?' said +Lilias slyly. 'Suppose you attend her school in Martin's Row, with +"better late than never" over her chimneypiece: there are two pupils of +your own sex, you know, and you might sit on the bench with poor Potts +and good old Doolan.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you. Miss Lilias,' he answered, with a bow and a little laugh, as +it seemed just the least bit in the world piqued; 'I know she would do +it zealously; but neither so well nor so wisely as others might; I wish +I dare ask <i>you</i> to lecture me.'</p> + +<p>'I!' said that young lady. 'Oh, yes, I forgot,' she went on merrily,' +five years ago, when I was a little girl, you once called me Dr. +Walsingham's curate, I was so grave—do you remember?'</p> + +<p>She did not know how much obliged Devereux was to her for remembering +that poor little joke, and how much the handsome lieutenant would have +given, at that instant, to kiss the hand of the grave little girl of +five years ago.</p> + +<p>'I was a more impudent fellow then,' he said, 'than I am now; won't you +forget my old impertinences, and allow me to make atonement, and be +your—your <i>very</i> humble servant now?'</p> + +<p>She laughed. 'Not my servant—but you know I can't help you being my +parishioner.'</p> + +<p>'And as such surely I may plead an humble right to your counsels and +reproof. Yes, you <i>shall</i> lecture me—I'll bear it from none but <i>you</i>, +and the more you do it, the happier, at least, you make me,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Alas, if my censure is pleasant to you, 'tis a certain sign it can do +you no good.'</p> + +<p>'It <i>shall</i> do me good, and be it never so bitter and so true, it will +be pleasant to me too,' he answered, with an honest and very peculiar +light in his dark, strange eyes; and after a little pause, 'I'll tell +you why, just because I had rather you remembered my faults, than that +you did not remember me at all.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>'But, 'tis not my business to make people angry.'</p> + +<p>'More likely you should make me sad, or perhaps happy, that is to say, +better. I think you'd like to see your parish improve.'</p> + +<p>'So I would—but by means of my example, not my preaching. No; I leave +that to wiser heads—to the rector, for instance'—and she drew closer +to the dear old man, with a quick fond glance of such proud affection, +for she thought the sun never shone upon his like, as made Devereux sigh +a little unconscious sigh. The old man did not hear her—he was too +absorbed in his talk—he only felt the pressure of his darling's little +hand, and returned it, after his wont, with a gentle squeeze of his +cassocked arm, while he continued the learned essay he was addressing to +young, queer, erudite, simple Dan Loftus, on the descent of the Decie +branch of the Desmonds. There was, by-the-bye, a rumour—I know not how +true—that these two sages were concocting between them, beside their +folios on the Castle of Chapelizod, an interminable history of Ireland.</p> + +<p>Devereux was secretly chafed at the sort of invisible, but insuperable +resistance which pretty Lilias Walsingham, as it seemed, unconsciously +opposed to his approaches to a nearer and tenderer sort of trifling. +'The little Siren! there are air-drawn circles round her which I cannot +pass—and why should I? How is it that she interests me, and yet repels +me so easily? And—and when I came here first,' he continued aloud, 'you +were, oh dear! how mere a child, hardly eleven years old. How long I've +known you, Miss Lilias, and yet how formal you are with me.' There was +reproach almost fierce in his eye, though his tones were low and gentle. +'Well!' he said, with an odd changed little laugh, 'you <i>did</i> commit +yourself at first—you spoke against card-playing, and I tell you +frankly I mean to play a great deal more, and a great deal higher than +I've ever done before, and so adieu.'</p> + +<p>He did not choose to see the little motion which indicated that she was +going to shake hands with him, and only bowed the lower, and answered +her grave smile, which seemed to say, 'Now, you are vexed,' with another +little laugh, and turned gaily away, and so was gone.</p> + +<p>'She thinks she has wounded me, and she thinks, I suppose, that I can't +be happy away from her. I'll let her see I can; I shan't speak to her, +no, nor look at her, for a month!'</p> + +<p>The Chattesworths by this time, as well as others, were moving away—and +that young Mr. Mervyn, more remarked upon than he suspected, walked with +them to the gate of the fair-green. As he passed he bowed low to good +Parson Walsingham, who returned his salute, not unkindly—that never +was—but very gravely, and with his gentle and thoughtful blue eyes +followed the party sadly on their way.</p> + +<p>'Ay—there he goes—Mervyn! Well!—so—so—pray Heaven, sorrow and a +blight follow him not into this place.' The rector<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> murmured to himself, +and sighed, still following him with his glance.</p> + +<p>Little Lilias, with her hand within his arm, wondered, as she glanced +upward into that beloved face, what could have darkened it with a look +so sad and anxious; and then her eyes also followed the retreating +figure of that pale young man, with a sort of interest not quite unmixed +with uneasiness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h4>HOW THE ROYAL IRISH ARTILLERY ENTERTAINED SOME OF THE NEIGHBOURS AT +DINNER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>f I stuck at a fib as little as some historians, I might easily tell +you who won the prizes at this shooting on Palmerstown Green. But the +truth is, I don't know; my granduncle could have told me, for he had a +marvellous memory, but he died, a pleasant old gentleman of four-score +and upwards, when I was a small urchin. I remember his lively old face, +his powdered bald head and pigtail, his slight erect figure, and how +merrily he used to play the fiddle for his juvenile posterity to dance +to. But I was not of an age to comprehend the value of this thin, living +volume of old lore, or to question the oracle. Well, it can't be helped +now, and the papers I've got are silent upon the point. But there were +jollifications to no end both in Palmerstown and Chapelizod that night, +and declamatory conversations rising up in the street at very late +hours, and singing, and '<i>hurooing</i>' along the moonlit roads.</p> + +<p>There was a large and pleasant dinner-party, too, in the mess-room of +the Royal Irish Artillery. Lord Castlemallard was there in the place of +honour, next to jolly old General Chattesworth, and the worthy rector, +Doctor Walsingham, and Father Roach, the dapper, florid little priest of +the parish, with his silk waistcoat and well-placed paunch, and his keen +relish for funny stories, side-dishes, and convivial glass; and Dan +Loftus, that simple, meek, semi-barbarous young scholar, his head in a +state of chronic dishevelment, his harmless little round light-blue +eyes, pinkish from late night reading, generally betraying the absence +of his vagrant thoughts, and I know not what of goodness, as well as +queerness, in his homely features.</p> + +<p>Good Dr. Walsingham, indeed, in his simple benevolence, had helped the +strange, kindly creature through college, and had a high opinion of him, +and a great delight in his company. They were both much given to books, +and according to their lights zealous archæologists. They had got hold +of Chapelizod Castle, a good tough enigma. It was a theme they never +tired of. Loftus had already two folios of extracts copied from all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +records to which Dr. Walsingham could procure him access. They could not +have worked harder, indeed, if they were getting up evidence to prove +their joint title to Lord Castlemallard's estates. This pursuit was a +bond of close sympathy between the rector and the student, and they +spent more time than appeared to his parishioners quite consistent with +sanity in the paddock by the river, pacing up and down, and across, +poking sticks into the earth and grubbing for old walls underground.</p> + +<p>Loftus, moreover, was a good Irish scholar, and from Celtic MSS. had +elicited some cross-lights upon his subject—not very bright or steady, +I allow—but enough to delight the rector, and inspire him with a tender +reverence for the indefatigable and versatile youth, who was devoting to +the successful equitation of their hobby so many of his hours, and so +much of his languages, labour, and brains.</p> + +<p>Lord Castlemallard was accustomed to be listened to, and was not aware +how confoundedly dull his talk sometimes was. It was measured, and +dreamy, and every way slow. He was entertaining the courteous old +general at the head of the table, with an oration in praise of Paul +Dangerfield—a wonderful man—immensely wealthy—the cleverest man of +his age—he might have been anything he pleased. His lordship really +believed his English property would drop to pieces if Dangerfield +retired from its management, and he was vastly obliged to him inwardly, +for retaining the agency even for a little time longer. He was coming +over to visit the Irish estates—perhaps to give Nutter a wrinkle or +two. He was a bachelor, and his lordship averred would be a prodigious +great match for some of our Irish ladies. Chapelizod would be his +headquarters while in Ireland. No, he was not sure—he rather thought he +was <i>not</i> of the Thorley family; and so on for a mighty long time. But +though he tired them prodigiously, he contrived to evoke before their +minds' eyes a very gigantic, though somewhat hazy figure, and a good +deal stimulated the interest with which a new arrival was commonly +looked for in that pleasant suburban village. There is no knowing how +long Lord Castlemallard might have prosed upon this theme, had he not +been accidentally cut short, and himself laid fast asleep in his chair, +without his or anybody else's intending it. For overhearing, during a +short pause, in which he sipped some claret, Surgeon Sturk applying some +very strong, and indeed, frightful language to a little pamphlet upon +magnetism, a subject then making a stir—as from a much earlier date it +has periodically done down to the present day—he languidly asked Dr. +Walsingham his opinion upon the subject.</p> + +<p>Now, Dr. Walsingham was a great reader of out-of-the-way lore, and +retained it with a sometimes painful accuracy; and he forthwith began—</p> + +<p>'There is, my Lord Castlemallard, a curious old tract of the learned Van +Helmont, in which he says, as near as I can re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>member his words, that +magnetism is a magical faculty, which lieth dormant in us by the opiate +of primitive sin, and, therefore, stands in need of an excitator, which +excitator may be either good or evil; but is more frequently Satan +himself, by reason of some previous oppignoration or compact with +witches. The power, indeed, is in the witch, and not conferred by him; +but this versipellous or Protean impostor—these are his words—will not +suffer her to know that it is of her own natural endowment, though for +the present charmed into somnolent inactivity by the narcotic of +primitive sin.'</p> + +<p>I verily believe that a fair description—none of your poetical +balderdash, but an honest plodding description of a perfectly +comfortable bed, and of the process of going to sleep, would, +judiciously administered soon after dinner, overpower the vivacity of +any tranquil gentleman who loves a nap after that meal—gently draw the +curtains of his senses, and extinguish the bed-room candle of his +consciousness. In the doctor's address and quotation there was so much +about somnolency and narcotics, and lying dormant, and opiates, that my +Lord Castlemallard's senses forsook him, and he lost, as you, my kind +reader, must, all the latter portion of the doctor's lullaby.</p> + +<p>'I'd give half I'm pothethed of, Thir, and all my prothpecth in life,' +lisped vehemently plump little Lieutenant Puddock, in one of those stage +frenzies to which he was prone, 'to be the firtht Alecthander on the +boardth.'</p> + +<p>Between ourselves, Puddock was short and fat, very sentimental, and a +little bit of a <i>gourmet</i>; his desk stuffed with amorous sonnets and +receipts for side-dishes; he, always in love, and often in the kitchen, +where, under the rose, he loved to direct the cooking of critical little +<i>plats</i>, very good-natured, rather literal, very courteous, <i>a +chevallier</i>, indeed, <i>sans reproche</i>. He had a profound faith in his +genius for tragedy, but those who liked him best could not help thinking +that his plump cheeks, round, little light eyes, his lisp, and a certain +lack-a-daisical, though solemn expression of surprise, which Nature, in +one of her jocular moods, seemed to have fixed upon his countenance, +were against his shining in that walk of the drama. He was blessed, too, +with a pleasant belief in his acceptance with the fair sex, but had a +real one with his comrades, who knew his absurdities and his virtues, +and laughed at and loved him.</p> + +<p>'But hang it, there 'th no uthe in doing things by halves. Melpomene's +the most jealous of the Muses. I tell you if you stand well in her +gratheth, by Jove, Thir, you mutht give yourthelf up to her body and +thoul. How the deuthe can a fellow that's out at drill at hicth in the +morning, and all day with his head filled with tacticth and gunnery, +and—and—'</p> + +<p>'And 'farced pigeons' and lovely women,' said Devereux.</p> + +<p>'And such dry professional matterth,' continued he, without noticing, +perhaps hearing the interpolation, 'How can he pothi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>bly have a chance +againth geniuses, no doubt—vathly thuperior by nature'—(Puddock, the +rogue, believed no such thing)—'but who devote themthelveth to the +thtudy of the art incethantly, exclusively, and—and——'</p> + +<p>'Impossible,' said O'Flaherty. 'There now, was Tommy Shycock, of +Ballybaisly, that larned himself to balance a fiddle-stick on his chin; +and the young leedies, and especially Miss Kitty Mahony, used to be all +around him in the ball-room at Thralee, lookin', wondhrin', and +laughin'; and I that had twiste his brains, could not come round it, +though I got up every morning for a month at four o'clock, and was +obleeged to give over be rason of a soart iv a squint I was gettin' be +looking continually at the fiddle-stick. I began with a double bass, the +way he did—it's it that was the powerful fateaguin' exercise, I can +tell you. Two blessed hours a-day, regular practice, besides an odd +half-hour, now and agin, for three mortial years, it took him to larn +it, and dhrilled a dimple in his chin you could put a marrow-fat pay +in.'</p> + +<p>'Practice,' resumed Puddock, I need not spell his lisp, 'study—time to +devote—industry in great things as in small—there's the secret. +<i>Nature</i>, to be sure—'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Nature, to be sure—we must sustain Nature, dear Puddock, so pass +the bottle,' said Devereux, who liked his glass.</p> + +<p>'Be the powers, Mr. Puddock, if I had half your janius for play-acting,' +persisted O'Flaherty, 'nothing i'd keep me from the boards iv +Smock-alley play-house—incog., I mean, of course. There's that +wonderful little Mr. Garrick—why he's the talk of the three kingdoms as +long as I can remember—an' making his thousand pounds a week—coining, +be gannies—an' he can't be much taller than you, for he's contimptably +small.'</p> + +<p>'I'm the taller man of the two,' said little Puddock, haughtily, who had +made enquiries, and claimed half an inch over Rocius, honestly, let us +hope. 'But this is building castles in the air; joking apart, however, I +do confess I should dearly love—just for a maggot—to play two +parts—Richard the Third and Tamerlane.'</p> + +<p>'Was not that the part you spoke that sympathetic speech out of for me +before dinner?'</p> + +<p>'No, that was Justice Greedy,' said Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Ay, so it was—was it?—that smothered his wife.'</p> + +<p>'With a pudding clout,' persisted Devereux.</p> + +<p>'No. With a—pooh!—a—you know—and stabbed himself,' continued +O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>'With a larding-pin—'tis written in good Italian.'</p> + +<p>'Augh, not at all—it isn't Italian, but English, I'm thinking of—a +pilla, Puddock, you know—the <i>black</i> rascal.'</p> + +<p>'Well, English or Italian—tragedy or comedy,' said Devereux, who liked +Puddock, and would not annoy him, and saw he was hurt by Othello's +borrowing his properties from the kitchen; 'I venture to say you were +well entertained: and for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> my part, Sir, there are some characters'—(in +farce Puddock was really highly diverting)—'in which I prefer Puddock +to any player I every saw.'</p> + +<p>'Oh—ho—ho!' laughed poor little Puddock, with a most gratified +derisiveness, for he cherished in secret a great admiration for +Devereux.</p> + +<p>And so they talked stage-talk. Puddock lithping away, grand and +garrulous; O'Flaherty, the illiterate, blundering in with sincere +applause; and Devereux sipping his claret and dropping a quiet saucy +word now and again.</p> + +<p>'I shall never forget Mrs. Cibber's countenance in that last scene—you +know—in the "Orphan"—Monimia <i>you</i> know, Devereux.' And the table +being by this time in high chat, and the chairs a little irregular, +Puddock slipped off his, and addressing himself to Devereux and +O'Flaherty—just to give them a notion of Mrs. Cibber—began, with a +countenance the most wobegone, and in a piping falsetto—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'When I am laid low, i' the grave, and quite forgotten.'</p></div> + +<p>Monimia dies at the end of the speech—as the reader may not be aware; +but when Puddock came to the line—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'When I am dead, as presently I shall be,'</p></div> + +<p>all Mrs. Cibber's best points being still to come, the little +lieutenant's heel caught in the edge of the carpet, as he sailed with an +imaginary hoop on grandly backward, and in spite of a surprising +flick-flack cut in the attempt to recover his equipoise, down came the +'orphan,' together with a table-load of spoons and plates, with a crash +that stopt all conversation.</p> + +<p>Lord Castlemallard waked up, with a snort and a 'hollo, gentlemen!'</p> + +<p>'It's only poor dear Monimia, general,' said Devereux with a melancholy +bow, in reply to a fiery and startled stare darted to the point by that +gallant officer.</p> + +<p>'Hey—eh?' said his lordship, brightening up, and gazing glassily round +with a wan smile; and I fancy he thought a lady had somehow introduced +herself during his nap, and was pleased, for he admired the sex.</p> + +<p>'If there's any recitation going on, I think it had better be for the +benefit of the company,' said the general, a little surly, and looking +full upon the plump Monimia, who was arranging his frill and hair, and +getting a little awkwardly into his place.</p> + +<p>'And I think 'twould be no harm, Lieutenant Puddock, my dear,' says +Father Roach, testily, for he had been himself frightened by the crash, +'if you'd die a little aisier the next time.'</p> + +<p>Puddock began to apologise.</p> + +<p>'Never mind,' said the general, recovering, 'let's fill our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> glasses—my +Lord Castlemallard, they tell me this claret is a pretty wine.'</p> + +<p>'A very pretty wine,' said my lord.</p> + +<p>'And suppose, my lord, we ask these gentlemen to give us a song? I say, +gentlemen, there are fine voices among you. Will some gentleman oblige +the company with a song?'</p> + +<p>'Mr. Loftus sings a very fine song, I'm told,' said Captain Cluffe, with +a wink at Father Roach.</p> + +<p>'Ay,' cried Roach, backing up the joke (a good old one, and not yet +quite off the hooks), 'Mr. Loftus sings, I'll take my davy—I've heard +him!'</p> + +<p>Loftus was shy, simple, and grotesque, and looked like a man who could +not sing a note. So when he opened his eyes, looked round, and blushed, +there was a general knocking of glasses, and a very flattering clamour +for Mr. Loftus's song.</p> + +<p>But when silence came, to the surprise of the company he submitted, +though with manifest trepidation, and told them that he would sing as +the company desired. It was a song from a good old writer upon fasting +in Lent, and was, in fact, a reproof to all hypocrisy. Hereupon there +was a great ringing of glasses and a jolly round of laughter rose up in +the cheer that welcomed the announcement. Father Roach looked queer and +disconcerted, and shot a look of suspicion at Devereux, for poor Dan +Loftus had, in truth, hit that divine strait in a very tender spot.</p> + +<p>The fact is, Father Roach was, as Irish priests were sometimes then, a +bit of a sportsman. He and Toole used occasionally to make mysterious +excursions to the Dublin mountains. He had a couple of mighty good dogs, +which he lent freely, being a good-natured fellow. He liked good living +and jolly young fellows, and was popular among the officers, who used to +pop in freely enough at his reverence's green hall-door whenever they +wanted a loan of his dogs, or to take counsel of the ghostly father +(whose opinion was valued more highly even than Toole's) upon the case +of a sick dog or a lame nag.</p> + +<p>Well, one morning—only a few weeks before—Devereux and Toole together +had looked in on some such business upon his reverence—a little +suddenly—and found him eating a hare!—by all the gods, it +<i>was</i>—hare-pie in the middle of Lent!</p> + +<p>It was at breakfast. His dinner was the meal of an anchorite, and who +would have guessed that these confounded sparks would have bounced into +his little refectory at that hour of the morning? There was no room for +equivocation; he had been caught in the very act of criminal +conversation with the hare-pie. He rose with a spring, like a +Jack-in-a-box, as they entered, and knife and fork in hand, and with +shining chops, stared at them with an angry, bothered, and alarmed +countenance, which increased their laughter. It was a good while before +he obtained a hearing, such was the hilarity, so sustained the fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> of +ironical compliments, enquiries, and pleasantries, and the general +uproar.</p> + +<p>When he did, with hand uplifted, after the manner of a prisoner +arraigned for murder, he pleaded 'a dispensation.' I suppose it was +true, for he backed the allegation with several most religious oaths and +imprecations, and explained how men were not always quite so strong as +they looked; that he might, if he liked it, by permission of his bishop, +eat meat at every meal in the day, and every day in the week; that his +not doing so was a voluntary abstinence—not conscientious, only +expedient—to prevent the 'unreasonable remarks' of his parishioners (a +roar of laughter); that he was, perhaps, rightly served for not having +publicly availed himself of his bishop's dispensation (renewed peals of +merriment). By this foolish delicacy (more of that detestable +horse-laughter), he had got himself into a false position; and so on, +till the <i>ad misericordiam</i> peroration addressed to 'Captain Devereux, +dear,' and 'Toole, my honey.' Well, they quizzed him unmercifully; they +sat down and eat all that was left of the hare-pie, under his wistful +ogle. They made him narrate minutely every circumstance connected with +the smuggling of the game, and the illicit distillation for the mess. +They never passed so pleasant a morning. Of course he bound them over to +eternal secrecy, and of course, as in all similar cases, the vow was +religiously observed; nothing was ever heard of it at mess—oh, no—and +Toole never gave a dramatic representation of the occurrence, heightened +and embellished with all the little doctor's genius for farce.</p> + +<p>There certainly was a monologue to which he frequently afterwards +treated the Aldermen of Skinner's Alley, and other convivial bodies, at +supper, the doctor's gestures were made with knife and fork in hand, and +it was spoken in a rich brogue and tones sometimes of thrilling pathos, +anon of sharp and vehement indignation, and again of childlike +endearment, amidst pounding and jingling of glasses, and screams of +laughter from the company. Indeed the lord mayor, a fat slob of a +fellow, though not much given to undue merriment, laughed his ribs into +such a state of breathless torture, that he implored of Toole, with a +wave of his hand—he could not speak—to give him breathing time, which +that voluble performer disregarding, his lordship had to rise twice, and +get to the window, or, as he afterwards said, he should have lost his +life; and when the performance was ended, his fat cheeks were covered +with tears, his mouth hung down, his head wagged slowly from side to +side, and with short gasping 'oohs,' and 'oohs,' his hands pressed to +his pudgy ribs, he looked so pale and breathless, that although they +said nothing, several of his comrades stared hard at him, and thought +him in rather a queer state.</p> + +<p>Shortly after this little surprise, I suppose by way of ratifying the +secret treaty of silence, Father Roach gave the officers and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> Toole a +grand Lent dinner of fish, with no less than nineteen different <i>plats</i>, +baked, boiled, stewed, in fact, a very splendid feast; and Puddock +talked of some of those dishes more than twenty years afterwards.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE MINSTRELSY PROCEEDS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img015.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" /></div><p>o wonder, then, if Father Roach, when Loftus, in the innocence of his +heart, announced his song and its theme, was thoroughly uneasy, and +would have given a good deal that he had not helped that simple youth +into his difficulty. But things must now take their course. So amid a +decorous silence, Dan Loftus lifted up his voice, and sang. That voice +was a high small pipe, with a very nervous quaver in it. He leaned back +in his chair, and little more than the whites of his upturned eyes were +visible; and beating time upon the table with one hand, claw-wise, and +with two or three queer, little thrills and roulades, which re-appeared +with great precision in each verse, he delivered himself thus, in what I +suspect was an old psalm tune:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Now Lent is come, let us refrain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From carnal creatures, quick or slain;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let's fast and macerate the flesh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impound and keep it in distress.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Here there came a wonderful, unspellable choking sound, partly through +the mouth, partly through the nose, from several of the officers; and +old General Chattesworth, who was frowning hard upon his dessert-plate, +cried, 'Order, gentlemen,' in a stern, but very tremulous undertone. +Lord Castlemallard, leaning upon his elbow, was staring with a grave and +dreamy curiosity at the songster, and neither he nor his lordship heard +the interruption, and on went the pleasant ditty; and as the musician +regularly repeated the last two lines like a clerk in a piece of +psalmody, the young wags, to save themselves from bursting outright, +joined in the chorus, while verse after verse waxed more uproarious and +hilarious, and gave a singular relief to Loftus's thin, high, quavering +solo:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Loftus, solo.</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'But to forbear from flesh, fowl, fish,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eat potatoes in a dish,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Done o'er with amber, or a mess</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of ringos in a Spanish dress</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Chorus of Officers.</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Done o'er with amber, or a mess</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of ringos in a Spanish dress.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>''Tis a good song,' murmured Doctor Walsingham in Lord Castlemallard's +ear—'I know the verses well—the ingenious and pious Howel penned them +in the reign of King James the First.'</p> + +<p>'Ha! thank you, Sir,' said his lordship.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Loftus, solo.</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Or to refrain from all high dishes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But feed our thoughts with wanton wishes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Making the soul, like a light wench,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wear patches of concupiscence.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Chorus of Officers.</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Making the soul, like a light wench,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wear patches of concupiscence</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Loftus, solo.</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'This is not to keep Lent aright,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But play the juggling hypocrite;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we must starve the inward man,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And feed the outward too on bran.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Chorus of Officers.</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'For we must starve the inward man,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And feed the outward too on bran.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>I believe no song was ever received with heartier bursts of laughter and +applause. Puddock indeed was grave, being a good deal interested in the +dishes sung by the poet. So, for the sake of its moral point, was Dr. +Walsingham, who, with brows gathered together judicially, kept time with +head and hand, murmuring 'true, true—<i>good</i>, Sir, good,' from time to +time, as the sentiment liked him.</p> + +<p>But honest Father Roach was confoundedly put out by the performance. He +sat with his blue double chin buried in his breast, his mouth pursed up +tightly, a red scowl all over his face, his quick, little, angry, +suspicious eyes peeping cornerwise, now this way, now that, not knowing +how to take what seemed to him like a deliberate conspiracy to roast him +for the entertainment of the company, who followed the concluding verse +with a universal roaring chorus, which went off into a storm of +laughter, in which Father Roach made an absurd attempt to join. But it +was only a gunpowder glare, swallowed in an instant in darkness, and +down came the black portcullis of his scowl with a chop, while clearing +his voice, and directing his red face and vicious little eyes straight +on simple Dan Loftus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> he said, rising very erect and square from an +unusually ceremonious bow—</p> + +<p>'I don't know, Mr. Loftus, exactly what you mean by a "ring-goat in a +Spanish dress"' (the priest had just smuggled over a wonderful bit of +ecclesiastical toggery from Salamanca): 'and—a—person wearing patches, +you said of—of—patches of concupiscence, I think.' (Father Roach's +housekeeper unfortunately wore patches, though, it is right to add, she +was altogether virtuous, and by no means young); 'but I'm bound to +suppose, by the amusement our friends seem to derive from it, Sir, that +a ring-goat, whatever it means, is a good joke, as well as a +good-natured one.'</p> + +<p>'But, by your leave, Sir,' emphatically interposed Puddock, on whose ear +the ecclesiastic's blunder grated like a discord, 'Mr. Loftus sang +nothing about a goat, though kid is not a bad thing: he said, "ringos," +meaning, I conclude, eringoeous, a delicious preserve or confection. +Have you never eaten them, either preserved or candied—a—why I—a—I +happen to have a receipt—a—and if you permit me, Sir—a capital +receipt. When I was a boy, I made some once at home, Sir; and, by +Jupiter, my brother, Sam, eat of them till he was quite sick—I +remember, <i>so</i> sick, by Jupiter, my poor mother and old Dorcas had to +sit up all night with him—a—and—I was going to say, if you will allow +me, Sir, I shall be very happy to send the receipt to your housekeeper.'</p> + +<p>'You'll not like it, Sir,' said Devereux, mischievously: 'but there +really is a capital one—quite of another kind—a lenten dish—fish, you +know, Puddock—the one you described yesterday; but Mr. Loftus has, I +think, a still better way.'</p> + +<p>'Have you, Sir?' asked Puddock, who had a keen appetite for knowledge.</p> + +<p>'I don't know, Captain Puddock,' murmured Loftus, bewildered.</p> + +<p>'What is it?' remarked his reverence, shortly.</p> + +<p>'A roast roach,' answered Puddock, looking quite innocently in that +theologian's fiery face.</p> + +<p>'<i>Thank</i> you,' said Father Roach, with an expression of countenance +which polite little Puddock did not in the least understand.</p> + +<p>'And how <i>do you</i> roast him—we know Loftus's receipt,' persisted +Devereux, with remarkable cruelty.</p> + +<p>'Just like a lump,' said Puddock, briskly.</p> + +<p>'And how is that?' enquired Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Flay the lump—splat him—divide him,' answered Puddock, with great +volubility; 'and cut each side into two pieces; season with salt, +pepper, and nutmeg, and baste with clarified butter; dish him with +slices of oranges, barberries, grapes, gooseberries, and butter; and you +will find that he eats deliriously either with farced pain or gammon +pain.'</p> + +<p>This rhapsody, delivered with the rapidity and emphasis of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> Puddock's +earnest lisp, was accompanied with very general tokens of merriment from +the company, and the priest, who half suspected him of having invented +it, was on the point of falling foul of him, when Lord Castlemallard +rose to take leave, and the general forthwith vacated the chair, and so +the party broke up, fell into groups, and the greater part sauntered off +to the Phœnix, where, in the club-room, they, with less restraint, +and some new recruits, carried on the pleasures of the evening, which +pleasures, as will sometimes happen, ended in something rather serious.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h4>SHOWING HOW TWO GENTLEMEN MAY MISUNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER, WITHOUT +ENABLING THE COMPANY TO UNDERSTAND THEIR QUARREL.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img009.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'L'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'L'" /></div><p> +oftus had by this time climbed to the savage lair of his garret, +overstrewn with tattered papers and books; and Father Roach, in the +sanctuary of his little parlour, was growling over the bones of a +devilled-turkey, and about to soothe his fretted soul in a generous +libation of hot whiskey punch. Indeed, he was of an appeasable nature, +and on the whole a very good fellow.</p> + +<p>Dr. Toole, whom the young fellows found along with Nutter over the +draught-board in the club-room, forsook his game to devour the story of +Loftus's Lenten Hymn, and poor Father Roach's penance, rubbed his hands, +and slapped his thigh, and crowed and shouted with ecstasy. O'Flaherty, +who called for punch, and was unfortunately prone to grow melancholy and +pugnacious over his liquor, was now in a saturnine vein of sentiment, +discoursing of the charms of his peerless mistress, the Lady Magnolia +Macnamara—for he was not one of those maudlin shepherds, who pipe their +loves in lonely glens and other sequestered places, but rather loved to +exhibit his bare scars, and roar his tender torments for the edification +of the market-place.</p> + +<p>While he was descanting on the attributes of that bewitching 'crature,' +Puddock, not two yards off, was describing, with scarcely less unction, +the perfections of 'pig roast with the hair on:' and the two made a +medley like 'The Roast Beef of Old England,' and 'The Last Rose of +Summer,' arranged in alternate stanzas. O'Flaherty suddenly stopped +short, and said a little sternly to Lieutenant Puddock—</p> + +<p>'Does it very much signify, Sir (or as O'Flaherty pronounced it "Sorr,") +whether the animal has hair upon it or not?'</p> + +<p><i>'Every</i> thing, Thir, in thith particular retheipt,' answered Puddock, a +little loftily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>'But,' said Nutter, who, though no great talker, would make an effort to +prevent a quarrel, and at the same time winking to Puddock in token that +O'Flaherty was just a little 'hearty,' and so to let him alone; 'what +signifies pigs' hair, compared with human tresses?'</p> + +<p>'Compared with <i>human</i> tresses?' interrupted O'Flaherty, with stern +deliberation, and fixing his eyes steadily and rather unpleasantly upon +Nutter (I think he saw that wink and perhaps did not understand its +import.)</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir, and Mrs. Magnolia Macnamara has as rich a head of hair as you +could wish to see,' says Nutter, thinking he was drawing him off very +cleverly.</p> + +<p>'As <i>I</i> could wish to see?' repeated O'Flaherty grimly.</p> + +<p>'As <i>you</i> could desire to see, Sir,' reiterated Nutter, firmly, for he +was not easily put down; and they looked for several seconds in silence +a little menacingly, though puzzled, at one another.</p> + +<p>But O'Flaherty, after a short pause, seemed to forget Nutter, and +returned to his celestial theme.</p> + +<p>'Be the powers, Sir, that young leedy has the most beautiful dimple in +her chin I ever set eyes on!'</p> + +<p>'Have you ever put a marrow fat pea in it, Sir?' enquired Devereux, +simply, with all the beautiful rashness of youth.</p> + +<p>'No, Sorr,' replied O'Flaherty, in a deep tone, and with a very +dangerous glare; 'and I'd like to see the man who, in my presence, id +preshum to teeke that libertee.'</p> + +<p>'What a glorious name Magnolia is!' interposed little Toole in great +haste; for it was a practice among these worthies to avert +quarrels—very serious affairs in these jolly days—by making timely +little diversions, and it is wonderful, at a critical moment, what may +be done by suddenly presenting a trifle; a pin's point, sometimes—at +least, a marvellously small one—will draw off innocuously, the +accumulating electricity of a pair of bloated scowling thunder-clouds.</p> + +<p>'It was her noble godmother, when the family resided at Castlemara, in +the county of Roscommon, the Lady Carrick-o'-Gunniol, who conferred it,' +said O'Flaherty, grandly, 'upon her god-daughter, as who had a better +right—I say, <i>who</i> had a better right?' and he smote his hand upon the +table, and looked round inviting contradiction. 'My godmothers, in my +baptism—that's catechism—and all the town of Chapelizod won't put that +down—the Holy Church Catechism—while Hyacinth O'Flaherty, of +Coolnaquirk, Lieutenant Fireworker, wears a sword.'</p> + +<p>'Nobly said, lieutenant!' exclaimed Toole, with a sly wink over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>'And what about that leedy's neeme, Sir?' demanded the enamoured +fireworker.</p> + +<p>'By Jove, Sir, it is quite true, Lady Carrick-o'-Gunniol <i>was</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> her +godmother:' and Toole ran off into the story of how that relationship +was brought about; narrating it, however, with great caution and +mildness, extracting all the satire, and giving it quite a dignified and +creditable character, for the Lieutenant Fireworker smelt so +confoundedly of powder that the little doctor, though he never flinched +when occasion demanded, did not care to give him an open. Those who had +heard the same story from the mischievous merry little doctor before, +were I dare say, amused at the grand and complimentary turn he gave it +now.</p> + +<p>The fact was, that poor Magnolia's name came to her in no very gracious +way. Young Lady Carrick-o'-Gunniol was a bit of a wag, and was planting +a magnolia—one of the first of those botanical rarities seen in +Ireland—when good-natured, vapouring, vulgar Mrs. Macnamara's note, who +wished to secure a peeress for her daughter's spiritual guardian, +arrived. Her ladyship pencilled on the back of the note, 'Pray call the +dear babe Magnolia,' and forthwith forgot all about it. But Madam +Macnamara was charmed, and the autograph remained afterwards for two +generations among the archives of the family; and, with great smiles and +much complacency, she told Lord Carrick-o'-Gunniol all about it, just +outside the grand jury-room, where she met him during the assize week; +and, being a man of a weak and considerate nature, rather kind, and very +courteous—although his smile was very near exploding into a laugh, as +he gave the good lady snuff out of his own box—he was yet very much +concerned and vexed, and asked his lady, when he went home, how she +could have induced old Mrs. Macnamara to give that absurd name to her +poor infant; whereat her ladyship, who had not thought of it since, was +highly diverted; and being assured that the babe was actually +christened, and past recovery Magnolia Macnamara, laughed very merrily, +kissed her lord, who was shaking his head gravely, and then popped her +hood on, kissed him again, and, laughing still, ran out to look at her +magnolia, which, by way of reprisal, he henceforth, notwithstanding her +entreaties, always called her 'Macnamara;' until, to her infinite +delight, he came out with it, as it sometimes happens, at a wrong time, +and asked old Mac—a large, mild man—then extant, Madame herself, +nurse, infant Magnolia, and all, who had arrived at the castle, to walk +out and see Lady Carrick-o'-Gunniol's 'Macnamara,' and perceived not the +slip, such is the force of habit, though the family stared, and Lady C. +laughed in an uncalled-for-way, at a sudden recollection of a tumble she +once had, when a child, over a flower-bed; and broke out repeatedly, to +my lord's chagrin and bewilderment, as they walked towards the exotic.</p> + +<p>When Toole ended his little family anecdote, which, you may be sure, he +took care to render as palatable to Magnolia's knight as possible, by +not very scrupulous excisions and interpolations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> he wound all up, +without allowing an instant for criticism or question, by saying +briskly, though incoherently.</p> + +<p>'And so, what do you say, lieutenant, to a Welsh rabbit for supper?'</p> + +<p>The lieutenant nodded a stolid assent.</p> + +<p>'Will <i>you</i> have one, Nutter?' cried Toole.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Nutter.</p> + +<p>'And why not?' says Toole.</p> + +<p>'Why, I believe Tom Rooke's song in praise of oysters,' answered Nutter, +'especially the verse—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'"The youth will ne'er live to scratch a gray head,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a supper who goes of Welsh rabbit to bed."'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>How came it to pass that Nutter hardly opened his lips this evening—on +which, as the men who knew him longest all remarked, he was +unprecedentedly talkative—without instantaneously becoming the mark at +which O'Flaherty directed his fiercest and most suspicious scowls? And +now that I know the allusion which the pugnacious lieutenant +apprehended, I cannot but admire the fatality with which, without the +smallest design, a very serious misunderstanding was brought about.</p> + +<p>'As to <i>youths</i> living to scratch gray heads or not, Sir,' said the +young officer, in most menacing tones; 'I don't see what concern persons +of your age can have in that. But I'll take leave to tell you, Sir, that +a gentleman, whether he be a "youth" as you <i>say</i>, or aged, as you +<i>are</i>, who endayvours to make himself diverting at the expense of +others, runs a murdhering good risk, Sir, of getting himself scratched +where he'll like it least.'</p> + +<p>Little Nutter, though grave and generally taciturn, had a spirit of his +own, and no notion whatever of knocking under to a bully. It is true, he +had not the faintest notion why he was singled out for the young +gentleman's impertinence; but neither did he mean to enquire. His +mahogany features darkened for a moment to logwood, and his eyes showed +their whites fiercely.</p> + +<p>'We are not accustomed, Sir, in this part of the world, to your Connaught +notions of politeness; we meet here for social—a—a—sociality, Sir; +and the long and the short of it is, young gentleman, if you don't change +your key, you'll find two can play at that game—and—and, I tell you, +Sir, there will be wigs on the green, Sir.'</p> + +<p>Here several voices interposed.</p> + +<p>'Silence, gentlemen, and let me speak, or I'll assault him,' bellowed +O'Flaherty, who, to do him justice, at this moment looked capable of +anything. 'I believe, Sir,' he continued, ad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>dressing Nutter, who +confronted him like a little game-cock, 'it is not usual for one +gentleman who renders himself offensive to another to oblige him to +proceed to the length of manually malthrating his person.'</p> + +<p>'Hey! eh?' said Nutter, drawing his mouth tight on one side with an ugly +expression, and clenching his hands in his breeches pockets.</p> + +<p>'Manually malthrating his person, Sir,' repeated O'Flaherty, 'by +striking, kicking, or whipping any part or mimber of his body; or +offering a milder assault, such as a pull by the chin, or a finger-tap +upon the nose. It is usual, Sir, for the purpose of avoiding +ungentlemanlike noise, inconvenience, and confusion, that one gentleman +should request of another to suppose himself affronted in the manner, +whatever it may be, most intolerable to his feelings, which request I +now, Sir, teeke the libertee of preferring to you; and when you have +engaged the services of a friend, I trust that Lieutenant Puddock, who +lodges in the same house with me, will, in consideration of my being an +officer of the same honourable corps, a sthranger in this part of the +counthry, and, above all, a gentleman who can show paydagree like +himself [here a low bow to Puddock, who returned it]; that Lieutenant +Puddock will be so feelin' and so kind as to receive him on my behalf, +and acting as <i>my</i> friend to manage all the particulars for settling, as +easily as may be, this most unprovoked affair.'</p> + +<p>With which words he made another bow, and a pause of enquiry directed to +Puddock, who lisped with dignity—</p> + +<p>'Sir, the duty is, for many reasons, painful; but I—I can't refuse, +Sir, and I accept the trust.'</p> + +<p>So O'Flaherty shook his hand, with another bow; bowed silently and +loftily round the room, and disappeared, and a general buzz and a clack +of tongues arose.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Nutter—a—I hope things may be settled pleasantly,' said Puddock, +looking as tall and weighty as he could; 'at present I—a—that is, at +the moment, I—a—don't quite see—[the fact is, he had not a notion +what the deuce it was all about]—but your friend will find me—your +friend—a—at my lodgings up to one o'clock to-night, if necessary.'</p> + +<p>And so Puddock's bow. For the moment an affair of this sort presented +itself, all concerned therein became reserved and official, and the +representatives merely of a ceremonious etiquette and a +minutely-regulated ordeal of battle. So, as I said, Puddock bowed +grandly and sublimely to Nutter, and then magnificently to the company, +and made his exit.</p> + +<p>There was a sort of a stun and a lull for several seconds. Something +very decisive and serious had occurred. One or two countenances wore +that stern and mysterious smile, which implies no hilarity, but a kind +of reaction in presence of the astounding and the slightly horrible. +There was a silence; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> gentlemen kept their attitudes too, for some +moments, and all eyes were directed toward the door. Then some turned to +Charles Nutter, and then the momentary spell dissolved itself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING HOW DOCTOR TOOLE AND CAPTAIN DEVEREUX WENT ON A MOONLIGHT +ERRAND.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img015.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" /></div><p>early a dozen gentlemen broke out at once into voluble speech. Nutter +was in a confounded passion; but being a man of few words, showed his +wrath chiefly in his countenance, and stood with his legs apart and his +arms stuffed straight into his coat pockets, his back to the fire-place, +with his chest thrown daringly out, sniffing the air in a state of high +tension, and as like as a respectable little fellow of five feet six +could be to that giant who smelt the blood of the Irishman, and swore, +with a 'Fee! Faw!! Fum!!!' he'd 'eat him for his supper that night.'</p> + +<p>'None of the corps can represent you, Nutter, you know,' said Captain +Cluffe. 'It may go hard enough with Puddock and O'Flaherty, as the +matter stands; but, by Jove! if any of us appear on the other side, the +general would make it a very serious affair, indeed.'</p> + +<p>'Toole, can't you?' asked Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Out of the question,' answered he, shutting his eyes, with a frown, and +shaking his head. 'There's no man I'd do it sooner for, Nutter knows; +but I can't—I've refused too often; besides, you'll want me +professionally, you know; for Sturk must attend that Royal Hospital +enquiry to-morrow all day—but hang it, where's the difficulty? Isn't +there?—pooh!—why there must be lots of fellows at hand. Just—a—just +think for a minute.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care who,' said Nutter, with dry ferocity, 'so he can load a +pistol.'</p> + +<p>'Tom Forsythe would have done capitally, if he was at home,' said one.</p> + +<p>'But he's <i>not</i>,' remarked Cluffe.</p> + +<p>'Well,' said Toole, getting close up to Devereux, in a coaxing +undertone, 'suppose we try Loftus.'</p> + +<p>'Dan Loftus!' ejaculated Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Dan Loftus,' repeated the little doctor, testily; 'remember, it's just +eleven o'clock. He's no great things, to be sure; but what better can we +get.'</p> + +<p>'Allons, donc!' said Devereux, donning his cocked-hat, with a shrug, and +the least little bit of a satirical smile, and out bustled the doctor +beside him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Where the deuce did that broganeer, O'Flaherty, come from?' said +Cluffe, confidentially, to old Major O'Neill.</p> + +<p>'A Connaughtman,' answered the major, with a grim smile, for he was +himself of that province and was, perhaps, a little bit proud of his +countryman.</p> + +<p>'Toole says he's well connected,' pursued Cluffe; 'but, by Jupiter! I +never saw so-mere a Teague; and the most cross-grained devil of a +cat-a-mountain.'</p> + +<p>'I could not quite understand why he fastened on Mr. Nutter,' observed +the major, with a mild smile.</p> + +<p>'I'll rid the town of him,' rapped out Nutter, with an oath, leering at +his own shoebuckle, and tapping the sole with asperity on the floor.</p> + +<p>'If you are thinking of any unpleasant measures, gentlemen, I'd rather, +if you please, know nothing of them,' said the sly, quiet major; 'for +the general, you are aware, has expressed a strong opinion about such +affairs; and as 'tis past my bed-hour, I'll wish you, gentlemen, a +good-night,' and off went the major.</p> + +<p>'Upon my life, if this Connaught rapparee is permitted to carry on his +business of indiscriminate cut-throat here, he'll make the service very +pleasant,' resumed Cluffe, who, though a brisk young fellow of +eight-and-forty, had no special fancy for being shot. 'I say the general +ought to take the matter into his own hands.'</p> + +<p>'Not till I'm done with it,' growled Nutter.</p> + +<p>'And send the young gentleman home to Connaught,' pursued Cluffe.</p> + +<p>'I'll send him first to the other place,' said Nutter, in allusion to +the Lord Protector's well-known alternative.</p> + +<p>In the open street, under the sly old moon, red little Dr. Toole, in his +great wig, and Gipsy Devereux, in quest of a squire for the good knight +who stood panting for battle in the front parlour of the 'Phœnix,' +saw a red glimmer in Loftus's dormant window.</p> + +<p>'He's alive and stirring still,' said Devereux, approaching the hall +door with a military nonchalance.</p> + +<p>'Whisht!' said Toole, plucking him back by the sash: 'we must not make a +noise—the house is asleep. I'll manage it—leave it to me.'</p> + +<p>And he took up a handful of gravel, but not having got the range, he +shied it all against old Tom Drought's bed-room window.</p> + +<p>'Deuce take that old sneak,' whispered Toole vehemently, 'he's always in +the way; the last man in the town I'd have—but no matter:' and up went +a pebble, better directed, for this time it went right through Loftus's +window, and a pleasant little shower of broken glass jingled down into +the street.</p> + +<p>'Confound you, Toole,' said Devereux, 'you'll rouse the town.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Plague take the fellow's glass—it's as thin as paper,' sputtered +Toole.</p> + +<p>'Loftus, we want you,' said Toole, in a hard whispered shout, and making +a speaking trumpet of his hands, as the wild head of the student, like +nothing in life but a hen's nest, appeared above.</p> + +<p>'Cock-Loftus, come down, d'ye hear?' urged Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Dr. Toole and Lieutenant Devereux—I—I—dear me! yes. Gentlemen, your +most obedient,' murmured Loftus vacantly, and knocking his head smartly +on the top of the window frame, in recovering from a little bow. 'I'll +be wi' ye, gentlemen, in a moment.' And the hen's nest vanished.</p> + +<p>Toole and Devereux drew back a little into the shadow of the opposite +buildings, for while they were waiting, a dusky apparition, supposed to +be old Drought in his night-shirt, appeared at that gentleman's windows, +saluting the ambassadors with mop and moe, in a very threatening and +energetic way. Just as this demonstration subsided, the hall door opened +wide—and indeed was left so—while our friend Loftus, in a wonderful +tattered old silk coat, that looked quite indescribable by moonlight, +the torn linings hanging down in loops inside the skirts, pale and +discoloured, like the shreds of banners in a cathedral; his shirt loose +at the neck, his breeches unbuttoned at the knees, and a gigantic, +misshapen, and mouldy pair of slippers clinging and clattering about his +feet, came down the steps, his light, round little eyes and queer, quiet +face peering at them into the shade, and a smokified volume of divinity +tucked under his arm, with his finger between the leaves to keep the +place.</p> + +<p>When Devereux saw him approaching, the whole thing—mission, service, +man, and all—struck him in so absurd a point of view, that he burst out +into an explosion of laughter, which only grew more vehement and +uproarious the more earnestly and imploringly Toole tried to quiet him, +pointing up with both hands, and all his fingers extended, to the +windows of the sleeping townsfolk, and making horrible grimaces, shrugs, +and ogles. But the young gentleman was not in the habit of denying +himself innocent indulgences, and shaking himself loose of Toole, he +walked down the dark side of the street in peals of laughter, making, +ever and anon, little breathless remarks to himself, which his colleague +could not hear, but which seemed to have the effect of setting him off +again into new hemi-demi-semiquavers and roars of laughter, and left the +doctor to himself, to conduct the negociation with Loftus.</p> + +<p>'Well?' said Devereux, by this time recovering breath, as the little +doctor, looking very red and glum, strutted up to him along the shady +pavement.</p> + +<p>'Well? <i>well?</i>—oh, ay, <i>very</i> well, to be sure. I'd like to know what +the plague we're to do now,' grumbled Toole.</p> + +<p>'Your precious armour-bearer refuses to act then?' asked Devereux.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>'To be sure he does. He sees <i>you</i> walking down the street, ready to die +o' laughing—at <i>nothing</i>, by Jove!' swore Toole, in deep disgust; +'and—and—och! hang it! it's all a confounded pack o' nonsense. Sir, if +you could not keep grave for five minutes, you ought not to have come at +all. But what need <i>I</i> care? It's Nutter's affair, not mine.'</p> + +<p>'And well for him we failed. Did you ever see such a fish? He'd have +shot himself or Nutter, to a certainty. But there's a chance yet: we +forgot the Nightingale Club; they're still in the Phœnix.'</p> + +<p>'Pooh, Sir! they're all tailors and green-grocers,' said Toole, in high +dudgeon.</p> + +<p>'There are two or three good names among them, however,' answered +Devereux; and by this time they were on the threshold of the Phœnix.</p> + +<p>'Larry,' he cried to the waiter, 'the Nightingale Club is <i>there</i>, is it +not?' glancing at the great back parlour door.</p> + +<p>'Be the powers! Captain, you may say that,' said Larry, with a wink, and +a grin of exquisite glee.</p> + +<p>'See, Larry,' said Toole, with importance, 'we're a little serious now; +so just say if there's any of the gentlemen there; you—you understand, +now; quite steady? D'ye see me?'</p> + +<p>Larry winked—this time a grave wink—looked down at the floor, and up +to the cornice, and—</p> + +<p>'Well,' said he, 'to be candid with you, jest at this +minute—half-an-hour ago, you see, it was different—the only gentleman +I'd take on myself to recommend to you as perfectly sober is Mr. Macan, +of Petticoat-lane.'</p> + +<p>'Is he in business?' asked Toole.</p> + +<p>'Does he keep a shop?' said Devereux.</p> + +<p>'A shop! <i>two</i> shops;—a great man in the chandlery line,' responded +Larry.</p> + +<p>'H'm! not precisely the thing we want, though,' says Toole.</p> + +<p>'There are some of them, surely, that <i>don't</i> keep shops,' said +Devereux, a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>'Millions!' said Larry.</p> + +<p>'Come, say their names.'</p> + +<p>'Only one of them came this evening, Mr. Doolan, of Stonnybatther—he's +a retired merchant.'</p> + +<p>'That will do,' said Toole, under his breath, to Devereux. Devereux +nodded.</p> + +<p>'Just, I say, tap him on the shoulder, and tell him that Dr. Toole, you +know, of this town, with many compliments and excuses, begs one word +with him,' said the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Hoo! Docthur dear, he was the first of them down, and was carried out +to his coach insensible jist when Mr. Crozier of Christ Church began, +"Come Roger and listen;" he's in his bed in Stonnybatther a good hour +and a half ago.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>'A retired merchant,' says Devereux; 'well, Toole, what do you advise +now?'</p> + +<p>'By Jove, I think one of us must go into town. 'Twill never do to leave +poor Nutter in the lurch; and between ourselves, that O'Flaherty's a—a +blood-thirsty idiot, by Jove—and ought to be put down.'</p> + +<p>'Let's see Nutter—you or I must go—we'll take one of these songster's +"noddies."'</p> + +<p>A 'noddy' give me leave to remark, was the one-horse hack vehicle of +Dublin and the country round, which has since given place to the +jaunting car, which is, in its turn, half superseded by the cab.</p> + +<p>And Devereux, followed by Toole, entered the front parlour again. But +without their help, the matter was arranging itself, and a second, of +whom they knew nothing, was about to emerge.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h4>HOW A SQUIRE WAS FOUND FOR THE KNIGHT OF THE RUEFUL COUNTENANCE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>hen Dr. Toole grumbled at his disappointment, he was not at all aware +how nearly his interview with Loftus had knocked the entire affair on +the head. He had no idea how much that worthy person was horrified by +his proposition; and Toole walked off in a huff, without bidding him +good-night, and making a remark in which the words 'old woman' occurred +pretty audibly. But Loftus remained under the glimpses of the moon in +perturbation and sore perplexity. It was so late he scarcely dared +disturb Dr. Walsingham or General Chattesworth. But there came +the half-stifled cadence of a song—not bacchanalian, but +sentimental—something about Daphne and a swain—struggling through the +window-shutters next the green hall-door close by, and Dan instantly +bethought himself of Father Roach. So knocking stoutly at the window, he +caused the melody to subside and the shutter to open. When the priest, +looking out, saw Dan Loftus in his deshabille, I believe he thought for +a moment it was something from the neighbouring churchyard.</p> + +<p>However, his reverence came out and stood on the steps, enveloped in a +hospital aroma of broiled bones, lemons, and alcohol, and shaking his +visitor affectionately by the hand—for he bore no malice, and the +Lenten ditty he quite forgave as being no worse in modern parlance than +an unhappy 'fluke'—was about to pull him into the parlour, where there +was ensconced, he told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> him, 'a noble friend of his.' This was 'Pat +Mahony, from beyond Killarney, just arrived—a man of parts and +conversation, and a lovely singer.'</p> + +<p>But Dan resisted, and told his tale in an earnest whisper in the hall. +The priest made his mouth into a round queer little O, through which he +sucked a long breath, elevating his brows, and rolling his eyes slowly +about.</p> + +<p>'A jewel! And Nutter, of all the men on the face of the airth—though I +often heerd he was a fine shot, and a sweet little fencer in his youth, +an' game, too—oh, be the powers! you can see that still—game to the +back-bone—and—whisht a bit now—who's the other?'</p> + +<p>'Lieutenant O'Flaherty.'</p> + +<p>(A low whistle from his reverence). 'That's a boy that comes from a +fighting county—Galway. I wish you saw them at an election time. Why, +there's no end of divarsion—the divarsion of <i>stopping</i> them, of +course, I mean (observing a sudden alteration in Loftus's countenance). +An' <i>you</i>, av coorse, want to stop it? And so, av coorse, do I, my dear. +Well, then, wait a bit, now—we must have our eyes open. Don't be in a +hurry—let us be harrumless as sarpints, but <i>wise</i> as doves. Now, 'tis +a fine thing, no doubt, to put an end to a jewel by active +intherfarence, though I have known cases, my dear child, where +suppressing a simple jewel has been the cause of half a dozen breaking +out afterwards in the same neighbourhood, and on the very same quarrel, +d'ye mind—though, of coorse, that's no reason here or there, my dear +boy! But take it that a jewel is breaking down and coming to the ground +of itself (here a hugely cunning wink), in an aisy, natural, +accommodating way, the only effect of intherfarence is to bolster it up, +d'ye see, so just considher how things are, my dear. Lave it all to me, +and mind my words, it <i>can't</i> take place without a second. The officers +have refused, so has Toole, <i>you</i> won't undertake it, and it's too late +to go into town. I defy it to come to anything. Jest be said be me, Dan +Loftus, and let sleeping dogs lie. Here I am, an old experienced +observer, that's up to their tricks, with my eye upon them. Go you to +bed—lave them to me—and they're checkmated without so much as seeing +how we bring it to pass.'</p> + +<p>Dan hesitated.</p> + +<p>'Arrah! go to your bed, Dan Loftus, dear. It's past eleven +o'clock—they're nonplussed already; and lave <i>me</i>—me that understands +it—to manage the rest.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, I do confide it altogether to you. I know I might, through +ignorance, do a mischief.'</p> + +<p>And so they bid a mutual good-night, and Loftus scaled his garret stair +and snuffed his candle, and plunged again into the business of two +thousand years ago.</p> + +<p>'Here's a purty business,' says the priest, extending both his palms, +with a face of warlike importance, and shutting the door<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> behind him +with what he called 'a cow's kick;' 'a jewel, my dear Pat, no less; +bloody work I'm afeared.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Mahony, who had lighted a pipe during his entertainer's absence, +withdrew the fragrant tube from his lips, and opened his capacious mouth +with a look of pleasant expectation, for he, like other gentlemen of his +day—and, must we confess, not a few jolly clerics of my creed, as well +as of honest Father Roach's—regarded the ordeal of battle, and all its +belongings, simply as the highest branch of sporting. Not that the +worthy father avowed any such sentiment; on the contrary, his voice and +his eyes, if not his hands, were always raised against the sanguinary +practice; and scarce a duel occurred within a reasonable distance +unattended by his reverence, in the capacity, as he said, of 'an +unauthorised, but airnest, though, he feared, unavailing peacemaker.' +There he used to spout little maxims of reconciliation, and Christian +brotherhood and forbearance; exhorting to forget and forgive; wringing +his hands at each successive discharge; and it must be said, too, in +fairness, playing the part of a good Samaritan towards the wounded, to +whom his green hall-door was ever open, and for whom the oil of his +consolation and the wine of his best bin never refused to flow.</p> + +<p>'Pat, my child,' said his reverence, 'that Nutter's a divil of a +fellow—at least he <i>was</i>, by all accounts; he'll be bad enough, I'm +afeared, and hard enough to manage, if everything goes smooth; but if +he's kept waiting there, fuming and boiling over, do ye mind, without a +natural vent for his feelings, or a <i>friend</i>, do ye see, at his side +to—to <i>resthrain</i> him, and bring about, if possible, a friendly mutual +understanding—why, my dear child, he'll get into that state of +exasperation an' violence, he'll have half a dozen jewels on his hands +before morning.'</p> + +<p>'Augh! 'tid be a murther to baulk them for want of a friend,' answered +Mr. Mahony, standing up like a warrior, and laying the pipe of peace +upon the chimney. 'Will I go down, Father Denis, and offer my sarvices?'</p> + +<p>'With a view to a <i>reconciliation</i>, mind,' said his reverence, raising +his finger, closing his eyes, and shaking his florid face impressively.</p> + +<p>'Och, bother! don't I know—of coorse, reconciliation;' and he was +buttoning his garments where, being a little 'in flesh,' as well as +tall, he had loosed them. '<i>Where</i> are the gentlemen now, and who will I +ask for?'</p> + +<p>'I'll show you the light from the steps. Ask for Dr. Toole; and he's +<i>certainly</i> there; and if he's not, for Mr. Nutter; and just say you +came from my house, where you—a—pooh! accidentally heard, through Mr. +Loftus, do ye mind, there was a difficulty in finding a friend +to—a—strive to make up matters between thim.'</p> + +<p>By this time they stood upon the door-steps; and Mr. Mahony had clapt on +his hat with a pugnacious cock o' one side; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> following, with a +sporting and mischievous leer, the direction of the priest's hand, that +indicated the open door of the Phœnix, through which a hospitable +light was issuing.</p> + +<p>'There's where you'll find the gentlemen, in the front parlour,' says +the priest. 'You remember Dr. Toole, and <i>he'll</i> remember <i>you</i>. An' +<i>mind</i>, dear, it's to make it up you're goin'.' Mr. Mahony was already +under weigh, at a brisk stride, and with a keen relish for the business. +'And the blessing of the peacemaker go with you, my child!' added his +reverence, lifting his hands and his eyes towards the heavens, 'An' upon +my fainy!' looking shrewdly at the stars, and talking to himself, +'they'll have a fine morning for the business, <i>if</i>, unfortunately'—and +here he re-ascended his door-steps with a melancholy shrug—'if +<i>unfortunately</i>, Pat Mahony should fail.'</p> + +<p>When Mr. Pat Mahony saw occasion for playing the gentleman, he certainly +did come out remarkably strong in the part. It was done in a noble, +florid, glowing style, according to his private ideal of the complete +fine gentleman. Such bows, such pointing of the toes, such graceful +flourishes of the three-cocked hat—such immensely engaging smiles and +wonderful by-play, such an apparition, in short, of perfect +elegance-valour, and courtesy, were never seen before in the front +parlour of the Phœnix.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Mahony, by jingo!' ejaculated Toole, in an accent of thankfulness +amounting nearly to rapture. Nutter seemed relieved, too, and advanced +to be presented to the man who, instinct told him, was to be his friend. +Cluffe, a man of fashion of the military school, eyed the elegant +stranger with undisguised disgust and wonder, and Devereux with that +sub-acid smile with which men will sometimes quietly relish absurdity.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mahony, 'discoursin' a country neighbour outside the half-way-house +at Muckafubble, or enjoying an easy <i>tête-à-tête</i> with Father Roach, was +a very inferior person, indeed, to Patrick Mahony, Esq., the full-blown +diplomatist and pink of gentility astonishing the front parlour of the +Phœnix.</p> + +<p><i>There</i>, Mr. Mahony's periods were fluent and florid, and the words +chosen occasionally rather for their grandeur and melody than for their +exact connexion with the context or bearing upon his meaning. The +consequence was a certain gorgeous haziness and bewilderment, which made +the task of translating his harangues rather troublesome and +conjectural.</p> + +<p>Having effected the introduction, and made known the object of his +visit, Nutter and he withdrew to a small chamber behind the bar, where +Nutter, returning some of his bows, and having listened without deriving +any very clear ideas to two consecutive addresses from his companion, +took the matter in hand himself, and said he—</p> + +<p>'I beg, Sir, to relieve you at once from the trouble of trying to +arrange this affair amicably. I have been grossly insulted,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> he's not +going to apologise, and nothing but a meeting will satisfy me. He's a +mere murderer. I have not the faintest notion why he wants to kill me; +but being reduced to this situation, I hold myself obliged, if I can, to +rid the town of him finally.'</p> + +<p>'Shake hands, Sir,' cried Mahony, forgetting his rhetoric in his +enthusiasm; 'be the hole in the wall, Sir, I honour you.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h4>THE DEAD SECRET, SHOWING HOW THE FIREWORKER PROVED TO PUDDOCK THAT +NUTTER HAD SPIED OUT THE NAKEDNESS OF THE LAND.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>hen Puddock, having taken a short turn or two in the air, by way of +tranquillising his mind, mounted his lodging stairs, he found Lieutenant +O'Flaherty, not at all more sober than he had last seen him, in the +front drawing-room, which apartment was richly perfumed with powerful +exhalations of rum punch.</p> + +<p>'Dhrink this, Puddock—dhrink it,' said O'Flaherty, filling a large +glass in equal quantities with rum and water; 'dhrink it, my sinsare +friend; it will studdy you, it will, upon my honour, Puddock!'</p> + +<p>'But—a—thank you, Sir, I am anxious to understand exactly'—said +Puddock. Here he was interrupted by a frightful grin and a '<i>ha!</i>' from +O'Flaherty, who darted to the door, and seizing his little withered +French servant, who was entering, swung him about the room by his coat +collar.</p> + +<p>'So, Sorr, you've been prating again, have you, you desateful, idle old +dhrunken miscreant; you did it on purpose, you blundherin' old hyena; +it's the third jewel you got your masther into; and if I lose my life, +divil a penny iv your wages ye'll ever get—that's one comfort. Yes, +Sorr! this is the third time you have caused me to brew my hands in +human blood; I dono' if it's malice, or only blundherin'. Oh!' he cried, +with a still fiercer shake, 'it's I that wishes I could be sure 'twas +malice, I'd skiver you, heels and elbows, on my sword, and roast you +alive on that fire. Is not it a hard thing, my darlin' Puddock, I can't +find out.' He was still holding the little valet by the collar, and +stretching out his right hand to Puddock. 'But I am always the sport of +misfortunes—small and great. If there was an ould woman to be handed in +to supper—or a man to be murthered by mistake—or an ugly girl to be +danced with, whose turn was it, ever and always to do the business, but +poor Hyacinth O'Flaherty's—(tears). I could tell you, Puddock,' he +continued, forgetting his wrath, and letting his prisoner go, in his +eager pathos—the Frenchman made his escape in a twinkling—'I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> the +only man in our regiment that tuck the mazles in Cork, when it was goin' +among the children, bad luck to them—I that was near dyin' of it when I +was an infant; and I was the only officer in the regiment, when we were +at Athlone, that was prevented going to the race ball—and I would not +for a hundred pounds. I was to dance the first minuet, and the first +country dance, with that beautiful creature, Miss Rose Cox. I was makin' +a glass of brandy punch—not feelin' quite myself—and I dhressed and +all, in our room, when Ensign Higgins, a most thoughtless young man, +said something disrespectful about a beautiful mole she had on her chin; +bedad, Sir, he called it a wart, if you plase! and feelin' it sthrongly, +I let the jug of scaldin' wather drop on my knees; I wish you felt it, +my darlin' Puddock. I was scalded in half a crack from a fut above my +knees down to the last joint of my two big toes; and I raly thought my +sinses were leving me. I lost the ball by it. Oh, ho, wirresthrue! poor +Hyacinth O'Flaherty!' and thereupon he wept.</p> + +<p>'You thee, Lieutenant O'Flaherty,' lisped Puddock, growing impatient, +'we can't say how soon Mr. Nutter's friend may apply for an interview, +and—a—I must confeth I don't yet quite understand the point of +difference between you and him, and therefore—'</p> + +<p>'A where the devil's that blackguard little French wazel gone to?' +exclaimed O'Flaherty, for the first time perceiving that his captive had +escaped. 'Kokang Modate! Do you hear me, Kokang Modate!' he shouted.</p> + +<p>'But really, Sir, you must be so good as to place before me, before me, +Sir, clearly, the—the cause of this unhappy dispute, the exact offenth, +Thir, for otherwithe—'</p> + +<p>'Cause, to be sure! and plenty iv cause. I never fought a jewel yet, +Puddock, my friend—and this will be the ninth—without cause. They +said, I'm tould, in Cork, I was quarrelsome; they lied; I'm not +quarrelsome; I only want pace, and quiet, and justice; I hate a +quarrelsome man. I tell you, Puddock, if I only knew where to find a +quarrelsome man, be the powers I'd go fifty miles out of my way to pull +him be the nose. They lied, Puddock, my dear boy, an' I'd give twenty +pounds this minute I had them on this flure, to tell them how <i>damnably</i> +they lied!'</p> + +<p>'No doubt, Thir,' said Puddock, 'but if you pleathe I really mutht have +a dithtinct answer to my—'</p> + +<p>'Get out o' that, Sorr,' thundered O'Flaherty, with an awful stamp on +the floor, as the 'coquin maudit,' O'Flaherty's only bit of French, such +as it was, in obedience to that form of invocation, appeared nervously +at the threshold, 'or I'll fling the contints of the r-r-oo-oo-oom at +your head, (exit Monsieur, again). Be gannies! if I thought it was he +that done it, I'd jirk his old bones through the top of the window. Will +I call him back and give him his desarts, will I, Puddock! Oh, ho, hone! +my darlin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> Puddock, everything turns agin me; what'll I do, Puddock, +jewel, or what's to become o' me?' and he shed some more tears, and +drank off the greater part of the beverage which he had prepared for +Puddock.</p> + +<p>'I believe, Sir, that this is the sixth time I've ventured to ask a +distinct statement from your lips, of the cauthe of your dithagreement +with Mr. Nutter, which I plainly tell you, Thir, I don't at prethent +underthtand, said Puddock, loftily and firmly enough.</p> + +<p>'To be sure, my darlin' Puddock,' replied O'Flaherty, 'it was that +cursed little French whipper-snapper, with his monkeyfied +intherruptions; be the powers, Puddock, if you knew half the mischief +that same little baste has got me into, you would not wondher if I +murthered him. It was he was the cause of my jewel with my cousin, Art +Considine, and I wanting to be the very pink of politeness to him. I +wrote him a note when he came to Athlone, afther two years in France, +and jist out o' compliment to him, I unluckily put in a word of French: +come an' dine, says I, and we'll have a dish of chat. I knew u-n p-l-a-t +(spelling it), was a dish, an' says I to Jerome, that pigimy (so he +pronounced it) you seen here at the door, that's his damnable name, +what's <i>chat</i> in French—c-h-a-t—spelling it to him; "sha," says he; +"sha?" says I, "spell it, if you plase," says I; "c-h-a-t," says he, the +stupid old viper. Well, I took the trouble to write it out, "un plat de +chat;" "is that right?" says I, showing it to him. "It is, my lord," +says he, looking at me as if I had two heads. I never knew the manin' of +it for more than a month afther I shot poor Art through the two calves. +An' he that fought two jewels before, all about cats, one of them with a +Scotch gentleman that he gave the lie to, for saying that French cooks +had a way of stewing cats you could not tell them from hares; and the +other immadiately afther, with Lieutenant Rugge, of the Royal Navy, that +got one stewed for fun, and afther my Cousin Art dined off it, like a +man, showed him the tail and the claws. It's well he did not die of it, +and no wondher he resented my invitation, though upon my honour, as a +soldier and a gentleman, may I be stewed alive myself in a pot, Puddock +my dear, if I had the laste notion of offering him the smallest +affront!'</p> + +<p>'I begin to despair, Sir,' exclaimed Puddock, 'of receiving the +information without which 'tis vain for me to try to be useful to you; +once more, may I entreat to know what <i>is</i> the affront of which you +complain?'</p> + +<p>'You don't know; raly and truly now, you don't know?' said O'Flaherty, +fixing a solemn tipsy leer on him.</p> + +<p>'I tell you <i>no</i>, Thir,' rejoined Puddock.</p> + +<p>'And do you mean to tell me you did not hear that vulgar dog Nutter's +unmanly jokes?'</p> + +<p>'Jokes!' repeated Puddock, in large perplexity, 'why I've been here in +this town for more than five years, and I never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> heard in all that time +that Nutter once made a joke—and upon my life, I don't think he could +make a joke, Sir, if he tried—I don't, indeed, Lieutenant O'Flaherty, +upon my honour!'</p> + +<p>And rat it, Sir, how can I help it?' cried O'Flaherty, relapsing into +pathos.</p> + +<p>'Help what?' demanded Puddock.</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty took him by the hand, and gazing on his face with a maudlin, +lacklustre tenderness, said:—</p> + +<p>'Absalom was caught by the hair of his head—he was, Puddock—long hair +or short hair, or (a hiccough) no hair at all, isn't it nature's doing, +I ask you my darlin' Puddock, <i>isn't</i> it?' He was shedding tears again +very fast. 'There was Cicero and Julius Cæsar, wor both as bald as +that,' and he thrust a shining sugar basin, bottom upward, into +Puddock's face. '<i>I'm</i> not bald; I tell you I'm <i>not</i>—no, my darlin' +Puddock, I'm not—poor Hyacinth O'Flaherty is <i>not bald</i>,' shaking +Puddock by both hands.</p> + +<p>'That's very plain, Sir, but I don't see your drift,' he replied.</p> + +<p>'I want to tell you, Puddock, dear, if you'll only have a minute's +patience. The door can't fasten, divil bother it; come into the next +room;' and toppling a little in his walk, he led him solemnly into his +bed-room—the door of which he locked—somewhat to Puddock's +disquietude, who began to think him insane. Here having informed Puddock +that Nutter was driving at the one point the whole evening, as any one +that knew the secret would have seen; and having solemnly imposed the +seal of secrecy upon his second, and essayed a wild and broken discourse +upon the difference between total baldness and partial loss of hair, he +disclosed to him the grand mystery of his existence, by lifting from the +summit of his head a circular piece of wig, which in those days they +called I believe, a 'topping,' leaving a bare shining disc exposed, +about the size of a large pat of butter.</p> + +<p>'Upon my life, Thir, it'th a very fine piethe of work,' says Puddock, +who viewed the wiglet with the eye of a stage-property man, and held it +by a top lock near the candle. 'The very finetht piethe of work of the +kind I ever thaw. 'Tith thertainly French. Oh, yeth—we can't do such +thingth here. By Jove, Thir, what a wig that man would make for Cato!'</p> + +<p>'An' he must be a mane crature—I say, a mane crature,' pursued +O'Flaherty, 'for there was not a soul in the town but Jerome, the—the +treacherous ape, that knew it. It's he that dhresses my head every +morning behind the bed-curtain there, with the door locked. And Nutter +could never have found it out—<i>who</i> was to tell him, unless that ojus +French damon, that's never done talkin' about it;' and O'Flaherty strode +heavily up and down the room with his hands in his breeches' pockets, +muttering savage invectives, pitching his head from side to side, and +whisking round at the turns in a way to show how strongly he was wrought +upon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Come in, Sorr!' thundered O'Flaherty, unlocking the door, in reply to a +knock, and expecting to see his 'ojus French damon.' But it was a tall +fattish stranger, rather flashily dressed, but a little soiled, with a +black wig, and a rollicking red face, showing a good deal of chin and +jaw.</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty made his grandest bow, quite forgetting the exposure at the +top of his head; and Puddock stood rather shocked, with the candle in +one hand and O'Flaherty's scalp in the other.</p> + +<p>'You come, Sir, I presume, from Mr. Nutter,' said O'Flaherty, with lofty +courtesy. This, Sir, is my friend, Lieutenant Puddock of the Royal Irish +Artillery, who does me the honour to support me with his advice and—'</p> + +<p>As he moved his hand towards Puddock, he saw his scalp dangling between +that gentleman's finger and thumb, and became suddenly mute. He clapped +his hand upon his bare skull, and made an agitated pluck at that +article, but missed, and disappeared, with an imprecation in Irish, +behind the bed curtains.</p> + +<p>'If you will be so obliging, Sir, as to precede me into that room,' +lisped Puddock, with grave dignity, and waving O'Flaherty's scalp +slightly towards the door—for Puddock never stooped to hide anything, +and being a gentleman, pure and simple, was not ashamed or afraid to +avow his deeds, words, and situations; 'I shall do myself the honour to +follow.'</p> + +<p>'Gi' me <i>that</i>,' was heard in a vehement whisper from behind the +curtains. Puddock understood it, and restored the treasure.</p> + +<p>The secret conference in the drawing-room was not tedious, nor indeed +very secret, for anyone acquainted with the diplomatic slang in which +such affairs were conducted might have learned in the lobby, or indeed +in the hall, so mighty was the voice of the stranger, that there was no +chance of any settlement without a meeting which was fixed to take place +at twelve o'clock next day on the Fifteen Acres.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h4>SOME TALK ABOUT THE HAUNTED HOUSE—BEING, AS I SUPPOSE, ONLY OLD WOMAN'S +TALES.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img083.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'O'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'O'" /></div><p>ld Sally always attended her young mistress while she prepared for +bed—not that Lilias required help, for she had the spirit of neatness +and a joyous, gentle alacrity, and only troubled the good old creature +enough to prevent her thinking herself grown old and useless.</p> + +<p>Sally, in her quiet way, was garrulous, and she had all sorts of +old-world tales of wonder and adventure, to which Lilias often went +pleasantly to sleep; for there was no danger while old Sally sat +knitting there by the fire, and the sound of the rector's mounting upon +his chairs, as was his wont, and taking down and putting up his books in +the study beneath, though muffled and faint, gave evidence that that +good and loving influence was awake and busy.</p> + +<p>Old Sally was telling her young mistress, who sometimes listened with a +smile, and sometimes lost a good five minutes together of her gentle +prattle, how the young gentleman, Mr. Mervyn, had taken that awful old +haunted habitation, the Tiled House 'beyant at Ballyfermot,' and was +going to stay there, and wondered no one had told him of the mysterious +dangers of that desolate mansion.</p> + +<p>It stood by a lonely bend of the narrow road. Lilias had often looked +upon the short, straight, grass-grown avenue with an awful curiosity at +the old house which she had learned in childhood to fear as the abode of +shadowy tenants and unearthly dangers.</p> + +<p>'There are people, Sally, nowadays, who call themselves free-thinkers, +and don't believe in anything—even in ghosts,' said Lilias.</p> + +<p>'A then the place he's stopping in now, Miss Lily, 'ill soon cure him of +free-thinking, if the half they say about it's true,' answered Sally.</p> + +<p>'But I don't say, mind, he's a free-thinker, for I don't know anything +of Mr. Mervyn; but if he be not, he must be very brave, or very good, +indeed. I know, Sally, I should be horribly afraid, indeed, to sleep in +it myself,' answered Lilias, with a cosy little shudder, as the aërial +image of the old house for a moment stood before her, with its peculiar +malign, sacred, and skulking aspect, as if it had drawn back in shame +and guilt under the melancholy old elms among the tall hemlock and +nettles.</p> + +<p>'And now, Sally, I'm safe in bed. Stir the fire, my old darling.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> For +although it was the first week in May, the night was frosty. 'And tell +me all about the Tiled House again, and frighten me out of my wits.'</p> + +<p>So good old Sally, whose faith in such matters was a religion, went off +over the well-known ground in a gentle little amble—sometimes subsiding +into a walk as she approached some special horror, and pulling up +altogether—that is to say, suspending her knitting, and looking with a +mysterious nod at her young mistress in the four-poster, or lowering her +voice to a sort of whisper when the crisis came.</p> + +<p>So she told her how when the neighbours hired the orchard that ran up to +the windows at the back of the house, the dogs they kept there used to +howl so wildly and wolfishly all night among the trees, and prowl under +the walls of the house so dejectedly, that they were fain to open the +door and let them in at last; and, indeed, small need was there for +dogs; for no one, young or old, dared go near the orchard after +night-fall. No, the burnished golden pippins that peeped through the +leaves in the western rays of evening, and made the mouths of the +Ballyfermot school-boys water, glowed undisturbed in the morning +sunbeams, and secure in the mysterious tutelage of the night smiled +coyly on their predatory longings. And this was no fanciful reserve and +avoidance. Mick Daly, when he had the orchard, used to sleep in the loft +over the kitchen; and he swore that within five or six weeks, while he +lodged there, he twice saw the same thing, and that was a lady in a hood +and a loose dress, her head drooping, and her finger on her lip, walking +in silence among the crooked stems, with a little child by the hand, who +ran smiling and skipping beside her. And the Widow Cresswell once met +them at night-fall, on the path through the orchard to the back-door, +and she did not know what it was until she saw the men looking at one +another as she told it.</p> + +<p>'It's often she told it to me,' said old Sally; 'and how she came on +them all of a sudden at the turn of the path, just by the thick clump of +alder trees; and how she stopped, thinking it was some lady that had a +right to be there; and how they went by as swift as the shadow of a +cloud, though she only seemed to be walking slow enough, and the little +child pulling by her arm, this way and that way, and took no notice of +her, nor even raised her head, though she stopped and courtesied. And +old Dalton, don't you remember old Dalton, Miss Lily?'</p> + +<p>'I think I do, the old man who limped, and wore the old black wig?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, indeed, acushla, so he did. See how well she remembers! That was +by a kick of one of the earl's horses—he was groom there,' resumed +Sally. 'He used to be troubled with hearing the very sounds his master +used to make to bring him and old Oliver to the door, when he came back +late. It was only on very dark nights when there was no moon. They used<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +to hear all on a sudden, the whimpering and scraping of dogs at the hall +door, and the sound of the whistle, and the light stroke across the +window with the lash of the whip, just like as if the earl himself—may +his poor soul find rest—was there. First the wind 'id stop, like you'd +be holding your breath, then came these sounds they knew so well, and +when they made no sign of stirring or opening the door, the wind 'id +begin again with such a hoo-hoo-o-o-high, you'd think it was laughing, +and crying, and hooting all at once.'</p> + +<p>Here old Sally's tale and her knitting ceased for a moment, as if she +were listening to the wind outside the haunted precincts of the Tiled +house; and she took up her parable again.</p> + +<p>'The very night he met his death in England, old Oliver, the butler, was +listening to Dalton—for Dalton was a scholar—reading the letter that +came to him through the post that day, telling him to get things ready, +for his troubles wor nearly over and he expected to be with them again +in a few days, and maybe almost as soon as the letter; and sure enough, +while he was reading, there comes a frightful rattle at the window, like +some one all in a tremble, trying to shake it open, and the earl's +voice, as they both conceited, cries from outside, "Let me in, let me +in, let me in!" "It's him," says the butler. "'Tis so, bedad," says +Dalton, and they both looked at the windy, and at one another—and then +back again—overjoyed, in a soart of a way, and frightened all at onst. +Old Oliver was bad with the rheumatiz. So away goes Dalton to the +hall-door, and he calls "who's there?" and no answer. "Maybe," says +Dalton, to himself, "'tis what he's rid round to the back-door;" so to +the back-door with him, and there he shouts again—and no answer, and +not a sound outside—and he began to feel quare, and to the hall door +with him back again. "Who's there? do you hear? who's there?" he shouts, +and receives no answer still. "I'll open the door at any rate," says he, +"maybe it's what he's made his escape," for they knew all about his +troubles, and wants to get in without noise, so praying all the +time—for his mind misgave him it might not be all right—he shifts the +bars and unlocks the door; but neither man, woman, nor child, nor horse, +nor any living shape was standing there, only something or another slipt +into the house close by his leg; it might be a dog, or something that +way, he could not tell, for he only seen it for a moment with the corner +of his eye, and it went in just like as if it belonged to the place. He +could not see which way it went, up or down, but the house was never a +happy one, or a quiet house after; and Dalton bangs the hall-door, and +he took a sort of a turn and a trembling, and back with him to Oliver, +the butler, looking as white as the blank leaf of his master's letter, +that was between his finger and thumb. "What is it? <i>what</i> is it?" says +the butler, catching his crutch like a waypon, fastening his eyes on +Dalton's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> white face, and growing almost as pale himself. "The master's +dead," says Dalton—and so he was, signs on it.</p> + +<p>'After the turn she got by what she seen in the orchard, when she came +to know the truth of what it was, Jinny Cresswell, you may be sure, did +not stay there an hour longer than she could help: and she began to take +notice of things she did not mind before—such as when she went into the +big bed-room over the hall, that the lord used to sleep in, whenever she +went in at one door the other door used to be pulled to very quick, as +if some one avoiding her was getting out in haste; but the thing that +frightened her most was just this—that sometimes she used to find a +long straight mark from the head to the foot of her bed, as if 'twas +made by something heavy lying there, and the place where it was used to +feel warm—as if—whoever it was—they only left it as she came into the +room.</p> + +<p>'But the worst of all was poor Kitty Haplin, the young woman that died +of what she seen. Her mother said it was how she was kept awake all the +night with the walking about of some one in the next room, tumbling +about boxes, and pulling over drawers, and talking and sighing to +himself, and she, poor thing, wishing to go asleep, and wondering who it +could be, when in he comes, a fine man, in a sort of loose silk +morning-dress, an' no wig, but a velvet cap on, and to the windy with +him quiet and aisy, and she makes a turn in the bed to let him know +there was some one there, thinking he'd go away, but instead of that, +over he comes to the side of the bed, looking very bad, and says +something to her—but his speech was thick and choakin' like a dummy's +that id be trying to spake—and she grew very frightened, and says she, +'I ask your honour's pardon, Sir, but I can't hear you right,' and with +that he stretches up his neck nigh out of his cravat, turning his face +up towards the ceiling, and—grace between us and harm!—his throat was +cut across, and wide open; she seen no more, but dropped in a dead faint +in the bed, and back to her mother with her in the morning, and she +never swallied bit or sup more, only she just sat by the fire holding +her mother's hand, crying and trembling, and peepin' over her shoulder, +and starting with every sound, till she took the fever and died, poor +thing, not five weeks after.'</p> + +<p>And so on, and on, and on flowed the stream of old Sally's narrative, +while Lilias dropped into dreamless sleep, and then the story-teller +stole away to her own tidy bed-room and innocent slumbers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h4>SOME ODD FACTS ABOUT THE TILED HOUSE—BEING AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE OF +THE GHOST OF A HAND.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>'m sure she believed every word she related, for old Sally was +veracious. But all this was worth just so much as such talk commonly +is—marvels, fabulæ, what our ancestors called winter's tales—which +gathered details from every narrator, and dilated in the act of +narration. Still it was not quite for nothing that the house was held to +be haunted. Under all this smoke there smouldered just a little spark of +truth—an authenticated mystery, for the solution of which some of my +readers may possibly suggest a theory, though I confess I can't.</p> + +<p>Miss Rebecca Chattesworth, in a letter dated late in the autumn of 1753, +gives a minute and curious relation of occurrences in the Tiled House, +which, it is plain, although at starting she protests against all such +fooleries, she has heard with a peculiar sort of interest, and relates +it certainly with an awful sort of particularity.</p> + +<p>I was for printing the entire letter, which is really very singular as +well as characteristic. But my publisher meets me with his <i>veto</i>; and I +believe he is right. The worthy old lady's letter <i>is</i>, perhaps, too +long; and I must rest content with a few hungry notes of its tenor.</p> + +<p>That year, and somewhere about the 24th October, there broke out a +strange dispute between Mr. Alderman Harper, of High Street, Dublin, and +my Lord Castlemallard, who, in virtue of his cousinship to the young +heir's mother, had undertaken for him the management of the tiny estate +on which the Tiled or Tyled House—for I find it spelt both ways—stood.</p> + +<p>This Alderman Harper had agreed for a lease of the house for his +daughter, who was married to a gentleman named Prosser. He furnished it, +and put up hangings, and otherwise went to considerable expense. Mr. and +Mrs. Prosser came there sometime in June, and after having parted with a +good many servants in the interval, she made up her mind that she could +not live in the house, and her father waited on Lord Castlemallard, and +told him plainly that he would not take out the lease because the house +was subjected to annoyances which he could not explain. In plain terms, +he said it was haunted, and that no servants would live there more than +a few weeks, and that after what his son-in-law's family had suffered +there, not only should he be excused from taking a lease of it, but that +the house itself ought to be pulled down as a nuisance and the habitual +haunt of something worse than human malefactors.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lord Castlemallard filed a bill in the Equity side of the Exchequer to +compel Mr. Alderman Harper to perform his contract, by taking out the +lease. But the Alderman drew an answer, supported by no less than seven +long affidavits, copies of all which were furnished to his lordship, and +with the desired effect; for rather than compel him to place them upon +the file of the court, his lordship struck, and consented to release +him.</p> + +<p>I am sorry the cause did not proceed at least far enough to place upon +the files of the court the very authentic and unaccountable story which +Miss Rebecca relates.</p> + +<p>The annoyances described did not begin till the end of August, when, one +evening, Mrs. Prosser, quite alone, was sitting in the twilight at the +back parlour window, which was open, looking out into the orchard, and +plainly saw a hand stealthily placed upon the stone window-sill outside, +as if by some one beneath the window, at her right side, intending to +climb up. There was nothing but the hand, which was rather short but +handsomely formed, and white and plump, laid on the edge of the +window-sill; and it was not a very young hand, but one aged, somewhere +about forty, as she conjectured. It was only a few weeks before that the +horrible robbery at Clondalkin had taken place, and the lady fancied +that the hand was that of one of the miscreants who was now about to +scale the windows of the Tiled House. She uttered a loud scream and an +ejaculation of terror, and at the same moment the hand was quietly +withdrawn.</p> + +<p>Search was made in the orchard, but no indications of any person's +having been under the window, beneath which, ranged along the wall, +stood a great column of flower-pots, which it seemed must have prevented +any one's coming within reach of it.</p> + +<p>The same night there came a hasty tapping, every now and then, at the +window of the kitchen. The women grew frightened, and the servant-man, +taking firearms with him, opened the back-door, but discovered nothing. +As he shut it, however, he said, 'a thump came on it,' and a pressure as +of somebody striving to force his way in, which frightened <i>him</i>; and +though the tapping went on upon the kitchen window panes, he made no +further explorations.</p> + +<p>About six o'clock on the Saturday evening following, the cook, 'an +honest, sober woman, now aged nigh sixty years,' being alone in the +kitchen, saw, on looking up, it is supposed, the same fat but +aristocratic-looking hand, laid with its palm against the glass, near +the side of the window, and this time moving slowly up and down, pressed +all the while against the glass, as if feeling carefully for some +inequality in its surface. She cried out, and said something like a +prayer on seeing it. But it was not withdrawn for several seconds after.</p> + +<p>After this, for a great many nights, there came at first a low,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> and +afterwards an angry rapping, as it seemed with a set of clenched +knuckles at the back-door. And the servant-man would not open it, but +called to know who was there; and there came no answer, only a sound as +if the palm of the hand was placed against it, and drawn slowly from +side to side with a sort of soft, groping motion.</p> + +<p>All this time, sitting in the back parlour, which, for the time, they +used as a drawing-room, Mr. and Mrs. Prosser were disturbed by rappings +at the window, sometimes very low and furtive, like a clandestine +signal, and at others sudden, and so loud as to threaten the breaking of +the pane.</p> + +<p>This was all at the back of the house, which looked upon the orchard as +you know. But on a Tuesday night, at about half-past nine, there came +precisely the same rapping at the hall-door, and went on, to the great +annoyance of the master and terror of his wife, at intervals, for nearly +two hours.</p> + +<p>After this, for several days and nights, they had no annoyance +whatsoever, and began to think that nuisance had expended itself. But on +the night of the 13th September, Jane Easterbrook, an English maid, +having gone into the pantry for the small silver bowl in which her +mistress's posset was served, happening to look up at the little window +of only four panes, observed through an auger-hole which was drilled +through the window frame, for the admission of a bolt to secure the +shutter, a white pudgy finger—first the tip, and then the two first +joints introduced, and turned about this way and that, crooked against +the inside, as if in search of a fastening which its owner designed to +push aside. When the maid got back into the kitchen we are told 'she +fell into "a swounde," and was all the next day very weak.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Prosser being, I've heard, a hard-headed and conceited sort of +fellow, scouted the ghost, and sneered at the fears of his family. He +was privately of opinion that the whole affair was a practical joke or a +fraud, and waited an opportunity of catching the rogue <i>flagrante +delicto</i>. He did not long keep this theory to himself, but let it out by +degrees with no stint of oaths and threats, believing that some domestic +traitor held the thread of the conspiracy.</p> + +<p>Indeed it was time something were done; for not only his servants, but +good Mrs. Prosser herself, had grown to look unhappy and anxious. They +kept at home from the hour of sunset, and would not venture about the +house after night-fall, except in couples.</p> + +<p>The knocking had ceased for about a week; when one night, Mrs. Prosser +being in the nursery, her husband, who was in the parlour, heard it +begin very softly at the hall-door. The air was quite still, which +favoured his hearing distinctly. This was the first time there had been +any disturbance at that side of the house, and the character of the +summons was changed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Prosser, leaving the parlour-door open, it seems, went quietly into +the hall. The sound was that of beating on the outside of the stout +door, softly and regularly, 'with the flat of the hand.' He was going to +open it suddenly, but changed his mind; and went back very quietly, and +on to the head of the kitchen stair, where was a 'strong closet' over +the pantry, in which he kept his firearms, swords, and canes.</p> + +<p>Here he called his man-servant, whom he believed to be honest, and, with +a pair of loaded pistols in his own coat-pockets, and giving another +pair to him, he went as lightly as he could, followed by the man, and +with a stout walking-cane in his hand, forward to the door.</p> + +<p>Everything went as Mr. Prosser wished. The besieger of his house, so far +from taking fright at their approach, grew more impatient; and the sort +of patting which had aroused his attention at first assumed the rhythm +and emphasis of a series of double-knocks.</p> + +<p>Mr. Prosser, angry, opened the door with his right arm across, cane in +hand. Looking, he saw nothing; but his arm was jerked up oddly, as it +might be with the hollow of a hand, and something passed under it, with +a kind of gentle squeeze. The servant neither saw nor felt anything, and +did not know why his master looked back so hastily, cutting with his +cane, and shutting the door with so sudden a slam.</p> + +<p>From that time Mr. Prosser discontinued his angry talk and swearing +about it, and seemed nearly as averse from the subject as the rest of +his family. He grew, in fact, very uncomfortable, feeling an inward +persuasion that when, in answer to the summons, he had opened the +hall-door, he had actually given admission to the besieger.</p> + +<p>He said nothing to Mrs. Prosser, but went up earlier to his bed-room, +'where he read a while in his Bible, and said his prayers.' I hope the +particular relation of this circumstance does not indicate its +singularity. He lay awake a good while, it appears; and, as he supposed, +about a quarter past twelve he heard the soft palm of a hand patting on +the outside of the bed-room door, and then brushed slowly along it.</p> + +<p>Up bounced Mr. Prosser, very much frightened, and locked the door, +crying, 'Who's there?' but receiving no answer but the same brushing +sound of a soft hand drawn over the panels, which he knew only too well.</p> + +<p>In the morning the housemaid was terrified by the impression of a hand +in the dust of the 'little parlour' table, where they had been unpacking +delft and other things the day before. The print of the naked foot in +the sea-sand did not frighten Robinson Crusoe half so much. They were by +this time all nervous, and some of them half-crazed, about the hand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Prosser went to examine the mark, and made light of it but as he +swore afterwards, rather to quiet his servants than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> from any +comfortable feeling about it in his own mind; however, he had them all, +one by one, into the room, and made each place his or her hand, palm +downward, on the same table, thus taking a similar impression from every +person in the house, including himself and his wife; and his 'affidavit' +deposed that the formation of the hand so impressed differed altogether +from those of the living inhabitants of the house, and corresponded with +that of the hand seen by Mrs. Prosser and by the cook.</p> + +<p>Whoever or whatever the owner of that hand might be, they all felt this +subtle demonstration to mean that it was declared he was no longer out +of doors, but had established himself in the house.</p> + +<p>And now Mrs. Prosser began to be troubled with strange and horrible +dreams, some of which as set out in detail, in Aunt Rebecca's long +letter, are really very appalling nightmares. But one night, as Mr. +Prosser closed his bed-chamber-door, he was struck somewhat by the utter +silence of the room, there being no sound of breathing, which seemed +unaccountable to him, as he knew his wife was in bed, and his ears were +particularly sharp.</p> + +<p>There was a candle burning on a small table at the foot of the bed, +beside the one he held in one hand, a heavy ledger, connected with his +father-in-law's business being under his arm. He drew the curtain at the +side of the bed, and saw Mrs. Prosser lying, as for a few seconds he +mortally feared, dead, her face being motionless, white, and covered +with a cold dew; and on the pillow, close beside her head, and just +within the curtains, was, as he first thought, a toad—but really the +same fattish hand, the wrist resting on the pillow, and the fingers +extended towards her temple.</p> + +<p>Mr. Prosser, with a horrified jerk, pitched the ledger right at the +curtains, behind which the owner of the hand might be supposed to stand. +The hand was instantaneously and smoothly snatched away, the curtains +made a great wave, and Mr. Prosser got round the bed in time to see the +closet-door, which was at the other side, pulled to by the same white, +puffy hand, as he believed.</p> + +<p>He drew the door open with a fling, and stared in: but the closet was +empty, except for the clothes hanging from the pegs on the wall, and the +dressing-table and looking-glass facing the windows. He shut it sharply, +and locked it, and felt for a minute, he says, 'as if he were like to +lose his wits;' then, ringing at the bell, he brought the servants, and +with much ado they recovered Mrs. Prosser from a sort of 'trance,' in +which, he says, from her looks, she seemed to have suffered 'the pains +of death:' and Aunt Rebecca adds, 'from what she told me of her visions, +with her own lips, he might have added, "and of hell also."'</p> + +<p>But the occurrence which seems to have determined the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> crisis was the +strange sickness of their eldest child, a little boy aged between two +and three years. He lay awake, seemingly in paroxysms of terror, and the +doctors who were called in, set down the symptoms to incipient water on +the brain. Mrs. Prosser used to sit up with the nurse by the nursery +fire, much troubled in mind about the condition of her child.</p> + +<p>His bed was placed sideways along the wall, with its head against the +door of a press or cupboard, which, however, did not shut quite close. +There was a little valance, about a foot deep, round the top of the +child's bed, and this descended within some ten or twelve inches of the +pillow on which it lay.</p> + +<p>They observed that the little creature was quieter whenever they took it +up and held it on their laps. They had just replaced him, as he seemed +to have grown quite sleepy and tranquil, but he was not five minutes in +his bed when he began to scream in one of his frenzies of terror; at the +same moment the nurse, for the first time, detected, and Mrs. Prosser +equally plainly saw, following the direction of <i>her</i> eyes, the real +cause of the child's sufferings.</p> + +<p>Protruding through the aperture of the press, and shrouded in the shade +of the valance, they plainly saw the white fat hand, palm downwards, +presented towards the head of the child. The mother uttered a scream, +and snatched the child from its little bed, and she and the nurse ran +down to the lady's sleeping-room, where Mr. Prosser was in bed, shutting +the door as they entered; and they had hardly done so, when a gentle tap +came to it from the outside.</p> + +<p>There is a great deal more, but this will suffice. The singularity of +the narrative seems to me to be this, that it describes the ghost of a +hand, and no more. The person to whom that hand belonged never once +appeared: nor was it a hand separated from a body, but only a hand so +manifested and introduced that its owner was always, by some crafty +accident, hidden from view.</p> + +<p>In the year 1819, at a college breakfast, I met a Mr. Prosser—a thin, +grave, but rather chatty old gentleman, with very white hair drawn back +into a pigtail—and he told us all, with a concise particularity, a +story of his cousin, James Prosser, who, when an infant, had slept for +some time in what his mother said was a haunted nursery in an old house +near Chapelizod, and who, whenever he was ill, over-fatigued, or in +anywise feverish, suffered all through his life as he had done from a +time he could scarce remember, from a vision of a certain gentleman, fat +and pale, every curl of whose wig, every button and fold of whose laced +clothes, and every feature and line of whose sensual, benignant, and +unwholesome face, was as minutely engraven upon his memory as the dress +and lineaments of his own grandfather's portrait, which hung before him +every day at breakfast, dinner, and supper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Prosser mentioned this as an instance of a curiously monotonous, +individualised, and persistent nightmare, and hinted the extreme horror +and anxiety with which his cousin, of whom he spoke in the past tense as +'poor Jemmie,' was at any time induced to mention it.</p> + +<p>I hope the reader will pardon me for loitering so long in the Tiled +House, but this sort of lore has always had a charm for me; and people, +you know, especially old people, will talk of what most interests +themselves, too often forgetting that others may have had more than +enough of it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE RECTOR VISITS THE TILED HOUSE, AND DOCTOR TOOLE LOOKS AFTER +THE BRASS CASTLE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img015.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" /></div><p>ext morning Toole, sauntering along the low road towards the mills, as +usual bawling at his dogs, who scampered and nuzzled hither and thither, +round and about him, saw two hackney coaches and a 'noddy' arrive at +'the Brass Castle,' a tall old house by the river, with a little bit of +a flower-garden, half-a-dozen poplars, and a few old privet hedges about +it; and being aware that it had been taken the day before for Mr. +Dangerfield, for three months, he slackened his pace, in the hope of +seeing that personage, of whom he had heard great things, take seisin of +his tabernacle. He was disappointed, however; the great man had not +arrived, only a sour-faced, fussy old lady, Mrs. Jukes, his housekeeper +and a servant-wench and a great lot of boxes and trunks; and so leaving +the coachman grumbling and swearing at the lady, who, bitter, shrill, +and voluble, was manifestly well able to fight her own battles, he +strolled back to the Phœnix, where a new evidence of the impending +arrival met his view in an English groom with three horses, which the +hostler and he were leading into the inn-yard.</p> + +<p>There were others, too, agreeably fidgeted about this arrival. The fair +Miss Magnolia, for instance, and her enterprising parent, the agreeable +Mrs. Macnamara: who both as they gaped and peeped from the windows, +bouncing up from the breakfast-table every minute, to the silent +distress of quiet little Major O'Neill, painted all sorts of handsome +portraits, and agreeable landscapes, and cloud-clapped castles, each for +her private contemplation, on the spreading canvas of her hopes.</p> + +<p>Dr. Walsingham rode down to the 'Tiled House,' where workmen were +already preparing to make things a little more comfortable. The towering +hall-door stood half open; and down the broad stairs—his tall, slim +figure, showing black against the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> light of the discoloured +lobby-window—his raven hair reaching to his shoulders—Mervyn, the +pale, large-eyed genius of that haunted place, came to meet him. He led +him into the cedar parlour, the stained and dusty windows of which +opened upon that moss-grown orchard, among whose great trunks and arches +those strange shapes were said sometimes to have walked at night, like +penitents and mourners through cathedral pillars.</p> + +<p>It was a reception as stately, but as sombre and as beggarly withal as +that of the Master of Ravenswood, for there were but two chairs in the +cedar-parlour,—one with but three legs, the other without a bottom; so +they were fain to stand. But Mervyn could smile without bitterness and +his desolation had not the sting of actual poverty, as he begged the +rector to excuse his dreary welcome, and hoped that he would find things +better the next time.</p> + +<p>Their little colloquy got on very easily, for Mervyn liked the rector, +and felt a confidence in him which was comfortable and almost +exhilarating. The doctor had a cheery, kindly, robust voice, and a good, +honest emphasis in his talk; a guileless blue eye; a face furrowed, +thoughtful, and benevolent; well formed too. He must have been a +handsome curate in his day. Not uncourtly, but honest; the politeness of +a gentle and tender heart; <i>very</i> courteous and popular among ladies, +although he sometimes forgot that they knew no Latin.</p> + +<p>So Mervyn drew nigh to him in spirit, and liked him and talked to him +rather more freely [though even that was enigmatically enough] than he +had done to anybody else for a long time. It would seem that the young +man had formed no very distinct plan of life. He appeared to have some +thought of volunteering to serve in America, and some of entering into a +foreign service; but his plans were, I suppose, <i>in nubibus</i>. All that +was plain was that he was restless and eager for some change—any.</p> + +<p>It was not a very long visit, you may suppose; and just as Dr. +Walsingham rode out of the avenue, Lord Castlemallard was riding +leisurely by towards Chapelizod, followed by his groom.</p> + +<p>His lordship, though he had a drowsy way with him, was esteemed rather +an active man of business, being really, I'm afraid, only what is termed +a fidget: and the fact is, his business would have been better done if +he had looked after it himself a good deal less.</p> + +<p>He was just going down to the town to see whether Dangerfield had +arrived, and slackened his pace to allow the doctor to join him, for he +could ride with him more comfortably than with parsons generally, the +doctor being well descended, and having married, besides, into a good +family. He stared, as he passed, at the old house listlessly and +peevishly. He had heard of Mervyn's doings there, and did not like them.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir, he's a very pretty young, man, and very well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> dressed,' said +his lordship, with manifest dissatisfaction: 'but I don't like meeting +him, you know. 'Tis not his fault; but one can't help thinking of—of +things! and I'd be glad his friends would advise him not to dress in +velvets, you know—particularly black velvets you can understand. I +could not help thinking, at the time, of a pall, somehow. I'm +not—no—not pleasant near him. No—I—I can't—his face is so pale—you +don't often, see so pale a face—no—it looks like a reflection from one +that's still paler—you understand—and in short, even in his perfumes +there's a taint of—of—you know—a taint of blood, Sir. Then there was +a pause, during which he kept slapping his boot peevishly with his +little riding-whip. 'One can't, of course, but be kind,' he recommenced. +'I can't do much—I can't make him acceptable, you know—but I pity him, +Dr. Walsingham, and I've tried to be kind to him, <i>you</i> know that; for +ten years I had all the trouble, Sir, of a guardian without the +authority of one. Yes, of course we're kind; but body o' me! Sir, he'd +be better any where else than here, and without occupation, you know, +quite idle, and so conspicuous. I promise you there are more than I who +think it. And he has commenced fitting up that vile old house—that vile +house, Sir. It is ready to tumble down—upon my life they say so; Nutter +says so, and Sturk—Dr. Sturk, of the Artillery here—an uncommon +sensible man, you know, says so too. 'Tis a vile house, and ready to +tumble down, and you know the trouble I was put to by that corporation +fellow—a—what's his name—about it; and he can't let it—people's +servants won't stay in it, you know, the people tell such stories about +it, I'm told; and what business has he here, you know? It is all very +fine for a week or so, but they'll find him out, they will, Sir. He may +call himself Mervyn, or Fitzgerald, or Thompson, Sir, or any other name, +but it won't do, Sir. No, Dr. Walsingham, it won't do. The people down +in this little village here, Sir, are plaguy sharp—they're cunning; +upon my life, I believe they are too hard for Nutter.'</p> + +<p>In fact, Sturk had been urging on his lordship the purchase of this +little property, which, for many reasons ought to be had a bargain, and +adjoined Lord Castlemallard's, and had talked him into viewing it quite +as an object. No wonder, then, he should look on Mervyn's restorations +and residence, in the light of an impertinence and an intrusion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING HOW PUDDOCK PURGED O'FLAHERTY'S HEAD—A CHAPTER WHICH, IT IS +HOPED, NO GENTEEL PERSON WILL READ.</h4> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img073.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'R'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'R'" /></div><p>um disagreed with O'Flaherty confoundedly, but, being sanguine, and +also of an obstinate courage not easily to be put down, and liking that +fluid, and being young withal, he drank it defiantly and liberally +whenever it came in his way. So this morning he announced to his friend +Puddock that he was suffering under a headache 'that 'id burst a pot.' +The gallant fellow's stomach, too, was qualmish and disturbed. He heard +of breakfast with loathing. Puddock rather imperiously insisted on his +drinking some tea, which he abhorred, and of which, in very imperfect +clothing and with deep groans and occasional imprecations on 'that +bastely clar't'—to which he chose to ascribe his indisposition—he +drearily partook.</p> + +<p>'I tell you what, Thir,' said Puddock, finding his patient nothing +better, and not relishing the notion of presenting his man in that seedy +condition upon the field: 'I've got a remedy, a very thimple one; it +used to do wondereth for my poor Uncle Neagle, who loved rum shrub, +though it gave him the headache <i>always</i>, and sometimes the gout.'</p> + +<p>And Puddock had up Mrs. Hogg, his landlady, and ordered a pair of little +muslin bags about the size of a pistol-cartridge each, which she +promised to prepare in five minutes, and he himself tumbled over the +leaves of his private manuscript quarto, a desultory and miscellaneous +album, stuffed with sonnets on Celia's eye—a lock of hair, or a pansy +here or there pressed between the pages—birthday verses addressed to +Sacharissa, receipts for 'puptons,' 'farces,' &c.; and several for +toilet luxuries, 'Angelica water,' 'The Queen of Hungary's' ditto, +'surfeit waters,' and finally, that he was in search of, to wit, 'My +great Aunt Bell's recipe for purging the head' (good against melancholy +or the headache). You are not to suppose that the volume was slovenly or +in anywise unworthy of a gentleman and officer of those days. It was +bound in red and gold, had two handsome silver-gilt clasps and red +edges, the writing being exquisitely straight and legible, and without a +single blot.</p> + +<p>'I have them all except—two—<i>three</i>,' murmured the thoughtful Puddock +when he had read over the list of ingredients. These, however, he got +from Toole, close at hand, and with a little silver grater and a pretty +little agate pocket pestle and mortar—an heirloom derived from poor +Aunt Bell—he made a wonderful powder; 'nutmeg and ginger, cinnamon and +cloves,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> as the song says, and every other stinging product of nature +and chemistry which the author of this famous family 'purge for the +head' could bring to remembrance; and certainly it <i>was</i> potent. With +this the cartridges were loaded, the ends tied up, and O'Flaherty, +placed behind a table on which stood a basin, commenced the serious +operation, under Puddock's directions, by introducing a bag at each side +of his mouth, which as a man of honour, he was bound to retain there +until Puddock had had his morning's tête-à-tête with the barber.</p> + +<p>Those who please to consult old domestic receipt-books of the last +century, will find the whole process very exactly described therein.</p> + +<p>'Be the powers, Sorr, that was the stuff!' said O'Flaherty, discussing +the composition afterwards, with an awful shake of his head; 'my chops +wor blazing before you could count twenty.'</p> + +<p>It was martyrdom; but anything was better than the incapacity which +threatened, and certainly, by the end of five minutes, his head was +something better. In this satisfactory condition—Jerome being in the +back garden brushing his regimentals, and preparing his other +properties—he suddenly heard voices close to the door, and gracious +powers! one was certainly Magnolia's.</p> + +<p>'That born devil, Juddy Carrol,' blazed forth. O'Flaherty, afterwards, +'pushed open the door; it served me right for not being in my bed-room, +and the door locked—though who'd a thought there was such a cruel +eediot on airth—bad luck to her—as to show a leedy into a gentleman, +with scarcely the half of his clothes on, and undhergoin' a soart iv an +operation, I may say.'</p> + +<p>Happily the table behind which he stood was one of those old-fashioned +toilet affairs, with the back part, which was turned toward the door, +sheeted over with wood, so that his ungartered stockings and rascally +old slippers, were invisible. Even so, it was bad enough: he was arrayed +in a shabby old silk roquelaire, and there was a towel upon his breast, +pinned behind his neck. He had just a second to pop the basin under the +table, and to whisk the towel violently from under his chin, drying that +feature with merciless violence; when the officious Judy Carrol, Grand +Chamberlain in Jerome's absence, with the facetious grin of a +good-natured lady about to make two people happy, introduced the +bewitching Magnolia, and her meek little uncle, Major O'Neill.</p> + +<p>In they came, rejoicing, to ask the gallant fireworker (it was a +different element just now), to make one of a party of pleasure to +Leixlip. O'Flaherty could not so much as hand the young lady a chair; to +emerge from behind the table, or even to attempt a retreat, was of +course not to be thought of in the existing state of affairs. The action +of Puddock's recipe was such as to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> his share in the little +complimentary conversation that ensued very indistinct, and to oblige +him, to his disgrace and despair, when the poor fellow tried a smile, +actually to apply his towel hastily to his mouth.</p> + +<p>He saw that his visitors observed those symptoms with some perplexity: +the major was looking steadfastly at O'Flaherty's lips, and +unconsciously making corresponding movements with his own, and the fair +Magnolia was evidently full of pleasant surprise and curiosity. I really +think, if O'Flaherty had had a pistol within reach, he would have been +tempted to deliver himself summarily from that agonising situation.</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid, lieutenant, you've got the toothache,' said Miss Mag, with +her usual agreeable simplicity.</p> + +<p>In his alacrity to assure her there was no such thing, he actually +swallowed one of the bags. 'Twas no easy matter, and he grew very red, +and stared frightfully, and swallowed a draught of water precipitately. +His misery was indeed so great that at the conclusion of a polite little +farewell speech of the major's, he uttered an involuntary groan, and +lively Miss Mag, with an odious titter, exclaimed—</p> + +<p>'The little creature's teething, uncle, as sure as you're not; either +that, or he's got a hot potato in his poor little mouzey-wouzey;' and +poor O'Flaherty smiled a great silent moist smile at the well-bred +pleasantry. The major, who did not choose to hear Mag's banter, made a +formal, but rather smiling salute. The lieutenant returned it, and down +came the unlucky mortar and a china plate, on which Puddock had mingled +the ingredients, with a shocking crash and jingle on the bare boards; a +plate and mortar never made such a noise before, O'Flaherty thought, +with a mental imprecation.</p> + +<p>'Nothing—hash—'appened—Shur,' said O'Flaherty, whose articulation was +affected a good deal, in terror lest the major should arrest his +departure.</p> + +<p>So the major and tall Miss Magnolia, with all her roses and lilies, and +bold broad talk, and her wicked eyes, went down the stairs; and +O'Flaherty, looking with lively emotion in the glass, at the unbecoming +coup-d'œil, heard that agreeable young lady laughing most riotously +under the windows as she and the major marched away.</p> + +<p>It was well for Judy, that, being of the gentler sex, the wrath of the +fireworker could not wreak itself upon her. The oftener he viewed +himself in the pier-glass, trying in vain to think he did not look so +very badly after all, the more bitter were his feelings. Oh, that +villainous old silk morning gown! and his eyes so confoundedly red, and +his hair all dishevelled—bad luck to that clar't! the wig was all +right, that was his only comfort;, and his mouth, 'och, look at it; +twiste its natural size,' though that was no trifle.</p> + +<p>'Another week I'll not stop in her lodgings,' cried poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> O'Flaherty, +grinning at himself in the glass, 'if she keeps that savage, Judy +Carrol, here a day longer.'</p> + +<p>Then he stumbled to the stair-head to call her up for judgment; but +changed his mind, and returned to the looking-glass, blowing the cooling +air in short whistles through his peppered lips—and I'm sorry to say, +blowing out also many an ejaculation and invective, as that sorry sight +met his gaze in the oval mirror, which would have been much better not +uttered.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h4>ÆSCULAPIUS TO THE RESCUE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was not until Puddock had returned, that the gallant fireworker +recollected all on a sudden that he had swallowed one of the bags.</p> + +<p>'Thwallowed?—thwallowed it!' said Puddock, looking very blank and +uncomfortable; 'why, Thir, I told you you were to be <i>very</i> careful.'</p> + +<p>'Why, why curse it, it's <i>not</i>, 'tisn't——'</p> + +<p>'There was a long pause, and O'Flaherty stared a very frightened and +hideous stare at the proprietor of the red quarto.</p> + +<p>'Not <i>what</i>, Thir?' demanded Puddock, briskly, but plainly disconcerted.</p> + +<p>'Not anything—anything <i>bad</i>—or, or—there's no use in purtendin', +Puddock,' he resumed, turning quite yellow. 'I see, Sir, I see by your +looks, it's what you think, I'm poisoned!'</p> + +<p>'I—I—do <i>not</i>, Thir, think you're poisoned,' he replied indignantly, +but with some flurry; 'that is, there's a great deal in it that could +not pothibly do you harm—there's only one ingredient, yes—or, or, yes, +perhapth three, but thertainly no more, that I don't quite know about, +depend upon it, 'tis nothing—a—nothing—a—seriouthly—a—But why, my +dear Thir, why on earth did you violate the thimple directions—why did +you thwallow a particle of it?'</p> + +<p>'Och, why did I let it into my mouth at all—the divil go with it!' +retorted poor O'Flaherty; 'an' wasn't I the born eediot to put them +devil's dumplins inside my mouth? but I did not know what I was +doin'—no more I didn't.'</p> + +<p>'I hope your head'th better,' said Puddock, vindicating by that +dignified enquiry the character of his recipe.</p> + +<p>'Auch! my head be smathered, what the puck do I care about it?' +O'Flaherty broke out. 'Ah, why the devil, Puddock, do you keep them ould +women's charrums and devilments about you?—you'll be the death of some +one yet, so you will.'</p> + +<p>'It's a recipe, Sir,' replied Puddock, with the same dignity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> 'from +which my great uncle, General Neagle, derived frequent benefit.'</p> + +<p>'And here I am,' says O'Flaherty, vehemently; 'and you don't know +whether I'm poisoned or no!'</p> + +<p>At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the +window. The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the +apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest.</p> + +<p>'Let's see the recipe,' said Sturk, drily; 'you think you're poisoned—I +know you do;' poor O'Flaherty had shrunk from disclosing the extent of +his apprehensions, and only beat about the bush; 'and if you be, I lay +you fifty, I can't save you, nor all the doctors in Dublin—show me the +recipe.'</p> + +<p>Puddock put it before him, and Sturk looked at the back of the volume +with a leisurely disdain, but finding no title there, returned to the +recipe. They both stared on his face, without breathing, while he conned +it over. When he came about half-way, he whistled; and when he arrived +at the end, he frowned hard; and squeezed his lips together till the red +disappeared altogether, and he looked again at the back of the book, and +then turned it round, once more reading the last line over with a severe +expression.</p> + +<p>'And so you actually swallowed this—this devil's dose, Sir, did you?' +demanded Sturk.</p> + +<p>'I—I believe he did, some of it; but I warned him, I did, upon my +honour! Now, tell him, did I not warn you, my dear lieutenant, not to +thwallow,' interposed little Puddock, who began to grow confoundedly +agitated; but Sturk, who rather liked shocking and frightening people, +and had a knack of making bad worse, and an alacrity in waxing savage +without adequate cause, silenced him with—</p> + +<p>'I p-pity you, Sir,' and 'pity' shot like a pellet from his lips. 'Why +the deuce will you dabble in medicine, Sir? Do you think it's a thing to +be learnt in an afternoon out of the bottom of an old cookery-book?'</p> + +<p>'Cookery-book! excuse me, Dr. Sturk,' replied Puddock offended. 'I'm +given to underthtand, Sir, it's to be found in Culpepper.'</p> + +<p>'Culpepper!' said Sturk, viciously. 'Cull-<i>poison</i>—you have peppered +him to a purpose, I promise you! How much of it, pray, Sir (to +O'Flaherty,) have you got in your stomach?'</p> + +<p>'Tell him, Puddock,' said O'Flaherty, helplessly.</p> + +<p>'Only a trifle I assure you,' extenuated Puddock (I need not spell his +lisp), 'in a little muslin bag, about the size of the top joint of a +lady's little finger.'</p> + +<p>'Top joint o' the devil!' roared O'Flaherty, bitterly, rousing himself; +'I tell you, Dr. Sturk, it was as big as my thumb, and a miracle it did +not choke me.'</p> + +<p>'It may do that job for you yet, Sir,' sneered the doctor with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> a stern +disgust. 'I dare say you feel pretty hot here?' jerking his finger into +his stomach.</p> + +<p>'And—and—and—<i>what</i> is it?—is it—do you think it's anything +—anyways—<i>dangerous</i>?' faltered poor O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>'Dangerous!' responded Sturk, with an angry chuckle—indeed, he was +specially vindictive against lay intruders upon the mystery of his +craft; 'why, yes—ha,—ha!—just maybe a little. It's only <i>poison</i>, +Sir, deadly, barefaced poison!' he began sardonically, with a grin, and +ended with a black glare and a knock on the table, like an auctioneer's +'gone!'</p> + +<p>'There are no less than two—three—<i>five</i> mortal poisons in it,' said +the doctor with emphatic acerbity. 'You and Mr. Puddock will allow +<i>that's</i> rather strong.'</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty sat down and looked at Sturk, and wiping his damp face and +forehead, he got up without appearing to know where he was going. +Puddock stood with his hands in his breeches pockets, staring with his +little round eyes on the doctor, I must confess, with a very foolish and +rather guilty vacuity all over his plump face, rigid and speechless, for +three or four seconds; then he put his hand, which did actually tremble, +upon the doctor's arm, and he said, very thickly—</p> + +<p>'I feel, Sir, you're right; it is my fault, Sir, I've poisoned him +—merthiful goodneth!—I—I—'</p> + +<p>Puddock's address acted for a moment on O'Flaherty. He came up to him +pale and queer, like a somnambulist, and shook his fingers very +cordially with a very cold grasp.</p> + +<p>'If it was the last word I ever spoke, Puddock, you're a +good-natured—he's a gentleman, Sir—and it was <i>all</i> my own fault; he +warned me, he did, again' swallyin' a dhrop of it—remember what I'm +saying, doctor—'twas <i>I</i> that done it; I was <i>always</i> a botch, Puddock, +an' a fool; and—and—gentlemen—good-bye.'</p> + +<p>And the flowered dressing-gown and ungartered stockings disappeared +through the door into the bed-room, from whence they heard a great souse +on the bed, and the bedstead gave a dismal groan.</p> + +<p>'Is there;—<i>is</i> there nothing, doctor—for mercy's sake, think—doctor, +do—I conjure you—pray think—there must be something'—urged Puddock, +imploringly.</p> + +<p>'Ay, that's the way, Sir, fellows quacking themselves and one another; +when they get frightened, and with good reason, come to us and expect +miracles; but as in this case, the quantity was not very much, 'tis not, +you see, overpowering, and he <i>may</i> do if he takes what I'll send him.'</p> + +<p>Puddock was already at his bedside, shaking his hand hysterically, and +tumbling his words out one over the other—</p> + +<p>'You're thafe, my dear Thir—<i>dum thpiro thpero</i>—he thayth—Dr. +Thturk—he can thave you, my dear Thir—my dear lieutenant—my dear +O'Flaherty—he can thave you, Thir—thafe and thound, Thir.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>O'Flaherty, who had turned his face to the wall in the bitterness of his +situation—for like some other men, he had the intensest horror of death +when he came peaceably to his bedside, though ready enough to meet him +with a 'hurrah!' and a wave of his rapier, if he arrived at a moment's +notice, with due dash and eclat—sat up like a shot, and gaping upon +Puddock for a few seconds, relieved himself with a long sigh, a +devotional upward roll of the eyes, and some muttered words, of which +the little ensign heard only 'blessing,' very fervently, and 'catch me +again,' and 'divil bellows it;' and forthwith out came one of the +fireworker's long shanks, and O'Flaherty insisted on dressing, shaving, +and otherwise preparing as a gentleman and an officer, with great gaiety +of heart, to meet his fate on the Fifteen Acres.</p> + +<p>In due time arrived the antidote. It was enclosed in a gallipot, and was +what I believe they called an electuary. I don't know whether it is an +obsolete abomination now, but it looked like brick-dust and treacle, and +what it was made of even Puddock could not divine. O'Flaherty, that +great Hibernian athlete, unconsciously winced and shuddered like a child +at sight of it. Puddock stirred it with the tip of a tea-spoon, and +looked into it with inquisitive disgust, and seemed to smell it from a +distance, lost for a minute in inward conjecture, and then with a slight +bow, pushed it ceremoniously toward his brother in arms.</p> + +<p>'There is not much the matter with me now—I feel well enough,' said +O'Flaherty, mildly, and eyeing the mixture askance; and after a little +while he looked at Puddock. That disciplinarian understood the look, and +said, peremptorily, shaking up his little powdered head, and lisping +vehemently—</p> + +<p>'Lieutenant O'Flaherty, Sir! I insist on your instantly taking that +physic. How you may feel, Sir, has nothing to do with it. If you +hesitate, I withdraw my sanction to your going to the field, Sir. +There's no—there <i>can</i> be—no earthly excuse but a—a miserable +objection to a—swallowing a—recipe, Sir—that isn't—that is may +be—not intended to please the palate, but to save your <i>life</i>, +Sir,—remember. Sir, you've swallowed a—you—you <i>require</i>, Sir—you +don't think I fear to say it, Sir!—you have swallowed that you ought +not to have swallowed, and don't, Sir—don't—for <i>both</i> our sakes—for +Heaven's sake—I implore—and insist—don't trifle, Sir.'</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty felt himself passing under the chill and dismal shadow of +death once more, such was the eloquence of Puddock, and so impressible +his own nature, as he followed the appeal of his second. 'Life is +sweet;' and, though the compound was nauseous, and a necessity upon him +of swallowing it in horrid instalments, spoonful after spoonful, yet, +though not without many interruptions, and many a shocking apostrophe, +and even some sudden paroxysms of horror, which alarmed Puddock, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> did +contrive to get through it pretty well, except a little residuum in the +bottom, which Puddock wisely connived at.</p> + +<p>The clink of a horse-shoe drew Puddock to the window. Sturk riding into +town, reined in his generous beast, and called up to the little +lieutenant.</p> + +<p>'Well, he's taken it, eh?'</p> + +<p>Puddock smiled a pleasant smile and nodded.</p> + +<p>'Walk him about, then, for an hour or so, and he'll do.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you, Sir,' said little Puddock, gaily.</p> + +<p>'Don't thank <i>me</i>, Sir, <i>either</i> of you, but remember the lesson you've +got,' said the doctor, tartly, and away he plunged into a sharp trot, +with a cling-clang and a cloud of dust. And Puddock followed that +ungracious leech, with a stare of gratitude and admiration, almost with +a benediction. And his anxiety relieved, he and his principal prepared +forthwith to provide real work for the surgeons.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h4>THE ORDEAL BY BATTLE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he chronicles of the small-sword and pistol are pregnant with horrid +and absurd illustrations of certain great moral facts. Let them pass. A +duel, we all know, is conceived in the spirit of 'Punch and Judy'—a +farce of murder. Sterne's gallant father expired, or near it, with the +point of a small-sword sticking out two feet between his shoulders, all +about a goose-pie. I often wondered what the precise quarrel was. But +these tragedies smell all over of goose-pie. Why—oh, why—brave Captain +Sterne, as with saucy, flashing knife and fork you sported with the +outworks of that fated structure, was there no augur at thine elbow, +with a shake of his wintry beard, to warn thee that the birds of +fate—<i>thy</i> fate—sat vigilant under that festive mask of crust? Beware, +it is Pandora's pie! Madman! hold thy hand! The knife's point that seems +to thee about to glide through that pasty is palpably levelled at thine +own windpipe! But this time Mephistopheles leaves the revellers to use +their own cutlery; and now the pie is opened; and now the birds begin to +sing! Come along, then to the Fifteen Acres, and let us see what will +come of it all.</p> + +<p>That flanking demi-bastion of the Magazine, crenelled for musketry, +commands, with the aid of a couple of good field-glasses, an excellent +and secret view of the arena on which the redoubted O'Flaherty and the +grim Nutter were about to put their metal to the proof. General +Chattesworth, who happened to have an appointment, as he told his sister +at breakfast, in town about that hour, forgot it just as he reached the +Magazine, gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> his bridle to the groom, and stumped into the fortress, +where he had a biscuit and a glass of sherry in the commandant's little +parlour, and forth the two cronies sallied mysteriously side by side; +the commandant, Colonel Bligh, being remarkably tall, slim, and +straight, with an austere, mulberry-coloured face; the general stout and +stumpy, and smiling plentifully, short of breath, and double chinned, +they got into the sanctum I have just mentioned.</p> + +<p>I don't apologise to my readers, English-born and bred, for assuming +them to be acquainted with the chief features of the 'Phœnix Park, +near Dublin. Irish scenery is now as accessible as Welsh. Let them study +the old problem, not in blue books, but in the green and brown ones of +our fields and heaths, and mountains. If Ireland be no more than a great +capability and a beautiful landscape, faintly visible in the blue haze, +even from your own headlands, and separated by hardly four hours of +water, and a ten-shilling fare, from your jetties, it is your own shame, +not ours, if a nation of bold speculators and indefatigable tourists +leave it unexplored.</p> + +<p>So I say, from this coigne of vantage, looking westward over the broad +green level toward the thin smoke that rose from Chapelizod chimneys, +lying so snugly in the lap of the hollow by the river, the famous +Fifteen Acres, where so many heroes have measured swords, and so many +bullies have bit the dust, was distinctly displayed in the near +foreground. You all know the artillery butt. Well, that was the centre +of a circular enclosure containing just fifteen acres, with broad +entrances eastward and westward.</p> + +<p>The old fellows knew very well where to look.</p> + +<p>Father Roach was quite accidentally there, reading his breviary when the +hostile parties came upon the ground—for except when an accident of +this sort occurred, or the troops were being drilled, it was a +sequestered spot enough—and he forthwith joined them, as usual, to +reconcile the dread debate.</p> + +<p>Somehow, I think his arguments were not altogether judicious.</p> + +<p>'I don't ask particulars, my dear—I abominate all that concerns a +quarrel; but Lieutenant O'Flaherty, jewel, supposin' the very +worst—supposin', just for argument, that he has horse-whipped you——.'</p> + +<p>'An' who dar' suppose it?' glared O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>'Or, we'll take it that he spit in your face, honey. Well,' continued +his reverence, not choosing to hear the shocking ejaculations which this +hypothesis wrung from the lieutenant; 'what of that, my darlin'? Think +of the indignities, insults, and disgraces that the blessed Saint +Martellus suffered, without allowing, anything worse to cross his lips +than an Ave Mary or a smile in resignation.'</p> + +<p>'Ordher the priest off the ground, Sorr,' said O'Flaherty, lividly, to +little Puddock, who was too busy with Mr. Mahony to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> hear him; and Roach +had already transferred his pious offices to Nutter, who speedily +flushed up and became, to all appearances, in his own way just as angry +as O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>'Lieutenant O'Flaherty, a word in your ear,' once more droned the mellow +voice of Father Roach; 'you're a young man, my dear, and here's +Lieutenant Puddock by your side, a young man too; I'm as ould, my +honeys, as the two of you put together, an' I advise you, for your +good—don't shed human blood—don't even draw your swords—don't, my +darlins; don't be led or said by them army-gentlemen, that's always +standin' up for fightin' because the leedies admire fightin' men. +They'll call you cowards, polthroons, curs, sneaks, turn-tails—let +them!'</p> + +<p>'There's no standin' this any longer, Puddock,' said O'Flaherty, +incensed indescribably by the odious names which his reverence was +hypothetically accumulating; 'if you want to see the fightin', Father +Roach——.'</p> + +<p>'Apage, Sathanas!' murmured his reverence, pettishly, raising his plump, +blue chin, and dropping his eyelids with a shake of the head, and waving +the back of his fat, red hand gently towards the speaker.</p> + +<p>'In that case, stay here, an' look your full, an' welcome, only don't +make a noise; behave like a Christian, an' hould your tongue; but if you +really hate fightin', as you say——'</p> + +<p>Having reached this point in his address, but intending a good deal +more, O'Flaherty suddenly stopped short, drew himself into a stooping +posture, with a flush and a strange distortion, and his eyes fastened +upon Father Roach with an unearthly glare for nearly two minutes, and +seized Puddock upon the upper part of his arm with so awful a grip, in +his great bony hand, that the gallant little gentleman piped out in a +flurry of anguish—</p> + +<p>'O—O—O'Flaherty, Thir—<i>let</i> go my arm, Thir.'</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty drew a long breath, uttered a short, deep groan, and wiping +the moisture from his red forehead, and resuming a perpendicular +position, was evidently trying to recover the lost thread of his +discourse.</p> + +<p>'There'th dethidedly thomething the matter with you, Thir,' said +Puddock, anxiously, <i>sotto voce</i>, while he worked his injured arm's a +little at the shoulder.</p> + +<p>'You may say that,' said O'Flaherty, very dismally, and, perhaps, a +little bitterly.</p> + +<p>'And—and—and—you don't mean to thay—why—eh?' asked Puddock, +uneasily.</p> + +<p>'I tell you what, Puddock—there's no use in purtendin'—the poison's +working—<i>that's</i> what's the matter,' returned poor O'Flaherty, in what +romance writers call 'a hissing whisper.'</p> + +<p>'Good—merthiful—graciouth—Thir!' ejaculated poor little Puddock, in a +panic, and gazing up into the brawny fireworker's face with a pallid +fascination; indeed they both looked un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>pleasantly unlike the popular +conception of heroes on the eve of battle.</p> + +<p>'But—but it can't be—you forget Dr. Sturk and—oh, dear!—the +antidote. It—I thay—it can't <i>be</i>, Thir,' said Puddock, rapidly.</p> + +<p>'It's no use, now; but I shirked two or three spoonfuls, and I left some +more in the bottom,' said the gigantic O'Flaherty, with a gloomy +sheepishness.</p> + +<p>Puddock made an ejaculation—the only violent one recorded of him—and +turning his back briskly upon his principal, actually walked several +steps away, as if he intended to cut the whole concern. But such a +measure was really not to be thought of.</p> + +<p>'O'Flaherty—Lieutenant—I won't reproach you,' began Puddock.</p> + +<p>'<i>Reproach</i> me! an' who <i>poisoned</i> me, my tight little fellow?' retorted +the fireworker, savagely.</p> + +<p>Puddock could only look at him, and then said, quite meekly—</p> + +<p>'Well, and my dear Thir, what on earth had we better do?'</p> + +<p>'Do,' said O'Flaherty, 'why isn't it completely Hobson's choice with us? +What can we do but go through with it?'</p> + +<p>The fact is, I may as well mention, lest the sensitive reader should be +concerned for the gallant O'Flaherty, that the poison had very little to +do with it, and the antidote a great deal. In fact, it was a reckless +compound conceived in a cynical and angry spirit by Sturk, and as the +fireworker afterwards declared, while expressing in excited language his +wonder how Puddock (for he never suspected Sturk's elixir) had contrived +to compound such a poison—'The torture was such, my dear Madam, as +fairly thranslated me into the purlieus of the other world.'</p> + +<p>Nutter had already put off his coat and waistcoat, and appeared in a +neat little black lutestring vest, with sleeves to it, which the elder +officers of the R.I.A. remembered well in by-gone fencing matches.</p> + +<p>'Tis a most <i>miserable</i> situation,' said Puddock, in extreme distress.</p> + +<p>'Never mind,' groaned O'Flaherty, grimly taking off his coat; 'you'll +have <i>two</i> corpses to carry home with you; don't you show the laste +taste iv unaisiness, an' I'll not disgrace you, <i>if</i> I'm spared to see +it out.'</p> + +<p>And now preliminaries were quite adjusted; and Nutter, light and wiry, a +good swordsman, though not young, stepped out with his vicious weapon in +hand, and his eyes looking white and stony out of his dark face. A word +or two to his armour-bearer, and a rapid gesture, right and left, and +that magnificent squire spoke low to two or three of the surrounding +officers, who forthwith bestirred themselves to keep back the crowd, and +as it were to keep the ring unbroken. O'Flaherty took his sword, got his +hand well into the hilt, poised the blade, shook himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> up as it were, +and made a feint or two and a parry in the air, and so began to advance, +like Goliath, towards little Nutter.</p> + +<p>'Now, Puddock, back him up—encourage your man,' said Devereux, who took +a perverse pleasure in joking; 'tell him to flay the lump, splat him, +divide him, and cut him in two pieces——.</p> + +<p>It was a custom of the corps to quiz Puddock about his cookery; but +Puddock, I suppose, did not hear his last night's 'receipt' quoted, and +he kept his eye upon his man, who had now got nearly within fencing +distance of his adversary. But at this critical moment, O'Flaherty, much +to Puddock's disgust, suddenly stopped, and got into the old stooping +posture, making an appalling grimace in what looked like an endeavour to +swallow, not only his under lip, but his chin also. Uttering a +quivering, groan, he continued to stoop nearer to the earth, on which he +finally actually sat down and hugged his knees close to his chest, +holding his breath all the time till he was perfectly purple, and +rocking himself this way and that.</p> + +<p>The whole procedure was a mystery to everybody except the guilty +Puddock, who changed colour, and in manifest perturbation, skipped to +his side.</p> + +<p>'Bleth me—bleth me—my dear O'Flaherty, he'th very ill—where ith the +pain?'</p> + +<p>'Is it "farced pain," Puddock, or "gammon pain?"' asked Devereux, with +much concern.</p> + +<p>Puddock's plump panic-stricken little face, and staring eye-balls, were +approached close to the writhing features of his redoubted principal—as +I think I have seen honest Sancho Panza's, in one of Tony Johannot's +sketches, to that of the prostrate Knight of the Rueful Countenance.</p> + +<p>'I wish to Heaven I had thwallowed it myself—it'th dreadful—what ith +to be—are you eathier—I <i>think</i> you're eathier.'</p> + +<p>I don't think O'Flaherty heard him. He only hugged his knees tighter, +and slowly turned up his face, wrung into ten thousand horrid puckers, +to the sky, till his chin stood as high as his forehead, with his teeth +and eyes shut, and he uttered a sound like a half-stifled screech; and, +indeed, looked very black and horrible.</p> + +<p>Some of the spectators, rear-rank men, having but an imperfect view of +the transaction, thought that O'Flaherty had been hideously run through +the body by his solemn opponent, and swelled the general chorus of +counsel and ejaculation, by all together advising cobwebs, brown-paper +plugs, clergymen, brandy, and the like; but as none of these comforts +were at hand, and nobody stirred, O'Flaherty was left to the resources +of Nature.</p> + +<p>Puddock threw his cocked hat upon the ground and stamped in a momentary +frenzy.</p> + +<p>'He'th <i>dying</i>—Devereux—Cluffe—he'th—I <i>tell</i> you, he'th dying;' and +he was on the point of declaring himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> O'Flaherty's murderer, and +surrendering himself as such into the hands of anybody who would accept +the custody of his person, when the recollection of his official +position as poor O'Flaherty's second flashed upon him, and collecting +with a grand effort, his wits and his graces—</p> + +<p>'It'th totally impothible, gentlemen,' he said, with his most +ceremonious bow; 'conthidering the awful condition of my +printhipal—I—I have reathon to fear—in fact I know—Dr. Thturk has +theen him—that he'th under the action of <i>poithon</i>—and it'th quite +impractithable, gentlemen, that thith affair of honour can protheed at +prethent;' and Puddock drew himself up peremptorily, and replaced his +hat, which somebody had slipped into his hand, upon his round powdered +head.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mahony, though a magnificent gentleman, was, perhaps, a little +stupid, and he mistook Puddock's agitation, and thought he was in a +passion, and disposed to be offensive. He, therefore, with a marked and +stern sort of elegance, replied—</p> + +<p>'<i>Pison</i>, Sir, is a remarkably strong alpathet; it's language, Sir, +which, if a gentleman uses at all, he's bound in justice, in shivalry, +and in dacency to a generous adversary, to define with precision. Mr. +Nutter is too well known to the best o'society, moving in a circle as he +does, to require the panegyric of humble me. They drank together last +night, they differed in opinion, that's true, but fourteen clear hours +has expired, and pison being mentioned——'</p> + +<p>'Why, body o' me! Sir,' lisped Puddock, in fierce horror; 'can you +imagine for one moment, Sir, that I or any man living could suppose for +an instant, that my respected friend, Mr. Nutter, to whom (a low bow to +Nutter, returned by that gentleman) I have now the misfortune to be +opposed, is capable—capable, Sir, of poisoning any living being—man, +woman, or child; and to put an end, Sir, at once to all misapprehension +upon this point, it was I—<i>I</i>, Sir—myself—who poisoned him, +altogether accidentally, of course, by a valuable, but mismanaged +receipt, this morning, Sir—you—you <i>see</i>, Mr. Nutter!'</p> + +<p>Nutter, balked of his gentlemanlike satisfaction, stared with a +horrified but somewhat foolish countenance from Puddock to O'Flaherty.</p> + +<p>'And now, Thir,' pursued Puddock, addressing himself to Mr. Mahony, 'if +Mr. Nutter desires to postpone the combat, I consent; if not, I offer +mythelf to maintain it inthead of my printhipal.'</p> + +<p>And so he made another low bow, and stood bareheaded, hat in hand, with +his right hand on his sword hilt.</p> + +<p>'Upon my honour, Captain Puddock, it's precisely what I was going to +propose myself, Sir,' said Mahony, with great alacrity; 'as the only way +left us of getting honourably out of the great embarrassment in which we +are placed by the premature <i>death</i>-struggles of your friend; for +nothing, Mr. Pud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>dock, but being <i>bonâ fide in articulo mortis</i>, can +palliate his conduct.'</p> + +<p>'My dear Puddock,' whispered Devereux, in his ear, 'surely you would not +kill Nutter to oblige two such brutes as these?' indicating by a glance +Nutter's splendid second and the magnanimous O'Flaherty, who was still +sitting speechless upon the ground.</p> + +<p>'Captain Puddock,' pursued that mirror of courtesy, Mr. Patrick Mahony, +of Muckafubble, who, by-the-bye, persisted in giving him his captaincy, +may I enquire who's <i>your</i> friend upon this unexpected turn of affairs?'</p> + +<p>'There's no need, Sir,' said Nutter, dryly and stoutly, 'I would not +hurt a hair of your head, Lieutenant Puddock.'</p> + +<p>'Do you hear him?' panted O'Flaherty, for the first time articulate, and +stung by the unfortunate phrase—it seemed fated that Nutter should not +open his lips without making some allusion to human hair: 'do you <i>hear</i> +him, Puddock? Mr. Nutter—(he spoke with great difficulty, and in +jerks)—Sir—Mr. Nutter—you shall—ugh—you shall render a strict +accow-ow-oh-im-m-m!'</p> + +<p>The sound was smothered under his compressed lips, his face wrung itself +again crimson with a hideous squeeze, and Puddock thought the moment of +his dissolution was come, and almost wished it over.</p> + +<p>'Don't try to speak—pray, Sir, don't—there—there, now,' urged +Puddock, distractedly; but the injunction was unnecessary.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Nutter,' said his second sulkily, 'I don't see anything to satisfy +your outraged honour in the curious spectacle of that gentleman sitting +on the ground making faces; we came here not to trifle, but, as I +conceive, to dispatch business, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'To dispatch that unfortunate gentleman, you mean, and that seems pretty +well done to your hand,' said little Dr. Toole, bustling up from the +coach where his instruments, lint, and plasters were deposited. 'What's +it all, eh?—oh, Dr. <i>Sturk's</i> been with him, eh? Oh, ho, ho, ho!' and +he laughed sarcastically, in an undertone, and shrugged, as he stooped +down and took O'Flaherty's pulse in his fingers and thumb.</p> + +<p>'I tell you what, Mr. a—a—a—Sir,' said Nutter, with a very dangerous +look; 'I have had the honour of knowing Lieutenant Puddock since August, +1756; I won't hurt him, for I like and respect him; but, if fight I +must, I'll fight <i>you</i>, Sir!'</p> + +<p>'Since August, 1756?' repeated Mr. Mahony, with prompt surprise. 'Pooh! +why didn't you mention that before? Why, Sir, he's an old friend, and +you <i>could</i> not pleasantly ask him to volunteer to bare his waypon +against the boosom of his friend. No, Sir, shivalry is the handmaid of +Christian charity, and honour walks hand in hand with the human heart!'</p> + +<p>With this noble sentiment he bowed and shook Nutter's cold, hard hand, +and then Puddock's plump little white paw.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>You are not to suppose that Pat Mahoney, of Muckafubble, was a poltroon; +on the contrary, he had fought several shocking duels, and displayed a +remarkable amount of savagery and coolness; but having made a character, +he was satisfied therewith. They may talk of fighting for the fun of it, +liking it, delighting in it; don't believe a word of it. We all hate it, +and the hero is only he who hates it least.'</p> + +<p>'Ugh, I can't stand it any longer; take me out of this, some of you,' +said O'Flaherty, wiping the damp from his red face. 'I don't think +there's ten minutes' life in me.'</p> + +<p>'<i>De profundis conclamavi</i>,' murmured fat father Roach; 'lean upon me, +Sir.'</p> + +<p>'And me,' said little Toole.</p> + +<p>'For the benefit of your poor soul, my honey, just say you forgive Mr. +Nutter before you leave the field,' said the priest quite sincerely.</p> + +<p>'Anything at all, Father Roach,' replied the sufferer; 'only don't +bother me.'</p> + +<p>'You forgive him then, aroon?' said the priest.</p> + +<p>'Och, bother! forgive him, to be sure I do. <i>That's</i> supposin', mind, I +don't recover; but if I <i>do</i>——.'</p> + +<p>'Och, pacible, pacible, my son,' said Father Roach, patting his arm, and +soothing him with his voice. It was the phrase he used to address to his +nag, Brian O'Lynn, when Brian had too much oats, and was disagreeably +playful. 'Nansinse, now, can't you be pacible—pacible my son—there +now, pacible, pacible.'</p> + +<p>Upon his two supporters, and followed by his little second, this +towering sufferer was helped, and tumbled into the coach, into which +Puddock, Toole, and the priest, who was curious to see O'Flaherty's last +moments, all followed; and they drove at a wild canter—for the coachman +was 'hearty'—over the green grass, and toward Chapelizod, though Toole +broke the check-string without producing any effect, down the hill, +quite frightfully, and were all within an ace of being capsized. But +ultimately they reached, in various states of mind, but safely enough, +O'Flaherty's lodgings.</p> + +<p>Here the gigantic invalid, who had suffered another paroxysm on the way, +was slowly assisted to the ground by his awestruck and curious friends, +and entered the house with a groan, and roared for Judy Carroll with a +curse, and invoked Jerome, the <i>cokang modate</i>, with horrible +vociferation. And as among the hushed exhortations of the good priest, +Toole and Puddock, he mounted the stairs, he took occasion over the +banister, in stentorian tones, to proclaim to the household his own +awful situation, and the imminent approach of the moment of his +dissolution.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h4>LIEUTENANT PUDDOCK RECEIVES AN INVITATION AND A RAP OVER THE KNUCKLES.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he old gentlemen, from their peepholes in the Magazine, watched the +progress of this remarkable affair of honour, as well as they could, +with the aid of their field-glasses, and through an interposing crowd.</p> + +<p>'By Jupiter, Sir, he's through him!' said Colonel Bligh, when he saw +O'Flaherty go down.</p> + +<p>'So he is, by George!' replied General Chattesworth; 'but, eh, which is +he?'</p> + +<p>'The <i>long</i> fellow,' said Bligh.</p> + +<p>'O'Flaherty?—hey!—no, by George!—though so it is—there's work in +Frank Nutter yet, by Jove,' said the general, poking his glass and his +fat face an inch or two nearer.</p> + +<p>'Quick work, general!' said Bligh.</p> + +<p>'Devilish,' replied the general.</p> + +<p>The two worthies never moved their glasses; as each, on his inquisitive +face, wore the grim, wickedish, half-smile, with which an old stager +recalls, in the prowess of his juniors, the pleasant devilment of his +own youth.</p> + +<p>'The cool, old hand, Sir, too much for your new fireworker,' remarked +Bligh, cynically.</p> + +<p>'Tut, Sir, this O'Flaherty has not been three weeks among us,' +spluttered out the general, who was woundily jealous of the honour of +his corps. 'There are lads among our fireworkers who would whip Nutter +through the liver while you'd count ten!'</p> + +<p>'They're removing the—the—(a long pause) the <i>body</i>, eh?' said Bligh. +'Hey! no, see, by George, he's walking but he's <i>hurt</i>.'</p> + +<p>'I'm mighty well pleased it's no worse, Sir,' said the general, honestly +glad.</p> + +<p>'They're helping him into the coach—long legs the fellow's got,' +remarked Bligh.</p> + +<p>'These—things—Sir—are—are—very—un—pleasant,' said the general, +adjusting the focus of the glass, and speaking slowly—though no Spanish +dandy ever relished a bull-fight more than he an affair of the kind. He +and old Bligh had witnessed no less than five—not counting this—in +which officers of the R.I.A. were principal performers, from the same +sung post of observation. The general, indeed, was conventionally +supposed to know nothing of them, and to reprobate the practice itself +with his whole soul. But somehow, when an affair of the sort came off on +the Fifteen Acres, he always happened to drop in, at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> proper moment, +upon his old crony, the colonel, and they sauntered into the +demi-bastion together, and quietly saw what was to be seen. It was Miss +Becky Chattesworth who involved the poor general in this hypocrisy. It +was not exactly her money; it was her force of will and unflinching +audacity that established her control over an easy, harmless, plastic +old gentleman.</p> + +<p>'They are unpleasant—devilish unpleasant—somewhere in the body, I +think, hey? they're stooping again, stooping again—eh?—<i>plaguy</i> +unpleasant, Sir (the general was thinking how Miss Becky's tongue would +wag, and what she might not even <i>do</i>, if O'Flaherty died). Ha! on they +go again, and a—Puddock—getting in—and that's Toole. He's not so much +hurt—eh? He helped himself a good deal, you saw; but (taking heart of +grace) when a quarrel does occur, Sir, I believe, after all, 'tis better +off the stomach at once—a few passes—you know—or the crack of a +pistol—who's that got in—the priest—hey? by George!'</p> + +<p>'Awkward if he dies a Papist,' said cynical old Bligh—the R.I.A. were +Protestant by constitution.</p> + +<p>'That never happens in our corps, Sir,' said the general, haughtily; +'but, as I say, when a quarrel—does—occur—Sir—there, they're off at +last; when it does occur—I say—heyday! what a thundering pace! a +gallop, by George! that don't look well (a pause)—and—and—a—about +what you were saying—you know he <i>couldn't</i> die a Papist in our +corps—no one does—no one ever <i>did</i>—it would be, you know—it would +be a <i>trick</i>, Sir, and O'Flaherty's a gentleman; it <i>could</i> not be—(he +was thinking of Miss Becky again—she was so fierce on the Gunpowder +Plot, the rising of 1642, and Jesuits in general, and he went on a +little flustered); but then, Sir, as I was saying, though the thing has +its uses——.'</p> + +<p>'I'd like to know where society'd be without it,' interposed Bligh, with +a sneer.</p> + +<p>'Though it may have its uses, Sir; it's not a thing one can sit down and +say is <i>right</i>—we <i>can't</i>!'</p> + +<p>'I've heard your sister, Miss Becky, speak strongly on that point, +too,'said Bligh.</p> + +<p>'Ah! I dare say,' said the general, quite innocently, an coughing a +little. This was a sore point with the hen-pecked warrior, and the grim +scarcecrow by his side knew it, and grinned through his telescope; 'and +you see—I say—eh! I think they're breaking up, a—and—I say—I—it +seems all over—eh—and so, dear colonel, I must take my leave, and——.'</p> + +<p>And after a lingering look, he shut up his glass, and walking +thoughtfully back with his friend, said suddenly—</p> + +<p>'And, now I think of it—it could not be <i>that</i>—Puddock, you know, +would not suffer the priest to sit in the same coach with such a +design—Puddock's a good officer, eh! and knows his duty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>'</p> + +<p>A few hours afterwards, General Chattesworth, having just dismounted +outside the Artillery barracks, to his surprise, met Puddock and +O'Flaherty walking leisurely in the street of Chapelizod. O'Flaherty +looked pale and shaky, and rather wild; and the general returned his +salute, looking deuced hard at him, and wondering all the time in what +part of his body (in his phrase) 'he had got it;' and how the plague the +doctors had put him so soon on his legs again.</p> + +<p>'Ha, Lieutenant Puddock,' with a smile, which Puddock thought +significant—'give you good-evening, Sir. Dr. Toole anywhere about, or +have you seen Sturk?'</p> + +<p>'No, he had not.'</p> + +<p>The general wanted to hear by accident, or in confidence, all about it; +and having engaged Puddock in talk, that officer followed by his side.</p> + +<p>'I should be glad of the honour of your company, Lieutenant Puddock, to +dinner this evening—Sturk comes, and Captain Cluffe, and this wonderful +Mr. Dangerfield too, of whom we all heard so much at mess, at five +o'clock, if the invitation's not too late.'</p> + +<p>The lieutenant acknowledged and accepted, with a blush and a very low +bow, his commanding officer's hospitality; in fact, there was a <i>tendre</i> +in the direction of Belmont, and little Puddock had inscribed in his +private book many charming stanzas of various lengths and structures, in +which the name of 'Gertrude' was of frequent recurrence.</p> + +<p>'And—a—I say, Puddock—Lieutenant O'Flaherty, I thought—I—I thought, +d'ye see, just now, eh? (he looked inquisitively, but there was no +answer); I thought, I say, he looked devilish out of sorts, is +he—a—<i>ill</i>?'</p> + +<p>'He <i>was very</i> ill, indeed, this afternoon, general; a sudden attack——'</p> + +<p>The general looked quickly at Puddock's plump, consequential face; but +there was no further light in it. 'He <i>was</i> hurt then, I knew it'—he +thought—'who's attending him—and why is he out—and was it a +flesh-wound—or where was it?' all these questions silently, but +vehemently, solicited an answer—and he repeated the last aloud, in a +careless sort of way.</p> + +<p>'And—a—Lieutenant Puddock, you were saying—a—tell me—now—<i>where</i> +was it?'</p> + +<p>'In the park, general,' said Puddock, in perfect good faith.</p> + +<p>'Eh? ah! in the park, was it? but I want to know, you know, what part of +the body—d'ye see—the shoulder—or?——'</p> + +<p>'The duodenum, Dr. Toole called it—just here, general,' and he pressed +his fingers to what is vulgarly known as the 'pit' of his stomach.</p> + +<p>'What, Sir, do you mean to say the pit of his stomach?' said the +general, with more horror and indignation than he often showed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes, just about that point, general, and the pain was very violent +indeed,' answered Puddock, looking with a puzzled stare at the general's +stern and horrified countenance—an officer might have a pain in his +stomach, he thought, without exciting all that emotion. Had he heard of +the poison, and did he know more of the working of such things than, +perhaps, the doctors did?</p> + +<p>'And what in the name of Bedlam, Sir, does he mean by walking about the +town with a hole through his—his what's his name? I'm hanged but I'll +place him under arrest this moment,' the general thundered, and his +little eyes swept the perspective this way and that, as if they would +leap from their sockets, in search of the reckless O'Flaherty. 'Where's +the adjutant, Sir?' he bellowed with a crimson scowl and a stamp, to the +unoffending sentry.</p> + +<p>'That's the way to make him lie quiet, and keep his bed till he heals, +Sir.'</p> + +<p>Puddock explained, and the storm subsided, rumbling off in half a dozen +testy assertions on the general's part that he, Puddock, had distinctly +used the word '<i>wounded</i>,' and now and then renewing faintly, in a +muttered explosion, on the troubles and worries of his command, and a +great many 'pshaws!' and several fits of coughing, for the general +continued out of breath for some time. He had showed his cards, however, +and so, in a dignified disconcerted sort of way, he told Puddock that he +had heard something about O'Flaherty's having got most improperly into a +foolish quarrel, and having met Nutter that afternoon, and for a moment +feared he might have been hurt; and then came enquiries about Nutter, +and there appeared to have been no one hurt, and yet the parties on the +ground—and no fighting—and yet no reconciliation—and, in fact, the +general was so puzzled with this conundrum, and so curious, that he was +very near calling after Puddock, when they parted at the bridge, and +making him entertain him, at some cost of consistency, with the whole +story.</p> + +<p>So Puddock—his head full of delicious visions—marched homeward—to +powder and perfume, and otherwise equip for that banquet of the gods, of +which he was to partake at five o'clock, and just as he turned the +corner at 'The Phœnix,' who should he behold, sailing down the Dublin +road from the King's House, with a grand powdered footman, bearing his +cane of office, and a great bouquet behind her, and Gertrude +Chattesworth by her side, but the splendid and formidable Aunt Becky, +who had just been paying her compliments to old Mrs. Colonel Stafford, +from whom she had heard all about the duel. So as Puddock's fat cheeks +grew pink at sight of Miss Gertrude, all Aunt Becky's colour flushed +into her face, as her keen eye pierced the unconscious lieutenant from +afar off, and chin and nose high in air, her mouth just a little tucked +in, as it were, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> one corner—a certain sign of coming storm—an angry +hectic in each cheek, a fierce flirt of her fan, and two or three short +sniffs that betokened mischief—she quickened her pace, leaving her +niece a good way in the rear, in her haste to engage the enemy. Before +she came up she commenced the action at a long range, and very +abruptly—for an effective rhetorician of Aunt Becky's sort, jumps at +once, like a good epic poet, <i>in medias res</i>; and as Nutter, who, like +all her friends in turn, experienced once or twice 'a taste of her +quality,' observed to his wife, 'by Jove, that woman says things for +which she ought to be put in the watch-house.' So now and here she +maintained her reputation—</p> + +<p>'You ought to be flogged, Sir; yes,' she insisted, answering Puddock's +bewildered stare, 'tied up to the halberts and flogged.'</p> + +<p>Aunt Rebecca was accompanied by at least half a dozen lap-dogs, and +those intelligent brutes, aware of his disgrace, beset poor Puddock's +legs with a furious vociferation.</p> + +<p>'Madam,' said he, his ears tingling, and making a prodigious low bow; +'commissioned officers are never flogged.'</p> + +<p>'So much the worse for the service, Sir; and the sooner they abolish +that anomalous distinction the better. I'd have them begin, Sir, with +you, and your accomplice in murder, Lieutenant O'Flaherty.'</p> + +<p>'Madam! your most obedient humble servant,' said Puddock, with another +bow, still more ceremonious, flushing up intensely to the very roots of +his powdered hair, and feeling in his swelling heart that all the +generals of all the armies of Europe dare not have held such language to +him.</p> + +<p>'Good-evening, Sir,' said Aunt Becky, with an energetic toss of her +head, having discharged her shot; and with an averted countenance, and +in high disdain, she swept grandly on, quite forgetting her niece, who +said a pleasant word or two to Puddock as she passed, and smiled so +kindly, and seemed so entirely unconscious of his mortification, that he +was quite consoled, and on the whole was made happy and elated by the +rencontre, and went home to his wash-balls and perfumes in a hopeful and +radiant, though somewhat excited state.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the little lieutenant knew that kind-hearted termagant, Aunt +Becky, too well, to be long cast down or even flurried by her onset. +When the same little Puddock, about a year ago, had that ugly attack of +pleurisy, and was so low and so long about recovering, and so puny and +fastidious in appetite, she treated him as kindly as if he were her own +son, in the matter of jellies, strong soups, and curious light wines, +and had afterwards lent him some good books which the little lieutenant +had read through, like a man of honour as he was. And, indeed, what +specially piqued Aunt Becky's resentment just now was, that having had, +about that time, a good deal of talk with Puddock upon the particular +subject of duelling, he had, as she thought, taken very kindly to her +way of thinking; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> she had a dozen times in the last month, cited +Puddock to the general; and so his public defection was highly +mortifying and intolerable.</p> + +<p>So Puddock, in a not unpleasant fuss and excitement, sat down in his +dressing-gown before the glass; and while Moore the barber, with tongs, +powder, and pomade, repaired the dilapidations of the day, he +contemplated his own plump face, not altogether unapprovingly, and +thought with a charming anticipation of the adventures of the +approaching evening.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING HOW THE GENTLEMEN SAT OVER THEIR CLARET, AND HOW DR. STURK SAW +A FACE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img050.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'P'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'P'" /></div><p>uddock drove up the avenue of gentlemanlike old poplars, and over the +little bridge, and under the high-arched bowers of elms, walled up at +either side with evergreens, and so into the court-yard of Belmont. +Three sides of a parellelogram, the white old house being the largest, +and offices white and in keeping, but overgrown with ivy, and opening to +yards of their own on the other sides, facing one another at the flanks, +and in front a straight Dutch-like moat, with a stone balustrade running +all along from the garden to the bridge, with great stone flower pots +set at intervals, the shrubs and flowers of which associated themselves +in his thoughts with beautiful Gertrude Chattesworth, and so were +wonderfully bright and fragrant. And there were two swans upon the +water, and several peacocks marching dandily in the court-yard; and a +grand old Irish dog, with a great collar, and a Celtic inscription, +dreaming on the steps in the evening sun.</p> + +<p>It was always pleasant to dine at Belmont. Old General Chattesworth was +so genuinely hospitable and so really glad to see you, and so hilarious +himself, and so enjoying. A sage or a scholar, perhaps, might not have +found a great deal in him. Most of his stories had been heard before. +Some of them, I am led to believe, had even been printed. But they were +not very long, and he had a good natured word and a cordial smile for +everybody; and he had a good cook, and explained his dishes to those +beside him, and used sometimes to toddle out himself to the cellar in +search of a curious bon-bouche; and of nearly every bin in it he had a +little anecdote or a pedigree to relate. And his laugh was frequent and +hearty, and somehow the room and all in it felt the influence of his +presence like the glow, and cheer, and crackle of a bright Christmas +fire.</p> + +<p>Miss Becky Chattesworth, very stately in a fine brocade, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> a great +deal of point lace, received Puddock very loftily, and only touched his +hand with the tips of her fingers. It was plain he was not yet taken +into favour. When he entered the drawing-room, that handsome stranger, +with the large eyes, so wonderfully elegant and easy in the +puce-coloured cut velvet—Mr. Mervyn—was leaning upon the high back of +a chair, and talking agreeably, as it seemed, to Miss Gertrude. He had a +shake of the hand and a fashionable greeting from stout, dandified +Captain Cluffe, who was by no means so young as he would be supposed, +and made up industriously and braced what he called his waist, with +great fortitude, and indeed sometimes looked half-stifled, in spite of +his smile and his swagger. Sturk, leaning at the window with his +shoulders to the wall, beckoned Puddock gruffly, and cross-examined him +in an undertone as to the issue of O'Flaherty's case. Of course he knew +all about the duel, but the corps also knew that Sturk would not attend +on the ground in any affair where the Royal Irish Artillery were +concerned, and therefore they could bring what doctor they pleased to +the field without an affront.</p> + +<p>'And see, my buck,' said Sturk, winding up rather savagely with a sneer; +'you've got out of that scrape, you and your <i>patient</i>, by a piece of +good luck that's not like to happen twice over; so take my advice, and +cut that leaf out of your—your—grandmother's cookery book, and light +your pipe with it.'</p> + +<p>This slight way of treating both his book and his ancestors nettled +little Puddock—who never himself took a liberty, and expected similar +treatment—but he knew Sturk, the nature of the beast, and he only bowed +grandly, and went to pay his respects to cowed, kindly, querulous little +Mrs. Sturk, at the other end of the room. An elderly gentleman, with a +rather white face, a high forehead and grim look, was chatting briskly +with her; and Puddock, the moment his eye lighted on the stranger, felt +that there was something remarkable about him. Taken in detail, indeed, +he was insignificant. He was dressed as quietly as the style of that day +would allow, yet in his toilet, there was entire ease and even a latent +air of fashion. He wore his own hair; and though there was a little +powder upon it and upon his coat collar, it was perfectly white, frizzed +out a little at the sides, and gathered into a bag behind. The stranger +rose and bowed as Puddock approached the lady, and the lieutenant had a +nearer view of his great white forehead—his only good feature—and the +pair of silver spectacles that glimmered under it, and his small hooked +nose and stern mouth.</p> + +<p>''Tis a mean countenance,' said the general, talking him over when the +company had dispersed.</p> + +<p>'No countenance,' said Miss Becky decisively, '<i>could</i> be mean with such +a forehead.'</p> + +<p>The fact is—if they had cared to analyse—the features, taken +separately, with that one exception, were insignificant; but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> face +was singular, with its strange pallor, its intellectual mastery, and +sarcastic decision.</p> + +<p>The general, who had accidentally omitted the ceremony—in those days +essential—now strutted up to introduce them.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Dangerfield, will you permit me to present my good friend and +officer Lieutenant Puddock. Lieutenant Puddock, Mr Dangerfield—Mr. +Dangerfield, Lieutenant Puddock.'</p> + +<p>And there was a great deal of pretty bowing, and each was the other's +'most obedient,' and declared himself honoured; and the conventional +parenthesis ended, things returned to their former course.</p> + +<p>Puddock only perceived that Mrs. Sturk was giving Dangerfield a rambling +sort of account of the people of Chapelizod. Dangerfield, to do him +justice, listened attentively. In fact, he had led her upon that +particular theme, and as easily and cleverly kept her close to the +subject. For he was not a general to manœuvre without knowing first +how the ground lay, and had an active, enquiring mind, in which he made +all sorts of little notes.</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Sturk prattled on, to her own and Mr. Dangerfield's content, for +she was garrulous when not under the eye of her lord, and always gentle, +though given to lamentation, having commonly many small hardships to +mention. So, quite without malice or retention, she poured out the +gossip of the town, but not its scandal. Indeed, she was a very +harmless, and rather sweet, though dolorous little body, and was very +fond of children, especially her own, who would have been ruined were it +not that they quailed as much as she did before Sturk, on whom she +looked as by far the cleverest and most awful mortal then extant, and +never doubted that the world thought so too. For the rest, she preserved +her dresses, which were not amiss, for an interminable time, her sheets +were always well aired, her maids often saucy, and she often in tears, +but Sturk's lace and fine-linen were always forthcoming in exemplary +order; she rehearsed the catechism with the children, and loved Dr. +Walsingham heartily, and made more raspberry jam than any other woman of +her means in Chapelizod, except, perhaps, Mrs. Nutter, between whom and +herself there were points of resemblance, but something as nearly a feud +as could subsist between their harmless natures. Each believed the other +matched with a bold bad man, who was always scheming something—they +never quite understood what—against her own peerless lord; each on +seeing the other, hoping that Heaven would defend the right and change +the hearts of her enemies, or, at all events confound their politics; +and each, with a sort of awful second-sight, when they viewed one +another across the street, beholding her neighbour draped in a dark film +of thunder-cloud, and with a sheaf of pale lightning, instead of a fan +flickering in her hand.</p> + +<p>When they came down to dinner, the gallant Captain Cluffe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> contrived to +seat himself beside Aunt Becky, to whom the rogue commended himself by +making a corner on his chair, next hers, for that odious greedy little +brute 'Fancy,' and by a hundred other adroit and amiable attentions. And +having a perfect acquaintance with all her weak points—as everybody had +who lived long in Chapelizod—he had no difficulty in finding topics to +interest her, and in conversing acceptably thereupon. And, indeed, +whenever he was mentioned for some time after, she used to remark, that +Captain Cluffe was a very conversable and worthy young (!) man.</p> + +<p>In truth, that dinner went swiftly and pleasantly over for many of the +guests. Gertrude Chattesworth was placed between the enamoured Puddock +and the large-eyed, handsome, mysterious Mervyn. Of course, the hour +flew with light and roseate wings for him. Little Puddock was in great +force, and chatted with energy, and his theatrical lore, and his +oddities, made him not unamusing. So she smiled on him more than usual, +to make amends for the frowns of the higher powers, and he was as happy +as a prince and as proud as a peacock, and quite tipsy with his success.</p> + +<p>It is not always easy to know what young ladies like best or least, or +quite what they are driving at; and Cluffe, from the other side of the +table, thought, though Puddock <i>was</i> an agreeable fellow, and exerting +himself uncommonly (for Cluffe, like other men not deep in the <i>literæ +humaniores</i>, had a sort of veneration for 'book learning,' under which +category he placed Puddock's endless odds and ends of play lore, and +viewed the little lieutenant himself accordingly with some awe as a man +of parts and a scholar, and prodigiously admired his verses, which he +only half understood); he fancied, I say, although Puddock was unusually +entertaining, that Miss Gertrude would have been well content to +exchange him for the wooden lay-figure on which she hung her draperies +when she sketched, which might have worn his uniform and filled his +chair, and spared her his agreeable conversation, and which had eyes and +saw not, and ears and heard not.</p> + +<p>In short, the cunning fellow fancied he saw, by many small signs, a very +decided preference on her part for the handsome and melancholy, but +evidently eloquent stranger. Like other cunning fellows, however, Cluffe +was not always right; and right or wrong, in his own illusions, if such +they were, little Puddock was, for the time, substantially blessed.</p> + +<p>The plump and happy lieutenant, when the ladies had flown away to the +drawing-room and their small tea-cups, waxed silent and sentimental, but +being a generous rival, and feeling that he could afford it, made a +little effort, and engaged Mervyn in talk, and found him pleasantly +versed in many things of which he knew little, and especially in the +Continental stage and drama, upon which Puddock heard him greedily; and +the general's bustling talk helped to keep the company merry, and he +treated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> them to a bottle of the identical sack of which his own +father's wedding posset had been compounded! Dangerfield, in a rather +harsh voice, but agreeably and intelligently withal, told some rather +pleasant stories about old wines and curious wine fanciers; and Cluffe +and Puddock, who often sang together, being called on by the general, +chanted a duet rather prettily, though neither, separately, had much of +a voice. And the incorrigible Puddock, apropos of a piece of a whale +once eaten by Dangerfield, after his wont, related a wonderful +receipt—'a weaver surprised.' The weaver turned out to be a fish, and +the 'surprising' was the popping him out of ice into boiling water, with +after details, which made the old general shake and laugh till tears +bedewed his honest cheeks. And Mervyn and Dangerfield, as much surprised +as the weaver, both looked, each in his own way, a little curiously at +the young warrior who possessed this remarkable knowledge.</p> + +<p>And the claret, like the general's other wines, was very good, and +Dangerfield said a stern word or two in its praise, and guessed its +vintage, to his host's great elation, who, with Lord Castlemallard, +began to think Dangerfield a very wonderful man.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sturk alone sipped his claret silently; looking thoughtfully a good +deal at Dangerfield over the way, and when spoken to, seemed to waken +up, but dropped out of the conversation again; though this was odd, for +he had intended giving Dangerfield a bit of his mind as to what might be +made of the Castlemallard estates, and by implication letting in some +light upon Nutter's mismanagement.</p> + +<p>When Dr. Sturk had come into the drawing-room before dinner, Dangerfield +was turning over a portfolio in the shade beyond the window, and the +evening sun was shining strongly in his own face; so that during the +ceremony of introduction he had seen next to nothing of him, and then +sauntered away to the bow window at the other end, where the ladies were +assembled, to make his obeisance.</p> + +<p>But at the dinner-table, he was placed directly opposite, with the +advantage of a very distinct view; and the face, relieved against the +dark stamped leather hangings on the wall, stood out like a +sharply-painted portrait, and produced an odd and unpleasant effect upon +Sturk, who could not help puzzling himself then, and for a long time +after, with unavailing speculations about him.</p> + +<p>The grim white man opposite did not appear to trouble his head about +Sturk. He eat his dinner energetically, chatted laconically, but rather +pleasantly. Sturk thought he might be eight-and-forty, or perhaps six or +seven-and-fifty—it was a face without a date. He went over all his +points, insignificant features, high forehead, stern countenance, +abruptly silent, abruptly speaking, spectacles, harsh voice, harsher +laugh, something sinister perhaps, and used for the most part when the +joking or the story<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> had a flavour of the sarcastic and the devilish. +The image, as a whole, seemed to Sturk to fill in the outlines of a +recollection, which yet was <i>not</i> a recollection. He could not seize it; +it was a decidedly unpleasant impression of having seen him before, but +where he could not bring to mind. 'He got me into some confounded +trouble some time or other,' thought Sturk, in his uneasy dream; 'the +sight of him is like a thump in my stomach. Was he the sheriff's +deputy at Chester, when that rascally Jew-tailor followed me? +Dangerfield—Dangerfield—Dangerfield—no; or could it be that row at +Taunton? or the custom-house officer—let me see—1751; no, he was a +taller man—yes, I remember him; it is <i>not</i> he. Or was he at Dick +Luscome's duel?' and he lay awake half the night thinking of him; for he +was not only a puzzle, but there was a sort of suspicion of danger and +he knew not what, throbbing in his soul whenever his reverie conjured up +that impenetrable, white scoffing face.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE GENTLEMEN FOLLOW THE LADIES.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img077.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'H'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'H'" /></div><p>aving had as much claret as they cared for, the gentlemen fluttered +gaily into the drawing-room, and Puddock, who made up to Miss Gertrude, +and had just started afresh, and in a rather more sentimental vein, was +a good deal scandalised, and put out by the general's reciting with +jolly emphasis, and calling thereto his daughter's special attention, +his receipt for 'surprising a weaver,' which he embellished with two or +three burlesque improvements of his own, which Puddock, amidst his +blushes and confusion, allowed to pass without a protest. Aunt Rebecca +was the only person present who pointedly refused to laugh; and with a +slight shudder and momentary elevation of her eyes, said, 'wicked and +unnatural cruelty!' at which sentiment Puddock used his +pocket-handkerchief in rather an agitated manner.</p> + +<p>''Tis a thing I've never done myself—that is, I've never seen it done,' +said Little Puddock, suffused with blushes, as he pleaded his cause at +the bar of humanity—for those were the days of Howard, and the fair sex +had taken up the philanthropist. 'The—the—receipt—'tis, you see, a +thing I happened to meet—and—and just read it in the—in a book—and +the—I—a——'</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky, with her shoulders raised in a shudder, and an agonised and +peremptory 'there, there, <i>there</i>,' moved out of hearing in dignified +disgust, to the general's high entertainment, who enjoyed her assaults +upon innocent Puddock, and indeed took her attacks upon himself, when +executed with moderation, hila<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>riously enough—a misplaced good-humour +which never failed to fire Aunt Becky's just resentment.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the general was so tickled with this joke that he kept it going +for the rest of the evening, by sly allusions and mischievous puns. As +for instance, at supper, when Aunt Rebecca was deploring the miserable +depression of the silk manufacture, and the distress of the poor +Protestant artisans of the Liberty, the general, with a solemn wink at +Puddock, and to that officer's terror, came out with—</p> + +<p>'Yet, who knows, Lieutenant Puddock, but the weavers, poor fellows, may +be surprised, you know, by a sudden order from the Court, as happened +last year.'</p> + +<p>But Aunt Rebecca only raised her eyebrows, and, with a slight toss of +her head, looked sternly at a cold fowl on the other side. But, from +some cause or other—perhaps it was Miss Gertrude's rebellion in +treating the outlawed Puddock with special civility that evening, Miss +Becky's asperity seemed to acquire edge and venom as time proceeded. But +Puddock rallied quickly. He was on the whole very happy, and did not +grudge Mervyn his share of the talk, though he heard him ask leave to +send Miss Gertrude Chattesworth a portfolio of his drawings made in +Venice, to look over, which she with a smile accepted—and at supper, +Puddock, at the general's instigation, gave them a solo, which went off +pretty well, and, as they stood about the fire after it, on a similar +pressure, an imitation of Barry in Othello; and upon this, Miss Becky, +who was a furious partisan of Smock-alley Theatre and Mossop against +Barry, Woodward, and the Crow-street play-house, went off again. Indeed, +this was a feud which just then divided the ladies of all Dublin, and +the greater part of the country, with uncommon acrimony.</p> + +<p>'Crow-street was set up,' she harangued, 'to ruin the old house in the +spirit of covetousness, <i>you</i> say' (Puddock had not said a word on the +subject;) 'well, covetousness, we have good authority for saying, is +idolatry—nothing less—<i>idolatry</i>, Sir,—you need not stare.' (Puddock +certainly did stare.) 'I suppose you <i>once</i> read your Bible, Sir, but +every sensible man, woman, child, and infant, Sir, in the kingdom, knows +it was malice; and malice, Holy Writ says, is <i>murder</i>—but I forgot, +that's perhaps no very great objection with Lieutenant Puddock.'</p> + +<p>And little Puddock flushed up, and his round eyes grew rounder and +rounder, as she proceeded, every moment; and he did not know what to +say—for it had not struck him before that Messrs. Barry's and +Woodward's theatrical venture might be viewed in the light of idolatry +or murder. So dumfounded as he was, he took half of Lord Chesterfield's +advice in such cases, that is, he forgot the smile, but he made a very +low bow, and, with this submission, the combat (<i>si rixa est</i>) subsided.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield had gone away some time—so had Mervyn—Sturk and his wife +went next, and Cluffe and Puddock, who lin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>gered as long as was decent, +at last took leave. The plump lieutenant went away very happy, +notwithstanding the two or three little rubs he had met with, and a good +deal more in love than ever. And he and his companion were both +thoughtful, and the walk home was quite silent, though very pleasant.</p> + +<p>Cluffe was giving shape mentally to his designs upon Miss Rebecca's +£20,000 and savings. He knew she had had high offers in her young days +and refused; but those were past and gone—and gray hairs bring +wisdom—and women grow more practicable as the time for action +dwindles—and she was just the woman to take a fancy—and 'once the +maggot bit,' to go any honest length to make it fact. And Cluffe knew +that he had the field to himself, and that he was a well-made, handsome, +agreeable officer—not so young as to make the thing absurd, yet young +enough to inspire the right sort of feeling. To be sure, there were a +few things to be weighed. She was, perhaps—well, she <i>was</i> eccentric. +She had troublesome pets and pastimes—he knew them all—was well +stricken in years, and had a will of her own—that was all. But, then, +on the other side was the money—a great and agreeable arithmetical fact +not to be shaken—and she could be well-bred when she liked, and a +self-possessed, dignified lady, who could sail about a room, and +courtesy, and manage her fan, and lead the conversation, and do the +honours, as Mrs. Cluffe, with a certain air of <i>haut ton</i>, and in an +imposing way, to Cluffe's entire content, who liked the idea of +overawing his peers.</p> + +<p>And the two warriors, side by side, marched over the bridge, in the +starlight, and both by common consent, halted silently, and wheeled up +to the battlement; and Puddock puffed a complacent little sigh up the +river toward Belmont; and Cluffe was a good deal interested in the +subject of his contemplation, and in fact, the more he thought of it, +the better he liked it.</p> + +<p>And they stood, each in his reverie, looking over the battlement toward +Belmont, and hearing the hushed roll of the river, and seeing nothing +but the deep blue, and the stars, and the black outline of the trees +that overhung the bridge, until the enamoured Cluffe, who liked his +comforts, and knew what gout was, felt the chill air, and remembered +suddenly that they had stopped, and ought to be in motion toward their +beds, and so he shook up Puddock, and they started anew, and parted just +at the Phœnix, shaking hands heartily, like two men who had just done +a good stroke of business together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. DANGERFIELD VISITS THE CHURCH OF CHAPELIZOD, AND ZEKIEL +IRONS GOES A FISHING.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img021.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'E'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'E'" /></div><p>arly next morning Lord Castlemallard, Dangerfield, and Nutter, rode +into Chapelizod, plaguy dusty, having already made the circuit of that +portion of his property which lay west of the town. They had poked into +the new mills and the old mills, and contemplated the quarries, and +lime-kilns, and talked with Doyle about his holding, and walked over the +two vacant farms, and I know not all besides. And away trotted his +lordship to his breakfast in town. And Dangerfield seeing the church +door open, dismounted and walked in, and Nutter did likewise.</p> + +<p>Bob Martin was up in the gallery, I suppose, doing some good, and making +a considerable knocking here and there in the pews, and walking slowly +with creaking shoes. Zekiel Irons, the clerk, was down below about his +business, at the communion table at the far end, lean, blue-chinned, +thin-lipped, stooping over his quarto prayer books, and gliding about +without noise, reverent and sinister. When they came in, Nutter led the +way to Lord Castlemallard's pew, which brought them up pretty near to +the spot where grave Mr. Irons was prowling serenely. The pew would soon +want new flooring, Mr. Dangerfield thought, and the Castlemallard arms +and supporters, a rather dingy piece of vainglory, overhanging the main +seat on the wall, would be nothing the worse of a little fresh gilding +and paint.</p> + +<p>'There was a claim—eh—to one foot nine inches off the eastern end of +the pew, on the part of—of the family—at Inchicore, I think they call +it,' said Dangerfield, laying his riding-whip like a rule along the top +to help his imagination—'Hey—that would spoil the pew.'</p> + +<p>'The claim's settled, and Mr. Langley goes to the other side of the +aisle,' said Nutter, nodding to Irons, who came up, and laid his long +clay-coloured fingers on the top of the pew door, and one long, thin +foot on the first step, and with half-closed eyes, and a half bow, he +awaited their pleasure.</p> + +<p>'The Langley family had <i>this</i> pew,' said Dangerfield, with a side nod +to that next his lordship's.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir,' said Irons, with the same immutable semblance of a smile, +and raising neither his head nor his eyes.</p> + +<p>'And who's got it now?'</p> + +<p>'His reverence, Dr. Walsingham.'</p> + +<p>And so it came out, that having purchased Salmonfalls, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> rector had +compromised the territorial war that was on the point of breaking out +among his parishioners, by exchanging with that old coxcomb Langley, the +great square pew over the way, that belonged to that house, for the +queer little crib in which the tenant of Inchicore had hitherto sat in +state; and so there was peace, if not good will, in the church.</p> + +<p>'Hey—let's see it,' said Dangerfield, crossing the aisle, with Irons at +his heels, for he was a man that saw everything for himself, that ever +so remotely concerned him or his business.</p> + +<p>'We buried Lord ——' (and the title he spoke very low) 'in the vault +here, just under where you stand, on Monday last, by night,' said Irons, +very gently and grimly, as he stood behind Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>A faint galvanic thrill shot up through the flagging and his firmly +planted foot to his brain, as though something said, 'Ay, here I am!'</p> + +<p>'Oh! indeed?' said Dangerfield, dryly, making a little nod, and raising +his eyebrows, and just moving a little a one side—''Twas a nasty +affair.'</p> + +<p>He looked up, with his hands in his breeches' pockets, and read a mural +tablet, whistling scarce audibly the while. It was not reverent, but he +was a gentleman; and the clerk standing behind him, retained his quiet +posture, and that smile, that yet was not a smile, but a sort of +reflected light—was it patience, or was it secret ridicule?—you could +not tell: and it never changed, and somehow it was provoking.</p> + +<p>'And some persons, I believe, had an unpleasant duty to do there,' said +Dangerfield, abruptly, in the middle of his tune, and turning his +spectacles fully and sternly on Mr. Irons.</p> + +<p>The clerk's head bent lower, and he shook it; and his eyes, but for a +little glitter through the eyelashes, seemed to close.</p> + +<p>''Tis a pretty church, this—a pretty town, and some good families in +the neighbourhood,' said Dangerfield, briskly; 'and I dare say some +trout in the river—hey?—the stream looks lively.'</p> + +<p>'Middling, only—poor gray troutlings, Sir—not a soul cares to fish it +but myself,' he answered.</p> + +<p>'You're the clerk—eh?'</p> + +<p>'At your service, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Dublin</i> man?—or—'</p> + +<p>'Born and bred in Dublin, your honour.'</p> + +<p>'Ay—well! Irons—you've heard of Mr. Dangerfield—Lord Castlemallard's +agent—I am he. Good-morning, Irons;' and he gave him half-a-crown, and +he took another look round; and then he and Nutter went out of the +church, and took a hasty leave of one another, and away went Nutter on +his nag, to the mills. And Dangerfield, just before mounting, popped +into Cleary's shop, and in his grim, laconic way, asked the proprietor, +among his meal-bags and bacon, about fifty questions in less<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> than five +minutes. 'That was one of Lord Castlemallard's houses—eh—with the bad +roof, and manure-heap round the corner?'—and, 'Where's the pot-house +they call the Salmon House?—doing a good business—eh?' and at +last—'I'm told there's some trout in the stream. Is there anyone in the +town who knows the river, and could show me the fishing?—Oh, the clerk! +and what sort of fish is <i>he</i>—hey?—Oh! an honest, worthy man, is he? +Very good, Sir. Then, perhaps, Mr. a—perhaps, Sir, you'll do me the +favour to let one of your people run down to his house, and say Mr. +Dangerfield, Lord Castlemallard's agent, who is staying, you know, at +the Brass Castle, would be much obliged if he would bring his rod and +tackle, and take a walk with him up the river, for a little angling, at +ten o'clock!'</p> + +<p>Jolly Phil Cleary was deferential, and almost nervous in his presence. +The silver-haired, grim man, with his mysterious reputation for money, +and that short decisive way of his, and sudden cynical chuckle, inspired +a sort of awe, which made his wishes, where expressed with that intent, +very generally obeyed; and, sure enough, Irons appeared, with his rod, +at the appointed hour, and the interesting anglers—Piscator and his +'honest scholar,' as Isaac Walton hath it—set out side by side on their +ramble, in the true fraternity of the gentle craft.</p> + +<p>The clerk had, I'm afraid, a shrew of a wife—shrill, vehement, and +fluent. 'Rogue,' 'old miser,' 'old sneak,' and a great many worse names, +she called him. Good Mrs. Irons was old, fat, and ugly, and she knew it; +and that knowledge made her natural jealousy the fiercer. He had +learned, by long experience, the best tactique under fire: he became +actually taciturn; or, if he spoke, his speech was laconic and +enigmatical; sometimes throwing out a proverb, and sometimes a text; and +sometimes when provoked past endurance, spouting mildly a little bit of +meek and venomous irony.</p> + +<p>He loved his trout-rod and the devious banks of the Liffey, where, +saturnine and alone, he filled his basket. It was his helpmate's rule, +whenever she did not know to a certainty precisely what Irons was doing, +to take it for granted that he was about some mischief. Her lodger, +Captain Devereux, was her great resource on these occasions, and few +things pleased him better than a stormy visit from his hostess in this +temper. The young scapegrace would close his novel, and set down his +glass of sherry and water (it sometimes smelt very like brandy, I'm +afraid). To hear her rant, one would have supposed, who had not seen +him, that her lank-haired, grimly partner, was the prettiest youth in +the county of Dublin, and that all the comely lasses in Chapelizod and +the country round were sighing and setting caps at him; and Devereux, +who had a vein of satire, and loved even farce, enjoyed the heroics of +the fat old slut.</p> + +<p>'Oh! what am I to do, captain, jewel?' she bounced into the room, with +flaming face and eyes swelled, and the end of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> apron, with which she +had been swobbing them, in her hand, while she gesticulated, with her +right; 'there, he's off again to Island Bridge,—the owdacious sneak! +It's all that dirty hussy's doing. I'm not such a fool, but I know how +to put this and that together, though he thinks I don't know of his +doings; but I'll be even with you, Meg Partlet, yet—you trollop;' and +all this was delivered in renewed floods of tears, and stentorian +hysterics, while she shook her fat red fist in the air, at the presumed +level of Meg's beautiful features.</p> + +<p>'Nay, Madam,' said the gay captain; 'I prithee, weep not; the like +discoveries, as you have read, have been made in Rome, Salamanca, +Ballyporeen, Babylon, Venice, and fifty other famous cities.' He always +felt in these interviews, as if she and he were extemporising a +burlesque—she the Queen of Crim Tartary, and he an Archbishop in her +court—and would have spoken blank verse, only he feared she might +perceive it, and break up the conference.</p> + +<p>'And what's that to the purpose?—don't I know they're the same all over +the world—nothing but brutes and barbarians.'</p> + +<p>'But suppose, Madam, he has only gone up the river, and just taken his +rod——'</p> + +<p>'Oh! rod, indeed. I know where he wants a rod, the rascal!'</p> + +<p>'I tell you, Madam,' urged the chaplain, 'you're quite in the wrong. +You've discovered after twenty years' wedlock that your husband's—a +man! and you're vexed: would you have him anything else?'</p> + +<p>'You're all in a story,' she blubbered maniacally; 'there's no justice, +nor feeling, nor succour for a poor abused woman; but I'll do it—I +will. I'll go to his reverence—don't try to persuade me—the Rev. Hugh +Walsingham, Doctor of Divinity, and Rector of Chapelizod (she used to +give him at full length whenever she threatened Zekiel with a visitation +from that quarter, by way of adding ponderosity to the menace)—I'll go +to him straight—don't think to stop me—and we'll see what he'll say;' +and so she addressed herself to go.</p> + +<p>'And when you see him, Madam, ask the learned doctor—don't ask +me—believe the rector of the parish—he'll tell you, that it hath +prevailed from the period at which Madam Sarah quarrelled with saucy +Miss Hagar; that it hath prevailed among all the principal nations of +antiquity, according to Pliny, Strabo, and the chief writers of +antiquity; that Juno, Dido, Eleanor Queen of England, and Mrs. +Partridge, whom I read of here (and he pointed to the open volume of Tom +Jones), each made, or thought she made, a like discovery.' And the +captain delivered this slowly, with knitted brow and thoughtful face, +after the manner of the erudite and simple doctor.</p> + +<p>'Pretty Partridges, indeed! and nice game for a parish clerk!' cried the +lady, returning. 'I wonder, so I do, when I look at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> him, and think of +his goings on, how he can have the assurance to sit under the minister, +and look the congregation in the face, and tune his throat, and sing the +blessed psalms.'</p> + +<p>'You are not to wonder, Madam; believe the sage, who says, <i>omnibus hoc +vitium est cantoribus</i>.'</p> + +<p>Devereux knew of old that the effect of Latin on Mrs. Irons was to +heighten the inflammation, and so the matron burst into whole chapters +of crimination, enlivened with a sprinkling of strong words, as the +sages of the law love to pepper their indictments and informations with +hot adverbs and well-spiced parentheses, 'falsely,' 'scandalously,' +'maliciously,' and <i>suadente diabolo</i>, to make them sit warm on the +stomachs of a loyal judge and jury, and digest easily.</p> + +<p>The neighbours were so accustomed to Mrs. Irons' griefs, that when her +voice was audible, as upon such occasions it was, upon the high road and +in the back gardens, it produced next to no sensation; everybody had +heard from that loud oracle every sort of story touching Irons which +could well be imagined, and it was all so thoroughly published by the +good lady, that curiosity on the subject was pretty well dead and gone, +and her distant declamation rattled over their heads and boomed in their +ears, like the distant guns and trumpets on a review day, signifying +nothing.</p> + +<p>And all this only shows what every man who has ruralised a little in his +lifetime knows, more than in theory, that the golden age lingers in no +corner of the earth, but is really quite gone and over everywhere, and +that peace and <i>prisca fides</i> have not fled to the nooks and shadows of +deep valleys and bowery brooks, but flown once, and away to heaven +again, and left the round world to its general curse. So it is even in +pretty old villages, embowered in orchards, with hollyhocks and +jessamine in front of the houses, and primeval cocks and hens pecking +and scraping in the street, and the modest river dimpling and simpering +among osiers and apple trees, and old ivied walls close by—you +sometimes hear other things than lowing herds, and small birds singing, +and purling streams; and shrill accents and voluble rhetoric will now +and then trouble the fragrant air, and wake up the dim old river-god +from his nap.</p> + +<p>As to Irons, if he was all that his wife gave out, he must have been a +mighty sly dog indeed; for on the whole, he presented a tolerably decent +exterior to society. It is said, indeed, that he liked a grave tumbler +of punch, and was sardonic and silent in his liquor; that his gait was +occasionally a little queer and uncertain, as his lank figure glided +home by moonlight, from the 'Salmon House;' and that his fingers fumbled +longer than need be with the latch, and his tongue, though it tried but +a short and grim 'bar'th door, Marjry,' or 'gi' me can'le, wench,' +sometimes lacked its cunning, and slipped and kept not time. There were, +too, other scandals, such as the prying and profane love to shoot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +privily at church celebrities. Perhaps it was his reserve and sanctity +that provoked them. Perhaps he was, in truth, though cautious, sometimes +indiscreet. Perhaps it was fanciful Mrs. Irons' jealous hullabaloos and +hysterics that did it—I don't know—but people have been observed, +<i>apropos</i> of him, to wink at one another, and grin, and shake their +heads, and say: 'the nearer the church, you know'—and 'he so ancient, +too! but 'tis an old rat that won't eat cheese,' and so forth.</p> + +<p>Just as Mrs. Irons whisked round for the seventh time to start upon her +long threatened march to Dr. Walsingham's study to lay her pitiful case +before him, Captain Devereux, who was looking toward the 'Phœnix,' +saw the truant clerk and Mr. Dangerfield turn the corner together on +their return.</p> + +<p>'Stay, Madam, here comes the traitor,' said he; 'and, on my honour, 'tis +worse than we thought; for he has led my Lord Castlemallard's old agent +into mischief too—and Meg Partlet has had two swains at her feet this +morning; and, see, the hypocrites have got some trout in their basket, +and their rods on their shoulders—and look, for all the world, as if +they had only been fishing—sly rogues!'</p> + +<p>'Well, it's all one,' said Mrs. Irons, gaping from the other window, and +sobering rapidly; 'if 'tisn't to-day, 'twill be to-morrow, I suppose; +and at any rate 'tis a sin and shame to leave any poor crature in this +miserable taking, not knowing but he might be drownded—or worse—dear +knows it would not be much trouble to tell his wife when the gentleman +wanted him—and sure for any honest matter I'd never say against it.'</p> + +<p>Her thoughts were running upon Dangerfield, and what 'compliment' he had +probably made her husband at parting; and a minute or two after this, +Devereux saw her, with her riding-hood on, trudging up to the "Salmon +House" to make inquisition after the same.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING AMONG OTHER THINGS HOW DOCTOR TOOLE WALKED UP TO THE TILED +HOUSE; AND OF HIS PLEASANT DISCOURSE WITH MR. MERVYN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>r. Sturk's spirits and temper had not become more pleasant lately. In +fact he brooded more, and was more savage at home than was at all +agreeable. He used to go into town oftener, and to stay there later; and +his language about Toole and Nutter, when there was none but submissive +little Mrs. Sturk by, was more fierce and coarse than ever. To hear him, +then, one would have supposed that they were actually plotting to make +away with him, and that in self-defence he must smite them hip and +thigh. Then, beside their moral offensiveness, they were such 'idiots,' +and: 'noodles,' and botching and blundering right and left, so palpably +to the danger and ruin of their employers, that no man of conscience +could sit easy and see it going on; and all this simply because he had +fixed his affections upon the practice of the one, and the agency of the +other. For Sturk had, in his own belief, a genius for business of every +sort. Everybody on whom his insolent glance fell, who had any sort of +business to do, did it wrong, and was a 'precious disciple,' or a +'goose,' or a 'born jackass,' and excited his scoffing chuckle. And +little Mrs. Sturk, frightened and admiring, used to say, while he +grinned and muttered, and tittered into the fire, with his great +shoulders buried in his balloon-backed chair, his heels over the fender +and his hands in his breeches' pockets—'But, Barney, you know, you're +so clever—there's no one like you!' And he was fond of just nibbling at +speculations in a small safe way, and used to pull out a roll of +bank-notes, when he was lucky, and show his winnings to his wife, and +chuckle and swear over them, and boast and rail, and tell her, if it was +not for the cursed way his time was cut up with hospital, and field +days, and such trumpery regimental duties, he could make a fortune while +other men were thinking of it; and he very nearly believed it. And he +was, doubtless, clear-headed, though wrong-headed, too, at times, and +very energetic; but his genius was for pushing men out of their places +to make way for himself.</p> + +<p>But with all that he had the good brute instincts too, and catered +diligently for his brood, and their 'dam'—and took a gruff +unacknowledged pride in seeing his wife well dressed—and had a strong +liking for her—and thanked her in his soul for looking after things so +well; and thought often about his boys,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> and looked sharply after their +education; and was an efficient and decisive head of a household; and +had no vices nor expensive indulgences; and was a hard but tolerably +just man to deal with.</p> + +<p>All this time his uneasiness and puzzle about Dangerfield continued, +and, along with other things, kept him awake often to unseasonable hours +at night. He did not tell Mrs. Sturk. In fact, he was a man, who, though +on most occasions he gave the wife of his bosom what he called 'his +mind' freely enough, yet did not see fit to give her a great deal of his +confidence.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield had his plans too. Who has not? Nothing could be more +compact and modest than his household. He had just a housekeeper and two +maids, who looked nearly as old, and a valet, and a groom, who slept at +the 'Phœnix,' and two very pretty horses at livery in the same place. +All his appointments were natty and complete, and his servants, every +one, stood in awe of him; for no lip or eye-service would go down with +that severe, prompt, and lynx-eyed gentleman. And his groom, among the +coachmen and other experts of the 'Salmon House,' used to brag of his +hunters in England; and his man, of his riches, and his influence with +Lord Castlemallard.</p> + +<p>In England, Dangerfield, indeed, spent little more money than he did in +Chapelizod, except in his stable; and Lord Castlemallard, who admired +his stinginess, as he did everything else about him, used to say: 'He's +a wonder of the world! How he retains his influence over all the people +he knows without ever giving one among them so much as a mutton-chop or +a glass of sherry in his house, I can't conceive. <i>I</i> couldn't do it, I +know.' But he had ultimate plans, if not of splendour, at least of +luxury. His tastes, and perhaps some deeper feelings, pointed to the +continent, and he had purchased a little paradise on the Lake of Geneva, +where was an Eden of fruits and flowers, and wealth of marbles and +coloured canvas, and wonderful wines maturing in his cellars, and +aquaria for his fish, and ice-houses and baths, and I know not what +refinements of old Roman Villa-luxury beside—among which he meant to +pass the honoured evening of his days; with just a few more thousands, +and, as he sometimes thought, perhaps a wife. He had not quite made up +his mind; but he had come to the time when a man must forthwith accept +matrimony frankly, or, if he be wise, shake hands with bleak celibacy, +and content himself for his earthly future with monastic jollity and +solitude.</p> + +<p>It is a maxim with charitable persons—and no more than a recognition of +a great constitutional axiom—to assume, in the absence of proof to the +contrary, that every British subject is an honest man. Now, if we had +gone to Lord Castlemallard for his character—and who more competent to +give him one—we know very well what we should have heard about +Dangerfield; and, on the other hand, we have never found him out—have +we, kind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> reader?—in a shabby action or unworthy thought; and, +therefore, it leaves upon our mind an unpleasant impression about that +Mr. Mervyn, who arrived in the dark, attending upon a coffin as +mysterious as himself, and now lives solitarily in the haunted house +near Ballyfermot, that the omniscient Dangerfield should follow him, +when they pass upon the road, with that peculiar stern glance of +surprise which seemed to say,—'Was ever such audacity conceived? Is the +man mad?'</p> + +<p>But Dangerfield did not choose to talk about him—if indeed he had +anything to disclose—though the gentlemen at the club pressed him often +with questions, which however, he quietly parried, to the signal +vexation of active little Dr. Toole, who took up and dropped, in turn, +all sorts of curious theories about the young stranger. Lord +Castlemallard knew all about him, too, but his lordship was high and +huffy, and hardly ever in Chapelizod, except on horseback, and two or +three times in the year at a grand dinner at the Artillery mess. And +when Mervyn was mentioned he always talked of something else, rather +imperiously, as though he said, 'You'll please to observe that upon that +subject I don't choose to speak.' And as for Dr. Walsingham, when he +thought it right to hold his tongue upon a given matter, thumb-screws +could not squeeze it from him.</p> + +<p>In short, our friend Toole grew so feverish under his disappointment +that he made an excuse of old Tim Molloy's toothache to go up in person +to the 'Tiled House,' in the hope of meeting the young gentleman, and +hearing something from him (the servants, he already knew, were as much +in the dark as he) to alleviate his distress. And, sure enough, his luck +stood him in stead; for, as he was going away, having pulled out old +Molloy's grinder to give a colour to his visit, who should he find upon +the steps of the hall-door but the pale, handsome young gentleman +himself.</p> + +<p>Dr. Toole bowed low, and grinned with real satisfaction, reminded him of +their interview at the 'Phœnix,' and made by way of apology for his +appearance at the 'Tiled House,' a light and kind allusion to poor old +Tim, of whose toothache he spoke affectionately, and with water in his +eyes—for he half believed for the moment what he was saying—declared +how he remembered him when he did not come up to Tim's knee-buckle, and +would walk that far any day, and a bit further too, he hoped, to relieve +the poor old boy in a less matter. And finding that Mr. Mervyn was going +toward Chapelizod, he begged him not to delay on his account, and +accompanied him down the Ballyfermot road, entertaining him by the way +with an inexhaustible affluence of Chapelizod anecdote and scandal, at +which the young man stared a good deal, and sometimes even appeared +impatient: but the doctor did not perceive it, and rattled on; and told +him moreover, everything about himself and his belongings with a minute +and voluble frankness, intended to shame the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> suspicious reserve of the +stranger. But nothing came; and being by this time grown bolder, he +began a more direct assault, and told him, with a proper scorn of the +village curiosity, all the theories which the Chapelizod gossips had +spun about him.</p> + +<p>'And they say, among other things, that you're not—a—in fact—there's +a mystery—a something—about your birth, you know,' said Toole, in a +tone implying pity and contempt for his idle townsfolk.</p> + +<p>'They lie, then!' cried the young man, stopping short, more fiercely +than was pleasant, and fixing his great lurid eyes upon the cunning face +of the doctor; and, after a pause, 'Why can't they let me and my +concerns alone, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'But there's no use in saying so, <i>I</i> can tell you,' exclaimed little +Toole, recovering his feet in an instant. 'Why, I suppose there isn't so +tattling, prying, lying, scandalous a little colony of Christians on +earth; eyes, ears, and mouths all open, Sir; heads busy, tongues +wagging; lots of old maids, by Jove; ladies' women, and gentlemen's +gentlemen, and drawers and footmen; club talk, Sir, and mess-table talk, +and talk on band days, talk over cards, talk at home, Sir—talk in the +streets—talk—talk; by Jupiter Tonans! 'tis enough to bother one's +ears, and make a man envy Robinson Crusoe!'</p> + +<p>'So I do, Sir, if we were rid of his parrot,' answered Mervyn: and with +a dry 'I wish you a good-morning, doctor—doctor—a—<i>Sir</i>'—turned +sharply from him up the Palmerstown-road.</p> + +<p>'Going to Belmont,' murmured little Toole, with his face a little redder +than usual, and stopping in an undignified way for a moment at the +corner to look after him. 'He's close—plaguy close; and Miss Rebecca +Chattesworth knows nothing about him neither—I wander does she +though—and doesn't seem to care even. He's not there for nothing +though. <i>Some</i> one makes him welcome, depend on't,' and he winked to +himself. 'A plaguy high stomach, too, by Jove. I bet you fifty, if he +stays here three months, he'll be at swords or pistols with some of our +hot bloods. And whatever his secret is—and I dare say 'tisn't worth +knowing—the people here will ferret it out at last, I warrant you. +There's small good in making all the fuss he does about it; if he knew +but all, there's no such thing as a secret here—hang the one have <i>I</i>, +I know, just because there's no use in trying. The whole town knows when +I've tripe for dinner, and where I have a patch or a darn. And when I +got the fourteen pigeons at Darkey's-bridge, the birds were not ten +minutes on my kitchen table when old Widow Foote sends her maid and her +compliments, as she knew my pie-dish only held a dozen, to beg the two +odd birds. Secret, indeed!' and he whistled a bar or two contemptuously, +which subsided into dejected silence, and he muttered, 'I wish I knew +it,' and walked over the bridge gloomily; and he roared more fiercely on +smaller occasions than usual at his dogs on the way home, and they +squalled oftener and louder.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, for some reason or other, Dangerfield had watched the growing +intimacy between Mervyn and Miss Gertrude Chattesworth with an evil eye. +He certainly did know something about this Mr. Mervyn, with his +beautiful sketches, and his talk about Italy, and his fine music. And +his own spectacles had carefully surveyed Miss Chattesworth, and she had +passed the ordeal satisfactorily. And Dangerfield thought, 'These people +can't possibly suspect the actual state of the case, and who and what +this gentleman is <i>to my certain knowledge</i>; and 'tis a pity so fine a +young lady should be sacrificed for want of a word spoken in season.' +And when he had decided upon a point, it was not easy to make him stop +or swerve.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h4>TELLING HOW MR. MERVYN FARED AT BELMONT, AND OF A PLEASANT LITTLE +DEJEUNER BY THE MARGIN OF THE LIFFEY.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img015.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" /></div><p>ow it happened that on the very same day, the fashion of Dr. +Walsingham's and of Aunt Rebecca's countenances were one and both +changed towards Mr. Mervyn, much to his chagrin and puzzle. The doctor, +who met him near his own house on the bridge, was something distant in +manner, and looked him in the face with very grave eyes, and seemed sad, +and as if he had something on his mind, and laid his hand upon the young +man's arm, and addressed himself to speak; but glancing round his +shoulder, and seeing people astir, and that they were under observation, +he reserved himself.</p> + +<p>That both the ladies of Belmont looked as if they had heard some strange +story, each in her own way. Aunt Rebecca received the young man without +a smile, and was unaccountably upon her high horse, and said some dry +and sharp things, and looked as if she could say more, and coloured +menacingly, and, in short, was odd, and very nearly impertinent. And +Gertrude, though very gentle and kind, seemed also much graver, and +looked pale, and her eyes larger and more excited, and altogether like a +brave young lady who had fought a battle without crying. And Mervyn saw +all this and pondered on it, and went away soon; the iron entered into +his soul.</p> + +<p>Aunt Rebecca was so occupied with her dogs, squirrels, parrots, old +women, and convicts, that her eyes being off the cards, she saw little +of the game; and when a friendly whisper turned her thoughts that way, +and it flashed upon her that tricks and honours were pretty far gone, +she never remembered that she had herself to blame for the matter, but +turned upon her poor niece with 'Sly creature!' and so forth. And while +owing to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> this inattention, Gertrude had lost the benefit of her sage +Aunt Rebecca's counsels altogether, her venerable but frisky old +grandmother—Madam Nature—it was to be feared, might have profited by +the occasion to giggle and whistle her own advice in her ear, and been +indifferently well obeyed. I really don't pretend to say—maybe there +was nothing, or next to nothing in it; or if there was, Miss Gertrude +herself might not quite know. And if she did suspect she liked him, ever +so little, she had no one but Lilias Walsingham to tell; and I don't +know that young ladies are always quite candid upon these points. Some, +at least, I believe, don't make confidences until their secrets become +insupportable. However, Aunt Rebecca was now wide awake, and had +trumpeted a pretty shrill reveiller. And Gertrude had started up, her +elbow on the pillow, and her large eyes open; and the dream, I suppose, +was shivered and flown, and something rather ghastly at her side.</p> + +<p>Coming out of church, Dr. Walsingham asked Mervyn to take a turn with +him in the park—and so they did—and the doctor talked with him +seriously and kindly on that broad plateau. The young man walked darkly +beside him, and they often stopped outright. When, on their return, they +came near the Chapelizod gate, and Parson's lodge, and the duck-pond, +the doctor was telling him that marriage is an affair of the heart—also +a spiritual union—and, moreover, a mercantile partnership—and he +insisted much upon this latter view—and told him what and how strict +was the practice of the ancient Jews, the people of God, upon this +particular point. Dr. Walsingham had made a love-match, was the most +imprudent and open-handed of men, and always preaching to others against +his own besetting sin. To hear him talk, indeed, you would have supposed +he was a usurer. Then Mr. Mervyn, who looked a little pale and excited, +turned the doctor about, and they made another little circuit, while he +entered somewhat into his affairs and prospects, and told him something +about an appointment in connexion with the Embassy at Paris, and said he +would ask him to read some letters about it; and the doctor seemed a +little shaken; and so they parted in a very friendly but grave way.</p> + +<p>When Mervyn had turned his back upon Belmont, on the occasion of the +unpleasant little visit I mentioned just now, the ladies had some words +in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>'I have <i>not</i> coquetted, Madam,' said Miss Gertrude, haughtily.</p> + +<p>'Then I'm to presume you've been serious; and I take the liberty to ask +how far this affair has proceeded?' said Aunt Rebecca, firmly, and +laying her gloved hand and folded fan calmly on the table.</p> + +<p>'I really forget,' said the young lady, coldly.</p> + +<p>'Has he made a declaration of love?' demanded the aunt, the two red +spots on her cheeks coming out steadily, and helping the flash of her +eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Certainly not,' answered the young lady, with a stare of haughty +surprise that was quite unaffected.</p> + +<p>At the pleasant luncheon and dance on the grass that the officers gave, +in that pretty field by the river, half-a-dozen of the young people had +got beside the little brook that runs simpering and romping into the +river just there. Women are often good-natured in love matters where +rivalry does not mix, and Miss Gertrude, all on a sudden, found herself +alone with Mervyn. Aunt Becky, from under the ash trees at the other end +of the field, with great distinctness, for she was not a bit +near-sighted, and considerable uneasiness, saw their <i>tête-à-tête</i>. It +was out of the question getting up in time to prevent the young people +speaking their minds if so disposed, and she thought she perceived that +in the young man's bearing, which looked like a pleading and eagerness, +and 'Gertrude's put out a good deal—I see by her plucking at those +flowers—but my head to a China orange—the girl won't think of him. +She's not a young woman to rush into a horrible folly, hand-over-head,' +thought Aunt Becky; and then she began to think they were talking very +much at length indeed, and to regret that she had not started at once +from her post for the place of meeting; and one, and two, and three +minutes passed, and perhaps some more, and Aunt Becky began to grow +wroth, and was on the point of marching upon them, when they began +slowly to walk towards the group who were plucking bunches of woodbine +from the hedge across the little stream, at the risk of tumbling in, and +distributing the flowers among the ladies, amidst a great deal of +laughing and gabble. Then Miss Gertrude made Mr. Mervyn rather a haughty +and slight salutation, her aunt thought, and so dismissed him; he, too, +made a bow, but a very low one, and walked straight off to the first +lady he saw.</p> + +<p>This happened to be mild little Mrs. Sturk, and he talked a good deal to +her, but restlessly, and, as it seemed, with a wandering mind; and +afterwards he conversed, with an affectation of interest—it was only +that—Aunt Becky, who observed him with some curiosity, thought—for a +few minutes with Lilias Walsingham; and afterwards he talked with an +effort, and so much animation and such good acceptance [though it was +plain, Aunt Becky said, that he did not listen to one word she said,] to +the fair Magnolia, that O'Flaherty had serious thoughts of +horse-whipping him when the festivities were over—for, as he purposed +informing him, his 'ungentlemanlike intherfarence.'</p> + +<p>'He has got his quietus,' thought Aunt Becky, with triumph; 'this brisk, +laughing carriage, and heightened colour, a woman of experience can see +through at a glance.'</p> + +<p>Yes, all this frisking and skipping is but the hypocrisy of bleeding +vanity—<i>hæret lateri</i>—they are just the flush, wriggle, and hysterics +of suppressed torture.</p> + +<p>Then came her niece, cold and stately, with steady eye and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> slight +flush, and altogether the air of the conscientious young matron who has +returned from the nursery, having there administered the discipline; and +so she sat down beside her aunt, serene and silent, and, the little glow +passed away, pale and still.</p> + +<p>'Well, he <i>has</i> spoken?' said her aunt to her, in a sharp aside.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' answered the young lady, icily.</p> + +<p>'And has had his answer?'</p> + +<p>'Yes—and I beg, Aunt Rebecca, the subject may be allowed to drop.' The +young lady's eyes encountered her aunt's so directly and were so fully +charged with the genuine Chattesworth lightning, that Miss Rebecca, +unused to such demonstrations, averted hers, and with a slight sarcastic +inclination, and, 'Oh! your servant, young lady,' beckoning with her fan +grandly to little Puddock, who was hovering with other designs in the +vicinity, and taking his arm, though he was not forgiven, but only +employed—a distinction often made by good Queen Elizabeth—marched to +the marquee, where, it was soon evident, the plump lieutenant was busy +in commending, according to their merits, the best bits of the best +<i>plats</i> on the table.</p> + +<p>'So dear Aunt Becky has forgiven Puddock,' said Devereux, who was +sauntering up to the tent between O'Flaherty and Cluffe, and little +suspecting that he was descanting upon the intended Mrs. Cluffe—'and +they are celebrating the reconciliation over a jelly and a pupton. I +love Aunt Rebecca, I tell you—I don't know what we should do without +her. She's impertinent, and often nearly insupportable; but isn't she +the most placable creature on earth? I venture to say I might kill you, +Lieutenant O'Flaherty—of course, with your permission, Sir—and she'd +forgive me to-morrow morning! And she really does princely +things—doesn't she? She set up that ugly widow—what's her name?—twice +in a shop in Dame Street, and gave two hundred pounds to poor Scamper's +orphan, and actually pensions that old miscreant, Wagget, who ought to +be hanged—and never looks for thanks or compliments, or upbraids her +ingrates with past kindnesses. She's noble—Aunt Becky's every inch a +gentleman!'</p> + +<p>By this time they had reached the tent, and the hearty voice of the +general challenged them from the shade, as he filliped a little chime +merrily on his empty glass.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h4>WHICH CONCERNS THE GRAND DINNER AT THE KING'S HOUSE, AND WHO WERE THERE, +AND SOMETHING OF THEIR TALK, REVERIES, DISPUTES, AND GENERAL JOLLITY.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was about this time that the dinner-party at the King's House came +off. Old Colonel and Mrs. Stafford were hospitable, if not very +entertaining, and liked to bring their neighbours together, without +ceremony, round a saddle of mutton and a gooseberry pie, and other such +solid comforts; and then, hey for a round game!—for the young people, +Pope Joan, or what you please, in the drawing-room, with lots of +flirting and favouritism, and a jolly little supper of broiled bones and +whipt cream, and toasts and sentiments, with plenty of sly allusions and +honest laughter all round the table. But twice or thrice in the year the +worthy couple made a more imposing gathering at the King's House, and +killed the fatted calf, and made a solemn feast to the big wigs and the +notables of Chapelizod, with just such a sprinkling of youngsters as +sufficed to keep alive the young people whom they brought in their +train. There was eating of venison and farced turkeys, and other stately +fare; and they praised the colonel's claret, and gave the servants their +'veils' in the hall, and drove away in their carriages, with flambeaux +and footmen, followed by the hearty good-night of the host from the +hall-door steps, and amazing the quiet little town with their rattle and +glare.</p> + +<p>Dinner was a five o'clock affair in those days, and the state parlour +was well filled. There was old Bligh from the Magazine—I take the +guests in order of arrival—and the Chattesworths, and the Walsinghams; +and old Dowager Lady Glenvarlogh—Colonel Stratford's cousin—who +flashed out in the evening sun from Dublin in thunder and dust and her +carriage-and-four, bringing her mild little country niece, who watched +her fat painted aunt all the time of dinner, with the corners of her +frightened little eyes, across the table; and spoke sparingly, and ate +with diffidence; and Captain Devereux was there; and the next beau who +appeared was—of all men in the world—Mr. Mervyn! and Aunt Becky +watched, and saw with satisfaction, that he and Gertrude met as formally +and coldly as she could have desired. And then there was an elaborate +macaroni, one of the Lord Lieutenant's household,—Mr. Beauchamp; and +last, Lord Castlemallard, who liked very well to be the chief man in the +room, and dozed after dinner serenely in that consciousness, and loved +to lean back upon his sofa in the drawing-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>room, and gaze in a dozing, +smiling, Turkish reverie, after Gertrude Chattesworth and pretty Lilias, +whom he admired; and when either came near enough, he would take her +hand and say,—'Well, child, how do you do?—and why don't you speak to +your old friend? You charming rogue, you know I remember you no bigger +than your fan. And what mischief have you been about—eh? What mischief +have you been about, I say, young gentlewoman? Turning all the pretty +fellows' heads, I warrant you—eh!—turning their heads?' And he used to +talk this sort of talk very slowly, and to hold their hands all the +while, and even after this talk was exhausted, and grin sleepily, and +wag his head, looking with a glittering, unpleasant gaze in their faces +all the time. But at present we are all at dinner, in the midst of the +row which even the best bred people, assembled in sufficient numbers, +will make over that meal.</p> + +<p>Devereux could not help seeing pretty Lilias over the way, who was +listening to handsome Mervyn, as it seemed, with interest, and talking +also her pleasant little share. He was no dunce, that Mervyn, nor much +of a coxcomb, and certainly no clown, Devereux thought; but as fine a +gentleman, to speak honestly, and as handsome, as well dressed, and as +pleasant to listen to, with that sweet low voice and piquant smile, as +any. Besides he could draw, and had more yards of French and English +verses by rote than Aunt Becky owned of Venetian lace and satin ribbons, +and was more of a scholar than he. He? <i>He</i>!—why—'he?' what the deuce +had Devereux to do with it—was he vexed?—A fiddle-stick! He began to +flag with Miss Ward, the dowager's niece, and was glad when the refined +Beauchamp, at her other side, took her up, and entertained her with Lady +Carrickmore's ball and the masquerade, and the last levee, and the +withdrawing-room. There are said to have been persons who could attend +to half a dozen different conversations going on together, and take a +rational part in them all, and indulge, all the time, in a distinct +consecutive train of thought beside. I dare say, Mr. Morphy, the +chess-player, would find no difficulty in it. But Devereux was not by +any means competent to the feat, though there was one conversation, +perhaps, the thread of which he would gladly have caught up and +disentangled. So the talk at top and bottom and both sides of the table, +with its cross-readings, and muddle, and uproar, changed hands, and +whisked and rioted, like a dance of Walpurgis, in his lonely brain.</p> + +<p>What he heard, on the whole, was very like +this—'hubble-bubble-rubble-dubble—the great match of +shuttlecock played between the gentlemen of the north and those of +hubble-bubble—the Methodist persuasion; but—ha-ha-ha!—a squeeze of a +lemon—rubble-dubble—ha-ha-ha!—wicked man—hubble-bubble—force-meat +balls and yolks of eggs—rubble-dubble—musket balls from a +steel cross-bow—upon my—hubble-bubble—throw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>ing a sheep's +eye—ha-ha-ha—rubble-dubble—at the two remaining heads on Temple +Bar—hubble-bubble—and the duke left by his will—rubble-dubble—a quid +of tobacco in a brass snuff-box—hubble-bubble—and my Lady +Rostrevor's very sweet upon—rubble-dubble—old Alderman Wallop of +John's-lane—hubble-bubble—ha-ha-ha—from Jericho to Bethany, +where David, Joab, and—rubble-dubble—the whole party upset in +the mud in a chaise marine—and—hubble-bubble—shake a little +white pepper over them—and—rubble-dubble—his name is +Solomon—hubble-bubble—ha-ha-ha—the poor old thing dying of cold, and +not a stitch of clothes to cover her nakedness—rubble-dubble—play or +pay, on Finchley Common—hubble-bubble—most melancholy +truly—ha-ha-ha!—rubble-dubble—and old Lady Ruth is ready to swear she +never—hubble-bubble—served High Sheriff for the county of Down +in the reign of Queen Anne—rubble-dubble—and Dr. and Mrs. +Sturk—hubble-bubble—Secretaries of State in the room of the Duke of +Grafton and General Conway—rubble-dubble—venerable prelate—ha-ha-ha! +hubble-bubble—filthy creature—hubble-bubble-rubble-dubble.'</p> + +<p>And this did not make him much wiser or merrier. Love has its fevers, +its recoveries, and its relapses. The patient—nay even his nurse and +his doctor, if he has taken to himself such officers in his +distress—may believe the malady quite cured—the passion burnt out—the +flame extinct—even the smoke quite over, when a little chance puff of +rivalry blows the white ashes off, and, lo! the old liking is still +smouldering. But this was not Devereux's case. He remembered when his +fever—not a love one—and his leave of absence at Scarborough, and that +long continental tour of hers with Aunt Rebecca and Gertrude +Chattesworth, had carried the grave, large-eyed little girl away, and +hid her from his sight for more than a year, very nearly <i>two</i> years, +the strange sort of thrill and surprise with which he saw her +again—tall and slight, and very beautiful—no, not <i>beautiful</i>, +perhaps, if you go to rule and compass, and Greek trigonometrical +theories; but there was an indescribable prettiness in all her features, +and movements, and looks, higher, and finer, and sweeter than all the +canons of statuary will give you.</p> + +<p>How prettily she stands! how prettily she walks! what a sensitive, +spirited, clear-tinted face it is! This was pretty much the +interpretation of his reverie, as Colonel Stafford's large and +respectable party obligingly vanished for a while into air. Is it sad? I +think it <i>is</i> sad—I don't know—and how sweetly and how drolly it +lighted up; at that moment he saw her smile—the pleasant mischief in +it—the dark violet glance—the wonderful soft dimple in chin and +cheek—the little crimson mouth, and its laughing coronet of pearls—and +then all earnest again, and still so animated! What feminine +intelligence and character there is in that face!—'tis pleasanter to me +than conversation—'tis a fairy tale, or—or a dream, it's so +interesting—I never know,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> you see, what's coming—Is not it wonderful? +What is she talking about now?—what does it signify?—she's so +strangely beautiful—she's like those Irish melodies, I can't reach all +their meaning; I only know their changes keep me silent, and are playing +with my heart-strings.</p> + +<p>Devereux's contemplation of the animated <i>tête-à-tête</i>, for such, in +effect, it seemed to him at the other side of the table, was, however, +by no means altogether pleasurable. He began to think Mervyn conceited; +there was a 'provoking probability of succeeding' about him, and +altogether something that was beginning to grow offensive and odious.</p> + +<p>'She knows well enough I like her,' so his liking said in confidence to +his vanity, and even <i>he</i> hardly overheard them talk; 'better a great +deal than I knew it myself, till old Strafford got together this +confounded stupid dinner-party (he caught Miss Chattesworth glancing at +him with a peculiar look of enquiry). Why the plague did he ask <i>me</i> +here? it was Puddock's turn, and he likes venison and compots, +and—and—but 'tis like them—the women fall in love with the man who's +in love with himself, like Narcissus yonder—and they can't help it—not +they—and what care I?—hang it! I say, what is't to me?—and yet—if +she were to leave it—what a queer unmeaning place Chapelizod would be!'</p> + +<p>'And what do you say to that, Captain Devereux?' cried the hearty voice +of old General Chattesworth, and, with a little shock, the captain +dropped from the clouds into his chair, and a clear view of the larded +fowl before him, and his own responsibilities and situation—</p> + +<p>'Some turkey!' he said, awaking, and touching the carving-knife and +fork, with a smile and a bow; and he mingled once more in the business +and bustle of life.</p> + +<p>And soon there came in the general talk and business one of those sudden +lulls which catch speakers unawares, and Mr. Beauchamp was found +saying—</p> + +<p>'I saw her play on Thursday, and, upon my honour, the Bellamy is a +mockery, a skeleton and a spectacle.'</p> + +<p>'That's no reason,' said Aunt Becky, who, as usual, had got up a +skirmish, and was firing away in the cause of Mossop and Smock-alley +play-house; 'why, she would be fraudulently arrested in her own chair, +on her way to the play-house, by the contrivance of the rogue Barry, and +that wicked mountebank, Woodward.'</p> + +<p>'You're rather hard upon them, Madam,' said Mrs. Colonel Stafford, who +stood up for Crow-street, with a slight elevation of her chin.</p> + +<p>'Very true, indeed, Mistress Chattesworth,' cried the dowager, +overlooking Madam Stafford's parenthesis, and tapping an applause with +her fan, and, at the same time, rewarding the champion of Smock-alley, +for she was one of the faction, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> one of her large, painted smiles, +followed by a grave and somewhat supercilious glance at the gentleman of +the household; 'and I don't believe <i>they</i>, at least, can think her a +spectacle, and—a—the like, or they'd hardly have conspired to lock her +in a sponging-house, while she should have been in the play-house. What +say you, Mistress Chattesworth?'</p> + +<p>'Ha, ha! no, truly, my lady; but you know she's unfortunate, and a +stranger, and the good people in this part of the world improve so safe +an opportunity of libelling a friendless gentlewoman.'</p> + +<p>This little jet of vitriol was intended for the eye of the Castle beau; +but he, quite innocent of the injection, went on serenely—</p> + +<p>'So they do, upon my honour, Madam, tell prodigious naughty tales about +her: yet upon my life I do pity her from my soul: how that fellow +Calcraft, by Jove—she says, you know, she's married to him, but we know +better—he has half broken her heart, and treated her with most refined +meanness, as I live; in the green-room, where she looks an infinity +worse than on the stage, she told me——'</p> + +<p>'I dare say,' said Aunt Becky, rather stiffly, pulling him up; for +though she had fought a round for poor George Anne Bellamy for Mossop's +sake, she nevertheless had formed a pretty just estimate of that faded, +good-natured, and insolvent demirep, and rather recoiled from any +anecdotes of her telling.</p> + +<p>'And Calcraft gave her his likeness in miniature,' related the +macaroni, never minding; 'set round with diamonds, and, will you +believe it? when she came to examine it, they were not brilliants, but +rose-diamonds—despicable fellow!'</p> + +<p>Here the talk began to spring up again in different places, and the +conversation speedily turned into what we have heard it before, and the +roar and confusion became universal, and swallowed up what remained of +poor George Anne's persecutions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH TWO YOUNG PERSONS UNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER BETTER, PERHAPS, THAN +EVER THEY DID BEFORE, WITHOUT SAYING SO.</h4> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>nd now the ladies, with their gay plumage, have flown away like foreign +birds of passage, and the jolly old priests of Bacchus, in the parlour, +make their libations of claret; and the young fellows, after a while, +seeing a gathering of painted fans, and rustling hoops, and fluttering +laces, upon the lawn, and a large immigration of hilarious neighbours +besides, and two serious fiddlers, and a black fellow with a tambourine +preparing for action, and the warm glitter of the western sun among the +green foliage about the window, could stand it no longer, but stole +away, notwithstanding a hospitable remonstrance and a protest from old +Strafford, to join the merry muster.</p> + +<p>'The young bucks will leave their claret,' said Lord Castlemallard; 'and +truly 'tis a rare fine wine, colonel, a mighty choice claret truly (and +the colonel bowed low, and smiled a rugged purple smile in spite of +himself, for his claret <i>was</i> choice), all won't do when Venus +beckons—when she beckons—ha, ha—all won't do, Sir—at the first +flutter of a petticoat, and the invitation of a pair of fine eyes—fine +eyes, colonel—by Jupiter, they're off—you can't keep 'em—I say your +wine won't keep 'em—they'll be off, Sir—peeping under the hoods, the +dogs will—and whispering their wicked nonsense, Dr. Walsingham—ha, +ha—and your wine, I say—your claret, colonel, won't hold 'em—'twas +once so with us—eh, general?—ha! ha! and we must forgive 'em now.'</p> + +<p>And he shoved round his chair lazily, with a left-backward wheel, so as +to command the window, for he liked to see the girls dance, the little +rogues!—with his claret and his French rappee at his elbow; and he did +not hear General Chattesworth, who was talking of the new comedy called +the 'Clandestine Marriage,' and how 'the prologue touches genteelly on +the loss of three late geniuses—Hogarth, Quin, and Cibber—and the +epilogue is the picture of a polite company;' for the tambourine and the +fiddles were going merrily, and the lasses and lads in motion.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky and Lilias were chatting just under those pollard osiers by +the river. She was always gentle with Lily, and somehow unlike the +pugnacious Aunt Becky, whose attack was so spirited and whose thrust so +fierce; and when Lily told a diverting little story—and she was often +very diverting—Aunt Becky used to watch her pleasant face, with such a +droll, good-natured smile; and she used to pat her on the cheek, and +look so glad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> to see her when they met, and often as if she would say—' +I admire you a great deal more, and I am a great deal fonder of you than +you think; but you know brave stoical Aunt Becky can't say all that—it +would not be in character, you know.' And the old lady knew how good she +was to the poor, and she liked her spirit, and candour, and honour—it +was so uncommon, and somehow angelic, she thought. 'Little Lily's so +true!' she used to say; and perhaps there was there a noble chord of +sympathy between the young girl, who had no taste for battle, and the +daring Aunt Becky.</p> + +<p>I think Devereux liked her for liking Lily—he thought it was for her +own sake. Of course, he was often unexpectedly set upon and tomahawked +by the impetuous lady; but the gay captain put on his scalp again, and +gathered his limbs together, and got up in high good humour, and shook +himself and smiled, after his dismemberment, like one of the old +soldiers of the Walhalla—and they were never the worse friends.</p> + +<p>So, turning his back upon the fiddles and tambourine, Gipsy Devereux +sauntered down to the river-bank, and to the osiers, where the ladies +are looking down the river, and a blue bell, not half so blue as her own +deep eyes, in Lilias's fingers; and the sound of their gay talk came +mixed with the twitter and clear evening songs of the small birds. By +those same osiers, that see so many things, and tell no tales, there +will yet be a parting. But its own sorrow suffices to the day. And now +it is a summer sunset, and all around dappled gold and azure, and sweet, +dreamy sounds; and Lilias turns her pretty head, and sees him;—and oh! +was it fancy, or did he see just a little flushing of the colour on her +cheek—and her lashes seemed to drop a little, and out came her frank +little hand. And Devereux leaned on the paling there, and chatted his +best sense and nonsense, I dare say; and they laughed and talked about +all sorts of things; and he sang for them a queer little snatch of a +ballad, of an enamoured captain, the course of whose true love ran not +smooth;—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river ran between them,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And she looked upon the stream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the soldier looked upon her</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As a dreamer on a dream.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Believe me—oh! believe,'</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He sighed, 'you peerless maid;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My honour is pure,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And my true love sure,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the white plume in my hat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And my shining blade.'</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river ran between them,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And she smiled upon the stream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like one that smiles at folly—</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">A dreamer on a dream.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'I do not trust your promise,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I will not be betrayed;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For your faith is light,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And your cold wit bright,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the white plume in your hat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And your shining blade.'</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river ran between them,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he rode beside the stream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he turned away and parted,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As a dreamer from his dream.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his comrade brought his message,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From the field where he was laid—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Just his name to repeat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And to lay at her feet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The white plume from his hat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his shining blade.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And he sang it in a tuneful and plaintive tenor, that had power to make +rude and ridiculous things pathetic; and Aunt Rebecca thought he was +altogether very agreeable. But it was time she should see what Miss +Gertrude was about; and Devereux and Lily were such very old friends +that she left them to their devices.</p> + +<p>'I like the river,' says he; 'it has a soul, Miss Lily, and a character. +There are no river <i>gods</i>, but nymphs. Look at that river, Miss Lilias; +what a girlish spirit. I wish she would reveal herself; I could lose my +heart to her, I believe—if, indeed, I could be in love with anything, +you know. Look at the river—is not it feminine? it's sad and it's +merry, musical and sparkling—and oh, so deep! Always changing, yet +still the same. 'Twill show you the trees, or the clouds, or yourself, +or the stars; and it's so clear and so dark, and so sunny, and—so cold. +It tells everything, and yet nothing. It's so pure, and so playful, and +so tuneful, and so coy, yet so mysterious and <i>fatal</i>. I sometimes +think, Miss Lilias, I've seen this river spirit; and she's like—very +like you!'</p> + +<p>And so he went on; and she was more silent and more a listener than +usual. I don't know all that was passing in pretty Lilias's fancy—in +her heart—near the hum of the waters and the spell of that musical +voice. Love speaks in allegories and a language of signs; looks and +tones tell his tale most truly. So Devereux's talk held her for a while +in a sort of trance, melancholy and delightful. There must be, of +course, the affinity—the rapport—the what you please to call it—to +begin with—it matters not how faint and slender; and then the spell +steals on and grows. See how the poor little woodbine, or the jessamine, +or the vine, will lean towards the rugged elm, appointed by Virgil, in +his epic of husbandry (I mean no pun) for their natural support—the +elm, you know it hath been said, is the gentleman of the forest:—see +all the little tendrils turn his way silently, and cling, and long years +after, maybe, clothe the broken and blighted tree with a fragrance and +beauty not its own. Those feeble feminine plants, are, it sometimes +seems to me, the strength and perfection of creation—strength perfected +in weakness; the ivy, green among the snows of winter, and clasping +together in its true embrace the loveless ruin; and the vine that maketh +glad the heart of man amidst the miseries of life. I must not be +mistaken, though, for Devereux's talk was only a tender sort of +trifling, and Lilias had said nothing to encourage him to risk more; but +she now felt sure that Devereux liked her—that, indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> he took a deep +interest in her—and somehow she was happy.</p> + +<p>And little Lily drew towards the dancers, and Devereux by her side—not +to join in the frolic; it was much pleasanter talking. But the merry +thrum and jingle of the tambourine, and vivacious squeak of the fiddles, +and the incessant laughter and prattle of the gay company were a sort of +protection. And perhaps she fancied that within that pleasant and +bustling circle, the discourse, which was to her so charming, might be +longer maintained. It was music heard in a dream—strange and sweet—and +might never come again.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> These little verses have been several times set to music, +and last and very sweetly, by Miss Elizabeth Philp.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE SUN SETS, AND THE MERRY-MAKING IS KEPT UP BY CANDLE-LIGHT +IN THE KING'S HOUSE, AND LILY RECEIVES A WARNING WHICH SHE DOES NOT +COMPREHEND.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>r. Toole, without whom no jollification of any sort could occur +satisfactorily in Chapelizod or the country round, was this evening at +the 'King's House,' of course, as usual, with his eyes about him and his +tongue busy; and at this moment he was setting Cluffe right about +Devereux's relation to the title and estates of Athenry. His uncle +Roland Lord Athenry was, as everybody knew, a lunatic—Toole used to +call him Orlando Furioso: and Lewis, his first cousin by his father's +elder brother—the heir presumptive—was very little better, and +reported every winter to be dying. He spends all his time—his spine +being made, it is popularly believed, of gristle—stretched on his back +upon a deal board, cutting out paper figures with a pair of scissors. +Toole used to tell them at the club, when alarming letters arrived about +the health of the noble uncle and his hopeful nephew—the heir +apparent—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>'That's the gentleman who's back-bone's made of jelly—eh, +Puddock? Two letters come, by Jove, announcing that Dick Devereux's +benefit is actually fixed for the Christmas holidays, when his cousin +undertakes to die for positively the last time, and his uncle will play +in the most natural manner conceivable, the last act of "King Lear."' In +fact, this family calamity was rather a cheerful subject among +Devereux's friends; and certainly Devereux had no reason to love that +vicious, selfish old lunatic, Lord Athenry, who in his prodigal and +heartless reign, before straw and darkness swallowed him, never gave the +boy a kind word or gentle look, and owed him a mortal grudge because he +stood near the kingdom, and wrote most damaging reports of him at the +end of the holidays, and despatched those letters of Bellerophon by the +boy's own hand to the schoolmaster, with the natural results.</p> + +<p>When Aunt Rebecca rustled into the ring that was gathered round about +the fiddles and tambourine, she passed Miss Magnolia very near, with a +high countenance, and looking straight before her, and with no more +recognition than the tragedy queen bestows upon the painted statue on +the wing by which she enters. And Miss Mag followed her with a titter +and an angry flash of her eyes. So Aunt Rebecca made up to the little +hillock—little bigger than a good tea-cake—on which the dowager was +perched in a high-backed chair, smiling over the dancers with a splendid +benignity, and beating time with her fat short foot. And Aunt Becky told +Mrs. Colonel Stafford, standing by, she had extemporised a living +Watteau, and indeed it <i>was</i> a very pretty picture, or Aunt Becky would +not have said so; and 'craning' from this eminence she saw her niece +coming leisurely round, not in company of Mervyn.</p> + +<p>That interesting stranger, on the contrary, had by this time joined +Lilias and Devereux, who had returned toward the dancers, and was +talking again with Miss Walsingham. Gertrude's beau was little Puddock, +who was all radiant and supremely blest. But encountering rather a black +look from Aunt Becky as they drew near, he deferentially surrendered the +young lady to the care of her natural guardian, who forthwith presented +her to the dowager; and Puddock, warned off by another glance, backed +away, and fell, unawares, helplessly into the possession of Miss +Magnolia, a lady whom he never quite understood, and whom he regarded +with a very kind and polite sort of horror.</p> + +<p>So the athletic Magnolia instantly impounded the little lieutenant, and +began to rally him, in the sort of slang she delighted in, with plenty +of merriment and malice upon his <i>tendre</i> for Miss Chattesworth, and +made the gallant young gentleman blush and occasionally smile, and bow a +great deal, and take some snuff.</p> + +<p>'And here comes the Duchess of Belmont again,' said the saucy Miss +Magnolia, seeing the stately approach of Aunt Becky, as it seemed to +Puddock, through the back of her head. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> think the exertion and frolic +of the dance had got her high blood up into a sparkling state, and her +scorn and hate of Aunt Rebecca was more demonstrative than usual. 'Now +you'll see how she'll run against poor little simple me, just because +I'm small. And <i>this</i> is the way they dance it,' cried she, in a louder +tone; and capering backward with a bounce, and an air, and a grace, she +came with a sort of a courtesy, and a smart bump, and a shock against +the stately Miss Rebecca; and whisking round with a little scream and a +look of terrified innocence, and with her fingers to her heart, to +suppress an imaginary palpitation, dropped a low courtesy, crying—</p> + +<p>'I'm blest but I thought 'twas tall Burke, the gunner.'</p> + +<p>'You might look behind before you spring backward, young gentlewoman,' +said Aunt Becky, with a very bright colour.</p> + +<p>'And you might look before you before you spring forward, old +gentlewoman,' replied Miss Mag, just as angry.</p> + +<p>'Young ladies used to have a respect to decorum,' Aunt Becky went on.</p> + +<p>'So they prayed me to tell you, Madam,' replied the young lady, with a +very meek courtesy, and a very crimson face.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Miss Mac—Mag—Madam—it used to be so,' rejoined Aunt Rebecca, +''twas part of my education, at least, to conduct myself in a polite +company like a civilised person.'</p> + +<p>'"I wish I could see it," says blind Hugh,' Magnolia retorted; 'but +'twas a good while ago, Madam, and you've had time to forget.'</p> + +<p>'I shall acquaint your mother, Mrs.—Mug—Mac—Macnamara, with your +pretty behaviour to-morrow,' said Miss Rebecca.</p> + +<p>'To-morrow's a new day, and mother may be well enough then to hear your +genteel lamentation; but I suppose you mean to-morrow come never,' +answered Magnolia, with another of her provoking meek courtesies.</p> + +<p>'Oh, this is Lieutenant Puddock,' said Aunt Becky, drawing off in high +disdain, 'the bully of the town. Your present company, Sir, will find +very pretty work, I warrant, for your sword and pistols; Sir Launcelot +and his belle!'</p> + +<p>'Do you like a belle or beldame best, Sir Launcelot?' enquired Miss Mag, +with a mild little duck to Puddock.</p> + +<p>'You'll have your hands pretty full, Sir, ha, ha, ha!' and with scarlet +cheeks, and a choking laugh, away sailed Aunt Rebecca.</p> + +<p>'Choke, chicken, there's more a-hatching,' said Miss Mag, in a sort of +aside, and cutting a flic-flac with a merry devilish laugh, and a wink +to Puddock. That officer, being a gentleman, was a good deal +disconcerted, and scandalised—too literal to see, and too honest to +enjoy, the absurd side of the combat.</p> + +<p>'Twas an affair of a few seconds, like two frigates crossing in a gale, +with only opportunity for a broadside or two; and when the Rebecca +Chattesworth sheered off, it can't be denied, her tackling was a good +deal more cut up, and her hull considerably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> more pierced, than those of +the saucy Magnolia, who sent that whistling shot and provoking cheer in +her majestic wake.</p> + +<p>'I see you want to go, Lieutenant Puddock—Lieutenant O'Flaherty, I +promised to dance this country dance with you; don't let me keep <i>you</i>, +Ensign Puddock,' said Miss Mag in a huff, observing little Puddock's +wandering eye and thoughts.</p> + +<p>'I—a—you see, Miss Macnamara, truly you were so hard upon poor Miss +Rebecca Chattesworth, that I fear I shall get into trouble, unless I go +and make my peace with her,' lisped the little lieutenant, speaking the +truth, as was his wont, with a bow and a polite smile, and a gentle +indication of beginning to move away.</p> + +<p>'Oh, is that all? I was afraid you were sick of the mulligrubs, with +eating chopt hay; you had better go back to her at once if she wants +you, for if you don't with a good grace, she'll very likely come and +take you back by the collar,' and Miss Mag and O'Flaherty joined in a +derisive hee-haw, to Puddock's considerable confusion, who bowed and +smiled again, and tried to laugh, till the charming couple relieved him +by taking their places in the dance.</p> + +<p>When I read this speech about the 'mulligrubs,' in the old yellow letter +which contains a lively account of the skirmish, my breath was fairly +taken away, and I could see nothing else for more than a minute; and so +soon as I was quite myself again, I struck my revising pen across the +monstrous sentence, with uncompromising decision, referring it to a +clerical blunder, or some unlucky transposition, and I wondered how any +polite person could have made so gross a slip. But see how +authentication waits upon truth! Three years afterwards, I picked up in +the parlour of the 'Cat and Fiddle,' on the Macclesfield Road, in +Derbyshire, a scrubby old duodecimo, which turned out to be an old +volume of Dean Swift's works: well, I opened in the middle of 'Polite +Conversation,' and there, upon my honour, the second sentence I read was +'<i>Lady Smart</i>,' (mark <i>that</i>—'<span class="smcap">Lady!</span>') 'What, you are sick of +the mulligrubs, with eating chopt hay?' So my good old yellow +letter-writer ('I.' or 'T.' Tresham, I can't decide what he signs +himself)—<i>you</i> were, no doubt, exact here as in other matters, and <i>I</i> +was determining the probable and the impossible, unphilosophically, by +the <i>rule</i> of my own time. And my poor Magnolia, though you spoke some +years—thirty or so—later than my Lady Smart, a countess for aught I +know, you are not so much to blame. Thirty years! what of that? Don't +we, to this hour, more especially in rural districts, encounter among +the old folk, every now and then, one of honest Simon Wagstaff's +pleasantries, which had served merry ladies and gentlemen so long before +that charming compiler, with his 'Large Table Book,' took the matter in +hands. And I feel, I confess, a queer sort of a thrill, not at all +contemptuous—neither altogether sad, nor altogether joyous—but +something pleasantly regretful, whenever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> one of those quaint and faded +old servants of the mirth of so many dead and buried generations, turns +up in my company.</p> + +<p>And now the sun went down behind the tufted trees, and the blue shades +of evening began to deepen, and the merry company flocked into the +King's House, to dance again and drink tea, and make more love, and play +round games, and joke, and sing songs, and eat supper under old Colonel +Stafford's snug and kindly roof-tree.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield, who arrived rather late, was now in high chat with Aunt +Becky. She rather liked him and had very graciously accepted a gray +parrot and a monkey, which he had deferentially presented, a step which +called forth, to General Chattesworth's consternation, a cockatoo from +Cluffe, who felt the necessity of maintaining his ground against the +stranger, and wrote off by the next packet to London, in a confounded +passion, for he hated wasting money, about a pelican he had got wind of. +Dangerfield also entered with much apparent interest into a favourite +scheme of Aunt Becky's, for establishing, between Chapelizod and +Knockmaroon, a sort of retreat for discharged gaol-birds of her +selection, a colony, happily for the character and the silver spoons of +the neighbourhood, never eventually established.</p> + +<p>It was plain he was playing the frank, good fellow, and aiming at +popularity. He had become one of the club. He played at whist, and only +smiled, after his sort, when his partner revoked, and he lost like a +gentleman. His talk was brisk, and hard, and caustic—that of a +Philistine who had seen the world and knew it. He had the Peerage by +rote, and knew something out-of-the-way, amusing or damnable about every +person of note you could name; and his shrewd gossip had a bouquet its +own, and a fine cynical flavour, which secretly awed and delighted the +young fellows. He smiled a good deal. He was not aware that a smile did +not quite become him. The fact is, he had lost a good many side teeth, +and it was a hollow and sinister disclosure. He would laugh, too, +occasionally; but his laugh was not rich and joyous, like General +Chattesworth's, or even Tom Toole's cozy chuckle, or old Doctor +Walsingham's hilarious ha-ha-ha! He did not know it; but there was a +cold hard ring in it, like the crash and jingle of broken glass. Then +his spectacles, shining like ice in the light, never removed for a +moment—never even pushed up to his forehead—he eat in them, drank in +them, fished in them, joked in them—he prayed in them, and, no doubt, +slept in them, and would, it was believed, be buried in them—heightened +that sense of mystery and mask which seemed to challenge curiosity and +defy scrutiny with a scornful chuckle.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, the mirth, and frolic, and flirtation were drawing to a +close. The dowager, in high good humour, was conveyed down stairs to her +carriage, by Colonel Stafford and Lord Castlemallard, and rolled away, +with blazing flambeaux,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> like a meteor, into town. There was a +breaking-up and leave-taking, and parting jokes on the door-steps; and +as the ladies, old and young, were popping on their mantles in the +little room off the hall, and Aunt Becky and Mrs. Colonel Strafford were +exchanging a little bit of eager farewell gossip beside the cabinet, +Gertrude Chattesworth—by some chance she and Lilias had not had an +opportunity of speaking that evening—drew close to her, and she took +her hand and said 'Good-night, dear Lily,' and glanced over her +shoulder, still holding Lily's hand; and she looked very pale and +earnest, and said quickly, in a whisper:</p> + +<p>'Lily, darling, if you knew what I could tell you, if I dare, about Mr. +Mervyn, you would cut your hand off rather than allow him to talk to +you, as, I confess, he <i>has</i> talked to me, as an admirer, and knowing +what I know, and with my eye upon him—Lily—<i>Lily</i>—I've been amazed by +him to-night. I can only <i>warn</i> you now, darling, to beware of a great +danger.'</p> + +<p>''Tis no danger, however, to me, Gertrude, dear,' said Lily, with a +pleasant little smile. 'And though he's handsome, there's something, is +there not, <i>funeste</i> in his deep eyes and black hair; and the dear old +man knows something strange about him, too; I suppose 'tis all the same +story.'</p> + +<p>'And he has not told you,' said Gertrude, looking down with a gloomy +face at her fan.</p> + +<p>'No; but I'm so curious, I know he will, though he does not like to +speak of it; but you know, Gerty, I love a horror, and I know the +story's fearful, and I feel uncertain whether he's a man or a ghost; but +see, Aunt Rebecca and Mistress Strafford are kissing.'</p> + +<p>'Good-night, dear Lily, and remember!' said pale Gertrude without a +smile, looking at her, for a moment, with a steadfast gaze, and then +kissing her with a hasty and earnest pressure. And Lily kissed her +again, and so they parted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING HOW THE BAND OF THE ROYAL IRISH ARTILLERY PLAYED, AND, WHILE +THE MUSIC WAS GOING ON, HOW VARIOUSLY DIFFERENT PEOPLE WERE MOVED.</h4> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>wice a week the band of the Royal Irish Artillery regaled all comers +with their music on the parade-ground by the river; and, as it was +reputed the best in Ireland, and Chapelizod was a fashionable resort, +and a very pretty village, embowered in orchards, people liked to drive +out of town on a fine autumn day like this, by way of listening, and all +the neighbours showed there, and there was quite a little fair for an +hour or two.</p> + +<p>Mervyn, among the rest, was there, but for scarce ten minutes, and, as +usual, received little more than a distant salutation, coldly and +gravely returned, from Gertrude Chattesworth, to whom Mr. Beauchamp, +whom she remembered at the Stafford's dinner, addicted himself a good +deal. That demigod appeared in a white surtout, with a crimson cape, a +French waistcoat, his hair <i>en papillote</i>, a feather in his hat, a +<i>couteau de chasse</i> by his side, with a small cane hanging to his +button, and a pair of Italian greyhounds at his heels; and he must have +impressed Tresham prodigiously; for I observe no other instance in which +he has noted down costume so carefully. Little Puddock, too, was +hovering near, and his wooing made uncomfortable by Aunt Becky's renewed +severity, as well as by the splendour of 'Mr. Redheels,' who was +expending his small talk and <i>fleuerets</i> upon Gertrude. Cluffe, +moreover, who was pretty well in favour with Aunt Rebecca, and had been +happy and prosperous, had his little jealousies too to plague him, for +Dangerfield, with his fishing-rod and basket, no sooner looked in, with +his stern front and his remarkable smile, than Aunt Becky, seeming +instantaneously to forget Captain Cluffe, and all his winning ways, and +the pleasant story, to the point of which he was just arriving, in his +best manner, left him abruptly, and walked up to the grim pescator del +onda, with an outstretched hand, and a smile of encouragement, and +immediately fell into confidential talk with him.</p> + +<p>'The minds of anglers,' says the gentle Colonel Robert Venables, 'be +usually more calm and composed than many others; when he hath the worst +success he loseth but a hook or line, or perhaps what he never +possessed, a fish; and suppose he should take nothing, yet he enjoyeth a +delightful walk by pleasant rivers, in sweet pastures, amongst +odoriferous flowers, which gratify his senses and delight his mind; and +if example, which is the best proof, may sway anything, I know no sort +of men less subject to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> melancholy than anglers.' It was only natural, +then, that Dangerfield should be serene and sunny.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky led him a little walk twice or thrice up and down. She seemed +grave, earnest, and lofty, and he grinned and chatted after his wont +energetically, to stout Captain Cluffe's considerable uneasiness and +mortification. He had seen Dangerfield the day before, through his +field-glass, from the high wooded grounds in the park, across the river, +walk slowly for a good while under the poplars in the meadow at Belmont, +beside Aunt Becky, in high chat; and there was something particular and +earnest in their manner, which made him uncomfortable then. And fat +Captain Cluffe's gall rose and nearly choked him, and; he cursed +Dangerfield in the bottom of his corpulent, greedy soul, and wondered +what fiend had sent that scheming old land-agent three hundred miles out +of his way, on purpose to interfere with his little interests, as if +there were not plenty of—of—well!—rich old women—in London. And he +bethought him of the price of the cockatoo and the probable cost of the +pelican, rejoinders to Dangerfield's contributions to Aunt Rebecca's +menagerie, for those birds were not to be had for nothing; and Cluffe, +who loved money as well, at least, as any man in his Majesty's service, +would have seen the two tribes as extinct as the dodo, before he would +have expended sixpence upon such tom-foolery, had it not been for +Dangerfield's investments in animated nature. 'The hound! as if two +could not play at that game.' But he had an uneasy and bitter +presentiment that they were birds of paradise, and fifty other cursed +birds beside, and that in this costly competition Dangerfield could take +a flight beyond and above him; and he thought of the flagitious waste of +money, and cursed him for a fool again. Aunt Becky had said, he thought, +something in which 'to-morrow' occurred, on taking leave of Dangerfield. +'To-morrow!' 'What to-morrow? She spoke low and confidentially, and +seemed excited and a little flushed, and very distrait when she came +back. Altogether, he felt as if Aunt Rebecca was slipping through his +fingers, and would have liked to take that selfish old puppy, +Dangerfield, by the neck and drown him out of hand in the river. But, +notwithstanding the state of his temper, he knew it might be his only +chance to shine pre-eminently at that moment in amiability, wit, grace, +and gallantry, and, though it was up-hill work, he did labour +uncommonly.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Dangerfield's spectacles gleamed through the crowd upon Dr. +Sturk, who was thinking of other things beside the music, the angler +walked round forthwith, and accosted that universal genius. Mrs. Sturk +felt the doctor's arm, on which she leaned, vibrate for a second with a +slight thrill—an evidence in that hard, fibrous limb of what she used +to call 'a start'—and she heard Dangerfield's voice over his shoulder. +And the surgeon and the grand vizier were soon deep in talk, and Sturk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +brightened up, and looked eager and sagacious, and important, and became +very voluble and impressive, and, leaving his lady to her own devices, +with her maid and children, he got to the other side of the street, +where Nutter, with taciturn and black observation, saw them busy +pointing with cane and finger, and talking briskly as they surveyed +together Dick Fisher's and Tom Tresham's tenements, and the Salmon +House; and then beheld them ascend the steps of Tresham's door, and +overlook the wall on the other side toward the river, and point this way +and that along the near bank, as it seemed to Nutter discussing detailed +schemes of alteration and improvement. Sturk actually pulled out his +pocket-book and pencil, and then Dangerfield took the pencil, and made +notes of what he read to him, on the back of a letter; and Sturk looked +eager and elated, and Dangerfield frowned and looked impressed, and +nodded again and again. <i>Diruit ædificat, mutat quadrata rotundis</i>, +under his very nose—he unconsulted! It was such an impertinence as +Nutter could ill-digest. It was a studied slight, something like a +public deposition, and Nutter's jealous soul seethed secretly in a +hellbroth of rage and suspicion.</p> + +<p>I mentioned that Mistress Sturk felt in that physician's arm the +telegraphic thrill with which the brain will occasionally send an +invisible message of alarm from the seat of government to the +extremities; and as this smallest of all small bits of domestic gossip +did innocently escape me, the idle and good-natured reader will, I hope, +let me say out my little say upon the matter, in the next chapter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING THE TROUBLES AND THE SHAPES THAT BEGAN TO GATHER ABOUT DOCTOR +STURK.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was just about that time that our friend, Dr. Sturk, had two or three +odd dreams that secretly acted disagreeably upon his spirits. His liver +he thought was a little wrong, and there was certainly a little light +gout sporting about him. His favourite 'pupton,' at mess, disagreed with +him; so did his claret, and hot suppers as often as he tried them, and +that was, more or less, nearly every night in the week. So he was, +perhaps, right, in ascribing these his visions to the humours, the +spleen, the liver, and the juices. Still they sat uncomfortably upon his +memory, and helped his spirits down, and made him silent and testy, and +more than usually formidable to poor, little, quiet, hard-worked Mrs. +Sturk.</p> + +<p>Dreams! What talk can be idler? And yet haven't we seen grave people and +gay listening very contentedly at times to that wild and awful sort of +frivolity; and I think there is in most men's minds, sages or zanies, a +secret misgiving that dreams may have an office and a meaning, and are +perhaps more than a fortuitous concourse of symbols, in fact, the +language which good or evil spirits whisper over the sleeping brain.</p> + +<p>There was an ugly and ominous consistency in these dreams which might +have made a less dyspeptic man a little nervous. Tom Dunstan, a sergeant +whom Sturk had prosecuted and degraded before a court-martial, who owed +the doctor no good-will, and was dead and buried in the church-yard +close by, six years ago, and whom Sturk had never thought about in the +interval—made a kind of resurrection now, and was with him every night, +figuring in these dreary visions and somehow in league with a sort of +conspirator-in-chief, who never showed distinctly, but talked in +scoffing menaces from outside the door, or clutched him by the throat +from behind his chair, and yelled some hideous secret into his ear, +which his scared and scattered wits, when he started into consciousness, +could never collect again. And this fellow, with whose sneering +cavernous talk—with whose very knock at the door or thump at the +partition-wall he was as familiar as with his own wife's voice, and the +touch of whose cold convulsive hand he had felt so often on his cheek or +throat, and the very suspicion of whose approach made him faint with +horror, his dreams would not present to his sight. There was always +something interposed, or he stole behind him, or just as he was entering +and the door swinging open, Sturk would awake—and he never saw him, at +least in a human shape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>But one night he thought he saw, as it were, his sign or symbol. As +Sturk lay his length under the bed-clothes, with his back turned upon +his slumbering helpmate, he was, in the spirit, sitting perpendicularly +in his great balloon-backed chair at his writing-table, in the window of +the back one-pair-of-stairs chamber which he called his library, where +he sometimes wrote prescriptions, and pondering over his pennyweights, +his Roman numerals, his guttæ and pillulæ, his 3s, his 5s, his 9s, and +the other arabesque and astrological symbols of his mystery, he looked +over his pen into the church-yard, which inspiring prospect he thence +commanded.</p> + +<p>Thus, as out of the body sat our recumbent doctor in the room underneath +the bed in which his snoring idolon lay, Tom Dunstan stood beside the +table, with the short white threads sticking out on his blue sleeve, +where the stitching of the stripes had been cut through on that twilight +parade morning when the doctor triumphed, and Tom's rank, fortune, and +castles in the air, all tumbled together in the dust of the barrack +pavement; and so, with his thin features and evil eye turned sideways to +Sturk, says he, with a stiff salute—'A gentleman, Sir, that means to +dine with you,' and there was the muffled knock at the door which he +knew so well, and a rustling behind him. So the doctor turned him about +quickly with a sort of chill between his shoulders, and perched on the +back of his chair sat a portentous old quizzical carrion-crow, the +antediluvian progenitor of the whole race of carrion-crows, monstrous, +with great shining eyes, and head white as snow, and a queer human look, +and the crooked beak of an owl, that opened with a loud grating 'caw' +close in his ears; and with a 'bo-o-oh!' and a bounce that shook the bed +and made poor Mrs. Sturk jump out of it, and spin round in the curtain, +Sturk's spirit popped back again into his body, which sat up wide awake +that moment.</p> + +<p>It is not pretended that at this particular time the doctor was a +specially good sleeper. The contrary stands admitted; and I don't ask +you, sagacious reader, to lay any sort of stress upon his dreams; only +as there came a time when people talked of them a good deal over the +fireside in Chapelizod, and made winter's tales about them, I thought +myself obliged to tell you that such things were.</p> + +<p>He did not choose to narrate them to his brother-officers, and to be +quizzed about them at mess. But he opened his budget to old Dr. +Walsingham, of course, only as a matter to be smiled at by a pair of +philosophers like them. But Dr. Walsingham, who was an absent man, and +floated upon the ocean of his learning serenely and lazily, drawn finely +and whimsically, now hither, now thither, by the finest hair of +association, glided complacently off into the dim region of visionary +prognostics and warnings, and reminded him how Joseph dreamed, and +Pharaoh, and Benvenuto, Cellini's father, and St. Dominick's mother, and +Edward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> II. of England, and dodged back and forward among patriarchs and +pagans, and modern Christians, men and women not at all suspecting that +he was making poor Sturk, who had looked for a cheerful, sceptical sort +of essay, confoundedly dismal and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, confoundedly distressed he must have been, for he took his +brother-chip, Tom Toole, whom he loved not, to counsel upon his case—of +course, strictly as a question of dandelion, or gentian, or camomile +flowers; and Tom, who, as we all know, loved him reciprocally, +frightened him as well as he could, offered to take charge of his case, +and said, looking hard at him out of the corner of his cunning, resolute +little eye, as they sauntered in the park—</p> + +<p>'But I need not tell <i>you</i>, my good Sir, that physic is of +small avail, if there is any sort of—a—a—vexation, or—or—in +short—a—a—<i>vexation,</i> you know, on your mind.'</p> + +<p>'A—ha, ha, ha!—what? Murdered my father, and married my grandmother?' +snarled Sturk, sneeringly, amused or affecting to be so, and striving to +laugh at the daisies before his toes, as he trudged along, with his +hands in his breeches' pockets. 'I have not a secret on earth, Sir. 'Tis +not a button to me, Sir, who talks about me; and I don't owe a guinea, +Sir, that is, that I could not pay to-morrow, if I liked it; and there's +nothing to trouble me—nothing, Sir, except this dirty, little, gouty +dyspepsy, scarce worth talking about.</p> + +<p>Then came a considerable silence; and Toole's active little mind, having +just made a note of this, tripped off smartly to half-a-dozen totally +different topics, and he was mentally tippling his honest share of a +dozen of claret, with a pleasant little masonic party at the +Salmon-leap, on Sunday next, and was just going to charm them with his +best song, and a new verse of his own compounding, when Sturk, in a +moment, dispersed the masons, and brought him back by the ear at a jump +from the Salmon-leap, with a savage——</p> + +<p>'And I'd like to know, Sir, who the deuce, or, rather, what +the ——(<i>plague</i> we'll say) could put into your head, Sir, to suppose any +such matter?'</p> + +<p>But this was only one of Sturk's explosions, and he and little Toole +parted no better and no worse friends than usual, in ten minutes more at +the latter's door-step.</p> + +<p>So Toole said to Mrs. T. that evening——</p> + +<p>'Sturk owes money, mark my words, sweetheart. Remember <i>I</i> say it—he'll +cool his heels in a prison, if he's no wiser than of late, before a +twel'month. Since the beginning of February he has lost—just wait a +minute, and let me see—ay, that, £150 by the levanting of old Tom +Farthingale; and, I had it to-day from little O'Leary, who had it from +Jim Kelly, old Craddock's conducting clerk, he's bit to the tune of +three hundred more by the failure of Larkin, Brothers, and Hoolaghan. +You see a little bit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> of usury under the rose is all very well for a +vulgar dog like Sturk, if he knows the town, and how to go about it; but +hang, it, he knows nothing. Why, the turnpike-man, over the way, would +not have taken old Jos. Farthingale's bill for fippence—no, nor his +bond neither; and he's stupid beside—but he can't help that, the +hound!—and he'll owe a whole year's rent only six weeks hence, and he +has not a shilling to bless himself with. Unfortunate devil—I've no +reason to like him—but, truly, I do pity him.'</p> + +<p>Saying which Tom Toole, with his back to the fire, and a look of concern +thrown into his comic little mug, and his eyebrows raised, experienced a +very pleasurable glow of commiseration.</p> + +<p>Sturk, on the contrary, was more than commonly silent and savage that +evening, and sat in his drawing-room, with his fists in his breeches' +pockets, and his heels stretched out, lurid and threatening, in a gloomy +and highly electric state. Mrs. S. did not venture her usual 'would my +Barney like a dish of tea?' but plied her worsted and knitting-needles +with mild concentration, sometimes peeping under her lashes at Sturk, +and sometimes telegraphing faintly to the children if they whispered too +loud—all cautious pantomime—<i>nutu signisque loquuntur</i>.</p> + +<p>Sturk was incensed by the suspicion that Tom Toole knew something of his +losses, 'the dirty, little, unscrupulous spy and tattler.' He was +confident, however, that he could not know their extent. It was +certainly a hard thing, and enough to exasperate a better man than +Sturk, that the savings of a shrewd, and, in many ways, a self-denying +life should have been swept away, and something along with them, by a +few unlucky casts in little more than twelve months. And he such a +clever dog, too! the best player, all to nothing, driven to the wall, by +a cursed obstinate run of infernal luck. And he used to scowl, and grind +his teeth, and nearly break the keys and shillings in his gripe in his +breeches' pocket, as imprecations, hot and unspoken, coursed one another +through his brain. Then up he would get, and walk sulkily to the +brandy-flask and have a dram, and feel better, and begin to count up his +chances, and what he might yet save out of the fire; and resolve to +press vigorously for the agency, which he thought Dangerfield, if he +wanted a useful man, could not fail to give him; and he had hinted the +matter to Lord Castlemallard, who, he thought, understood and favoured +his wishes. Yes; that agency would give him credit and opportunity, and +be the foundation of his new fortunes, and the saving of him. A +precious, pleasant companion, you may suppose, he was to poor little +Mrs. Sturk, who knew nothing of his affairs, and could not tell what to +make of her Barney's eccentricities.</p> + +<p>And so it was, somehow, when Dangerfield spoke his greeting at Sturk's +ear, and the doctor turned short round, and saw his white frizzed hair, +great glass eyes, and crooked, short beak, quiz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>zical and sinister, +close by, it seemed for a second as if the 'caw' and the carrion-crow of +his dream was at his shoulder; and, I suppose, he showed his +discomfiture a little, for he smiled a good deal more than Sturk usually +did at a recognition.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. IRONS RECOUNTS SOME OLD RECOLLECTIONS ABOUT THE PIED HORSE +AND THE FLOWER DE LUCE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was so well known in Chapelizod that Sturk was poking after Lord +Castlemallard's agency that Nutter felt the scene going on before his +eyes between him and Dangerfield like a public affront. His ire was that +of a phlegmatic man, dangerous when stirred, and there was no mistaking, +in his rigid, swarthy countenance, the state of his temper.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield took an opportunity, and touched Nutter on the shoulder, and +told him frankly, in effect, though <i>he</i> wished things to go on as +heretofore, Sturk had wormed himself into a sort of confidence with Lord +Castlemallard.</p> + +<p>'Not confidence, Sir—<i>talk</i>, if you please,' said Nutter grimly.</p> + +<p>'Well, into talk,' acquiesced Dangerfield; 'and by Jove, I've a hard +card to play, you see. His lordship will have me listen to Doctor +Sturk's talk, such as it is.'</p> + +<p>'He has no talk in him, Sir, you mayn't get from any other impudent +dunderhead in the town,' answered Nutter.</p> + +<p>'My dear Sir, understand me. I'm your friend,' and he placed his hand +amicably upon Nutter's arm; 'but Lord Castlemallard has, now and then, a +will of his own, I need not tell you; and somebody's been doing you an +ill turn with his lordship; and you're a gentleman, Mr. Nutter, and I +like you, and I'll be frank with you, knowing 'twill go no further. +Sturk wants the agency. You have <i>my</i> good-will. <i>I</i> don't see why he +should take it from you; but—but—you see his lordship takes odd +likings, and he won't always listen to reason.'</p> + +<p>Nutter was so shocked and exasperated, that for a moment he felt +stunned, and put his hand toward his head.</p> + +<p>'I think, Sir,' said Nutter, with a stern, deliberate oath, I'll write +to Lord Castlemallard this evening, and throw up his agency; and +challenge Sturk, and fight him in the morning.'</p> + +<p>'You must not resign the agency, Sir; his lordship is whimsical; but you +have a friend at court. I've spoken in full confidence in your secrecy; +and should any words pass between you and Dr. Sturk, you'll not mention +my name; I rely, Sir, on your honour, as you may on my good-will;' and +Dangerfield shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> hands with Nutter significantly, and called to Irons, +who was waiting to accompany him, and the two anglers walked away +together up the river.</p> + +<p>Nutter was still possessed with his furious resolution to fling down his +office at Lord Castlemallard's feet, and to call Sturk into the lists of +mortal combat. One turn by himself as far as the turnpike, however, and +he gave up the first, and retained only the second resolve. Half-an-hour +more, and he had settled in his mind that there was no need to punish +the meddler that way: and so he resolved to bide his time—a short one.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Dangerfield had reached one of those sweet pastures by +the river's bank which, as we have read, delight the simple mind of the +angler, and his float was already out, and bobbing up and down on the +ripples of the stream; and the verdant valley, in which he and his +taciturn companion stood side by side, resounded, from time to time, +with Dangerfield's strange harsh laughter; the cause of which Irons did +not, of course, presume to ask.</p> + +<p>There is a church-yard cough—I don't see why there may not be a +church-yard laugh. In Dangerfield's certainly there was an omen—a glee +that had nothing to do with mirth; and more dismaying, perhaps, than his +sternest rebuke. If a man is not a laugher by nature, he had better let +it alone. The bipeds that love mousing and carrion have a chant of their +own, and nobody quarrels with it. We respect an owl or a raven, though +we mayn't love him, while he sticks to his croak or to-whoo. 'Tisn't +pleasant, but quite natural and unaffected, and we acquiesce. All we ask +of these gentlemanlike birds is, that they mistake not their +talent—affect not music; or if they do, that they treat not us to their +queer warblings.</p> + +<p>Irons, with that never-failing phantom of a smile on his thin lips, +stood a little apart, with a gaff and landing-net, and a second rod, and +a little bag of worms, and his other gear, silent, except when spoken +to, or sometimes to suggest a change of bait, or fly, or a cast over a +particular spot; for Dangerfield was of good Colonel Venables' mind, +that 'tis well in the lover of the gentle craft to associate himself +with some honest, expert angler, who will freely and candidly +communicate his skill unto him.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield was looking straight at his float; but thinking of something +else. Whenever Sturk met him at dinner, or the club, the doctor's +arrogance and loud lungs failed him, and he fell for a while into a sort +of gloom and dreaming; and when he came slowly to himself, he could not +talk to anyone but the man with the spectacles; and in the midst of his +talk he would grow wandering and thoughtful, as if over some +half-remembered dream; and when he took his leave of Dangerfield it was +with a lingering look and a stern withdrawal, as if he had still a last +word to say, and he went away in a dismal reverie. It was natural, that +with his views about the agency, Sturk should re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>gard him with +particular interest. But there was something more here, and it did not +escape Dangerfield, as, indeed, very little that in anywise concerned +him ever did.</p> + +<p>'Clever fellow, Doctor Sturk,' said the silver spectacles, looking +grimly at the float. 'I like him. You remember him, you say, Irons?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir,' said Blue-chin: 'I never forget a face.' 'Par nobile,' +sneered the angler quietly.' In the year '45, eh—go on.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir; he slept in the "Pied Horse," at Newmarket, and was in all the +fun. Next day he broke his arm badly, and slept there in the closet off +Mr. Beauclerc's room that night under laudanum, and remained ten days +longer in the house. Mr. Beauclerc's chamber was the "flower de luce." +Barnabus Sturk, Esq. When I saw him here, half the length of the street +away, I knew him and his name on the instant. I never forget things.'</p> + +<p>'But he don't remember you?'</p> + +<p>'No,' smiled Blue-chin, looking at the float also.</p> + +<p>'Two-and-twenty-years. How came it he was not summoned?'</p> + +<p>'He was under laudanum, and could tell nothing.'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' said the spectacles, 'ay,' and he let out some more line. 'That's +deep.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir, a soldier was drownded in that hole.'</p> + +<p>'And Dr. Toole and Mr. Nutter don't love him—both brisk fellows, and +have fought.'</p> + +<p>Blue-chin smiled on.</p> + +<p>'Very clever dog—needs be sharp though, or he'll come to—ha!' and a +gray trout came splashing and flickering along the top of the water upon +the hook, and Irons placed the net in Dangerfield's outstretched hand, +and the troutling was landed, to the distant music of 'God save the +King,' borne faintly on the air, by which the reader perceives that the +band were now about to put up their instruments, and the gay folk to +disperse. And at the same moment, Lord Castlemallard was doing old +General Chattesworth the honour to lean upon his arm, as they walked to +and fro upon the parade-ground by the river's bank, and the general +looked particularly grand and thoughtful, and my lord was more than +usually gracious and impressive, and was saying:—</p> + +<p>''Tis a good match every way: he has good blood in his veins, Sir, the +Dangerfields of Redminster; and you may suppose he's rich, when he was +ready to advance Sir Sedley Hicks thirty-five thousand pounds on +mortgage, and to my certain knowledge has nearly as much more out on +good securities; and he's the most principled man I think I ever met +with, and the cleverest dog, I believe, in these kingdoms; and I wish +you joy, General Chattesworth.'</p> + +<p>And he gave the general snuff out of his box, and shook hands, and said +something very good, as he got into his carriage,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> for he laughed a good +deal, and touched the general's ribs with the point of his gloved +finger; and the general laughed too, moderately, and was instantaneously +grave again, when the carriage whirled away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h4>SHOWING HOW POOR MRS. MACNAMARA WAS TROUBLED AND HAUNTED TOO, AND +OPENING A BUDGET OF GOSSIP.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div><p>ome score pages back, when we were all assembled at the King's House, +my reader, perhaps, may not have missed our fat and consequential, but +on the whole, good-natured acquaintance, Mrs. Macnamara; though, now I +remember, he <i>did</i> overhear the gentle Magnolia, in that little colloquy +in which she and Aunt Becky exchanged compliments, say, in substance, +that she hoped that amiable parent might be better next day. She was not +there, she was not well. Of late Mrs. Macnamara had lost all her pluck, +and half her colour, and some even of her fat. She was like one of those +portly dowagers in Numbernip's select society of metamorphosed turnips, +who suddenly exhibited sympathetic symptoms of failure, grew yellow, +flabby, and wrinkled, as the parent bulb withered and went out of +season. You would not have known her for the same woman.</p> + +<p>A tall, pale female, dressed in black satin and a black velvet riding +hood, had made her two visits in a hackney-coach; but whether these had +any connexion with the melancholy change referred to, I don't, at this +moment, say. I know that they had a very serious bearing upon after +events affecting persons who figure in this true history. Whatever her +grief was she could not bring herself to tell it. And so her damask +cheek, and portly form, and rollicking animal spirits continued to +suffer.</p> + +<p>The major found that her mind wandered at piquet. Toole also caught her +thinking of something else in the midst of his best bits of local +scandal; and Magnolia several times popped in upon her large mother in +tears. Once or twice Toole thought, and he was right, that she was on +the point of making a disclosure. But her heart failed her, and it came +to nothing. The little fellow's curiosity was on fire. In his philosophy +there was more in everything than met the eye, and he would not believe +Magnolia, who laughed at him, that she did not know all about it.</p> + +<p>On this present morning poor Mrs. Macnamara had received a note, at +which she grew pale as the large pat of butter before her, and she felt +quite sick as she thrust the paper into her pocket, and tried to smile +across the breakfast table at Magnolia,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> who was rattling away as usual, +and the old major who was chuckling at her impudent mischief over his +buttered toast and tea.</p> + +<p>'Why, mother dear,' cried Mag suddenly, 'what the plague ails your +pretty face? Did you ever see the like? It's for all the world like a +bad batter pudding! I lay a crown, now, that was a bill. Was it a bill? +Come now, Mullikins (a term of endearment for mother). Show us the note. +It is too bad, you poor dear, old, handsome, bothered angel, you should +be fretted and tormented out of your looks and your health, by them +dirty shopkeepers' bills, when a five-pound note, I'm certain sure, 'id +pay every mothers skin o' them, and change to spare!' And the elegant +Magnolia, whose soiclainet and Norwich crape petticoat were unpaid for, +darted a glance of reproach full upon the major's powdered head, the top +of which was cleverly presented to receive it, as he swallowed in haste +his cup of tea, and rising suddenly, for his purse had lately suffered +in the service of the ladies, and wanted rest—</p> + +<p>'Tis nothing at all but that confounded egg,' he said, raising that +untasted delicacy a little towards his nose. 'Why the divil will you go +on buying our eggs from that dirty old sinner, Poll Delany?' And he +dropped it from its cup plump into the slop-basin.</p> + +<p>'A then maybe it was,' said poor Mrs. Mac, smiling as well as she could; +'but I'm better.'</p> + +<p>'No you're not, Mullikins,' interposed Magnolia impatiently. 'There's +Toole crossing the street, will I call him up?'</p> + +<p>'Not for the world, Maggy darling. I'd have to pay him, and where's the +money to come from?'</p> + +<p>The major did not hear, and was coughing besides; and recollecting that +he had a word for the adjutant's ear, took his sword off the peg where +it hung, and his cocked hat, and vanished in a twinkling.</p> + +<p>'Pay Toole, indeed! nonsense, mother,' and up went the window.</p> + +<p>'Good-morrow to your nightcap, doctor!'</p> + +<p>'And the top of the morning to you, my pretty Miss chattering Mag, up on +your perch there,' responded the physician.</p> + +<p>'And what in the world brings you out this way at breakfast time, and +where are you going?—Oh! goosey, goosey gander, where do you wander?'</p> + +<p>'Up stairs, if you let me,' said Toole, with a flourish of his hand, and +a gallant grin, 'and to my lady's chamber.'</p> + +<p>'And did you hear the news?' demanded Miss Mag.</p> + +<p>The doctor glanced over his shoulder, and seeing the coast clear, he was +by this time close under the little scarlet geranium pots that stood on +the window-sill.</p> + +<p>'Miss Chattesworth, eh?' he asked, in a sly, low tone.</p> + +<p>'Oh, bother her, no. Do you remember Miss Anne Marjoribanks, that lodged +in Doyle's house, down there, near the mills,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> last summer, with her +mother, the fat woman with the poodle, and the—don't you know?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, ay; she wore a flowered silk tabby sacque, on band days,' said +Toole, who had an eye and a corner in his memory for female costume, 'a +fine showy—I remember.' 'Well, middling: that's she.'</p> + +<p>'And what of her?' asked Toole, screwing himself up as close as he could +to the flower-pots.</p> + +<p>'Come up and I'll tell you,' and she shut down the window and beckoned +him slily, and up came Toole all alive.</p> + +<p>Miss Magnolia told her story in her usual animated way, sometimes +dropping her voice to a whisper, and taking Toole by the collar, +sometimes rising to a rollicking roar of laughter, while the little +doctor stood by, his hands in his breeches' pockets, making a pleasant +jingle with his loose change there, with open mouth and staring eyes, +and a sort of breathless grin all over his ruddy face. Then came another +story, and more chuckling.</p> + +<p>'And what about that lanky long may-pole, Gerty Chattesworth, the +witch?—not that anyone cares tuppence if she rode on a broom to sweep +the cobwebs off the moon, only a body may as well know, you know,' said +Miss Mag, preparing to listen.</p> + +<p>'Why, by Jupiter! they say—but d'ye mind, I don't know, and faith I +don't believe it—but they do say she's going to be married to—who do +you think now?' answered Toole.</p> + +<p>'Old Colonel Bligh, of the Magazine, or Dr. Walsingham, may be,' cried +Mag, with a burst of laughter; 'no young fellow would be plagued with +her, I'm certain.'</p> + +<p>'Well, ha, ha! you <i>are</i> a conjuror, Miss Mag, to be sure. He's <i>not</i> +young—you're right there—but then, he's rich, he is, by Jove! there's +no end of his—well, what do you say now to Mr. Dangerfield?'</p> + +<p>'Dangerfield! Well' (after a little pause), 'he's ugly enough and old +enough too, for the matter of that; but he's as rich as a pork-pie; and +if he's worth half what they say, you may take my word for it, when he +goes to church it won't be to marry the steeple.'</p> + +<p>And she laughed again scornfully and added—</p> + +<p>''Twas plain enough from the first, the whole family laid themselves out +to catch the old quiz and his money. Let the Chattesworths alone for +scheming, with all their grand airs. Much I mind them! Why, the old +sinner was not an hour in the town when he was asked over the way to +Belmont, and Miss dressed out there like a puppet, to simper and flatter +the rich old land agent, and butter him up—my Lord Castlemallard's +bailiff—if you please, ha, ha, ha! and the Duchess of Belmont, that +ballyrags every one round her, like a tipsy old soldier, as civil as +six, my dear Sir, with her "Oh, Mr. Dangerfield, this,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> and her "Dear +Mr. Dangerfield, that," and all to marry that long, sly hussy to a +creature old enough to be her grandfather, though she's no chicken +neither. Faugh! filthy!' and Miss Magnolia went through an elegant +pantomime of spitting over her shoulder into the grate.</p> + +<p>Toole thought there was but one old fellow of his acquaintance who might +be creditably married by a girl young enough to be his granddaughter, +and that was honest Arthur Slowe; and he was going to insinuate a joke +of the sort; but perceiving that his sly preparatory glance was not +pleasantly responded to, and that the stalworth nymph was quite in +earnest, he went off to another topic.</p> + +<p>The fact is that Toole knew something of Miss Mag's plans, as he did of +most of the neighbours' beside. Old Slowe was, in certain preponderating +respects, much to be preferred to the stalworth fireworker, Mr. +Lieutenant O'Flaherty. And the two gentlemen were upon her list. Two +strings to a bow is a time-honoured provision. Cupid often goes so +furnished. If the first snap at the critical moment, should we +bow-string our precious throttles with the pieces? Far be it from us! +Let us waste no time in looking foolish; but pick up the gray-goose +shaft that lies so innocently at our feet among the daisies; and it's +odds but the second plants it i' the clout.' The lover, the hero of the +piece, upon whose requited passion and splendid settlements the curtain +goes down, is a <i>role</i> not always safely to be confided to the genius +and discretion of a single performer. Take it that the captivating +Frederick Belville, who is announced for the part, is, along with his +other qualifications, his gallantry, his grace, his ringlets, his +pathetic smile, his lustrous eyes, his plaintive tenor, and +five-and-twenty years—a little bit of a rip—rather frail in the +particular of brandy and water, and so, not quite reliable. Will not the +prudent manager provide a substitute respectably to fill the part, in +the sad event of one of those sudden indispositions to which Belville is +but too liable! It may be somewhat 'fat and scant of breath,' ay, and +scant of hair and of teeth too. But though he has played Romeo thirty +years ago, the perruquier, and the dentist, and the rouge-pot, and the +friendly glare of the foot-lights will do wonders; and Podgers—steady +fellow!—will be always at the right wing, at the right moment, know +every line of his author, and contrive to give a very reasonable amount +of satisfaction to all parties concerned. Following this precedent, +then, that wise virgin, Miss Magnolia, and her sagacious mamma, had +allotted the role in question to Arthur Slowe, who was the better +furnished for the part, and, on the whole, the stronger 'cast.' But +failing him, Lieutenant O'Flaherty was quietly, but unconsciously, as +the phrase is,'under-studying' that somewhat uncertain gentleman.</p> + +<p>'And the general's off to Scarborough,' said Toole.</p> + +<p>'Old Chattesworth! I thought it was to Bath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, no, Scarborough; a touch of the old rheum, and stomach I sent him +there; and he's away in the Hillsborough packet for Holyhead this +morning, and Colonel Stafford's left in command.'</p> + +<p>'And my Lady Becky Belmont's superseded,' laughed Miss Magnolia, +derisively.</p> + +<p>'And who do you think's going to make the grand tour? from Paris to +Naples, if you please, and from Naples to Rome, and up to Venice, and +home through Germany, and deuce knows where beside; you'll not guess in +a twel'month,' said Toole, watching her with a chuckle.</p> + +<p>'Devereux, maybe,' guessed the young lady.</p> + +<p>'No 'tisn't,' said Toole, delighted; 'try again!'</p> + +<p>'Well, 'tis, let me see. Some wild young rogue, with a plenty of money, +I warrant, if I could only think of him—come, don't keep me all +day—who the plague is he, Toole?' urged the young lady, testily.</p> + +<p>'Dan Loftus,' answered Toole, 'ha, ha, ha, ha!'</p> + +<p>'Dan Loftus!—the grand tour—why, where's the world running to? Oh, ho, +ho, ho, hoo! what a macaroni!' and they laughed heartily over it, and +called him 'travelled monkey,' and I know not what else.</p> + +<p>'Why, I thought Dr. Walsingham designed him for his curate; but what in +the wide world brings Dan Loftus to foreign parts—"To dance and sing +for the Spanish King, and to sing and dance for the Queen of France?"'</p> + +<p>'Hey! Dan's got a good place, I can tell you—travelling tutor to the +hopeful young lord that is to be—Devereux's cousin. By all the Graces, +Ma'am, 'tis the blind leading the blind. I don't know which of the two +is craziest. Hey, diddle-diddle—by Jupiter, such a pair—the dish ran +away with the spoon; but Dan's a good creature, and we'll—we'll miss +him. I like Dan, and he loves the rector—I like him for that; where +there's gratitude and fidelity, Miss Mag, there's no lack of other +virtues, I warrant you—and the good doctor has been a wonderful loving +friend to poor Dan, and God bless him for it, say I, and amen.'</p> + +<p>'And amen with all my heart,' said Miss Mag, gaily; ''tis an innocent +creature—poor Dan; though he'd be none the worse of a little more lace +to his hat, and a little less Latin in his head. But see here, doctor, +here's my poor old goose of a mother (and she kissed her cheek) as sick +as a cat in a tub.'</p> + +<p>And she whispered something in Toole's wig, and they both laughed +uproariously.</p> + +<p>'I would not take five guineas and tell you what she says,' cried Toole.</p> + +<p>'Don't mind the old blackguard, mother dear!' screamed Magnolia, dealing +Æsculapius a lusty slap on the back; and the cook at that moment +knocking at the door, called off the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> young lady to the larder, who +cried over her shoulder as she lingered a moment at the door—'Now, send +her something, Toole, for my sake, to do her poor heart good. Do you +mind—for faith and troth the dear old soul is sick and sad; and I won't +let that brute, Sturk, though he does wear our uniform, next or near +her.'</p> + +<p>'Well, 'tisn't for me to say, eh?—and now she's gone,—just let me +try.' And he took her pulse.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING A CERTAIN WOMAN IN BLACK.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>nd Toole, holding her stout wrist, felt her pulse and said—'Hem—I +see—and—'</p> + +<p>And so he ran on with half-a-dozen questions, and at the end of his +catechism said, bluntly enough—</p> + +<p>'I tell you what it is, Mrs. Mack, you have something on your mind, my +dear Madam, and till it's off, you'll never be better.'</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Mack opened her eyes, and made a gesture of amazed disclaimer, +with her hands palm upwards. It was all affectation.</p> + +<p>'Pish!' said Toole, who saw the secret almost in his grasp; 'don't tell +me, my dear Madam—don't you think I know my business by this time o' +day? I tell you again you'd better ease your mind—or take my word for +it you'll be sorry too late. How would you like to go off like poor old +Peggy Slowe—eh? There's more paralysis, apoplexy, heart-diseases, and +lunacy, caused in one year by that sort of silly secrecy and moping, +than by—hang it! My dear Madam,' urged Toole, breaking into a bold +exhortation on seeing signs of confusion and yielding in his fat +patient—'you'd tell me all that concerns your health, and know that Tom +Toole would put his hand in the fire before he'd let a living soul hear +a symptom of your case; and here's some paltry little folly or trouble +that I would not—as I'm a gentleman—give a half-penny to hear, and +you're afraid to tell me—though until you do, neither I, nor all the +doctors in Europe, can do you a ha'porth o' good.'</p> + +<p>'Sure I've nothing to tell, doctor dear,' whimpered poor Mrs. Mack, +dissolving into her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>'Look ye—there's no use in trying to deceive a doctor that knows what +he's about.' Toole was by this time half mad with curiosity. 'Don't tell +me what's on your mind, though I'd be sorry you thought I wasn't ready +and anxious, to help you with my best and most secret services; but I +confess, my dear Ma'am, I'd rather not hear—reserve it for some friend +who has your confidence—but 'tis plain from the condition you're +in'—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> Toole closed his lips hard, and nodded twice or thrice—'you +have not told either the major or your daughter; and tell it you must to +<i>some</i> one, or take the consequences.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! Dr. Toole, I <i>am</i> in trouble—and I'd like to tell you; but won't +you—won't you promise me now, on your solemn honour, if I do, you won't +tell a human being?' blubbered the poor matron.</p> + +<p>'Conscience, honour, veracity, Ma'am—but why should I say any +more—don't you know me, my dear Mrs. Mack?' said Toole in a hot fidget, +and with all the persuasion of which he was master.</p> + +<p>'Indeed, I do—and I'm in great trouble—and sometimes think no one can +take me out of it,' pursued she.</p> + +<p>'Come, come, my dear Madam, is it money?' demanded Toole.</p> + +<p>'Oh! no—it's—'tis a dreadful—that is, there <i>is</i> money in it—but oh! +dear Doctor Toole, there's a frightful woman, and I don't know what to +do: and I sometimes thought you might be able to help me—you're so +clever—and I was going to tell you, but I was ashamed—there now, it's +out,' and she blubbered aloud.</p> + +<p>'<i>What's</i> out?' said Toole, irritated. 'I can't stop here all day, you +know; and if you'd rather I'd go, say so.'</p> + +<p>'Oh no, but the major, nor Maggy does not know a word about it; and so, +for your life, don't tell them; and—and—here it is.'</p> + +<p>And from her pocket she produced a number of the <i>Freeman's Journal</i>, +five or six weeks old and a great deal soiled.</p> + +<p>'Read it, read it, doctor dear, and you'll see.'</p> + +<p>'Read all this! thank you, Ma'am; I read it a month ago,' said the +doctor gruffly.</p> + +<p>'Oh! no—this—only there—you see—<i>here</i>,' and she indicated a +particular advertisement, which we here reprint for the reader's +instruction; and thus it ran—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Mary Matchwell's</span> most humble Respects attend the Nobility +and Gentry. She has the Honour to acquaint them that she transacts +all Business relative to Courtship and Marriage, with the utmost +Dispatch and Punctuality. She has, at a considerable Expense, +procured a complete List of all the unmarried Persons of both Sexes +in this Kingdom, with an exact Account of their Characters, +Fortunes, Ages, and Persons. Any Lady or Gentleman, by sending a +Description of the Husband or Wife they would chuse, shall be +informed where such a One is to be had, and put in a Method for +obtaining him, or her, in the speediest Manner, and at the smallest +Expense. Mrs. Matchwell's Charges being always proportioned to the +Fortunes of the Parties, and not to be paid till the Marriage takes +place. She hopes the Honour and Secrecy she will observe in her +Dealings, will encourage an unfortunate Woman, who hath experienced +the greatest Vicissitudes of Life, as will be seen in her Memoirs, +which are shortly to be published under the Title of 'Fortune's +Football.' All Letters directed to M. M., and sent Post paid to the +Office where this Paper is published, shall be answered with +Care."'</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>'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.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 £37 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.'</p> + +<p>'To find a husband for Mag, eh?' said Toole.</p> + +<p>'No, no. Oh, Dr. Toole, 'twas—'twas for <i>me</i>,' 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.</p> + +<p>'Well, my dear Madam, and where's the great harm in that, when all's +done?' said Toole.</p> + +<p>'Oh, doctor, I had the unpardonable <i>wake</i>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.</p> + +<p>'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?'</p> + +<p>'I don't know—what can I do? She got the £5 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 £3 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 implor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>ingly to his face, and her good-natured old features +were quivering all over with tribulation.</p> + +<p>'And Mag knows nothing of all this?' said Toole.</p> + +<p>'Oh, not for the wide world,' whispered the matron, in great alarm. +'Whisht! is that her coming?'</p> + +<p>'No; there she is across the street talking to Mrs. Nutter. Listen to +me: I'll manage that lady, Mrs. Mary—what's her name?—Matchwell. I'll +take her in hands, and—whisper now.'</p> + +<p>So Toole entered into details, and completed an officious little +conspiracy; and the upshot of it was that Mrs. Mack, whenever M. M. fixed +a day for her next extortionate visit, was to apprise the doctor, who +was to keep in the way; and, when she arrived, the good lady was just to +send across to him for some 'peppermint drops,' upon which hint Toole +himself would come slily over, and place himself behind the arras in the +bed-room, whither, for greater seclusion and secrecy, she was to conduct +the redoubted Mary Matchwell, who was thus to be overheard, and taken by +the clever doctor in the act; and then and there frightened not only +into a surrender of the documents, but of the money she had already +extracted, and compelled to sign such a confession of her guilt as would +effectually turn the tables, and place her at the mercy of the once more +happy Macnamara.</p> + +<p>The doctor was so confident, and the scheme, to the sanguine Celtic +imagination of the worthy matron, appeared so facile of execution and +infallible of success, that I believe she would at that moment have +embraced, and even kissed, little Toole, in the exuberance of her +gratitude, had that learned physician cared for such fooleries.</p> + +<p>The fact is, however, that neither the doctor nor his patient quite +understood Mrs. Matchwell or her powers, nor had the least inkling of +the marvellous designs that were ripening in her brain, and involving +the fate of more than one of the good easy people of Chapelizod, against +whom nobody dreamed a thunderbolt was forging.</p> + +<p>So the doctor, being a discreet man, only shook her cordially by the +hand, at his departure, patting her encouragingly at the same time, on +her fat shoulder, and with a sly grin and a wink, and a wag of his +head—offering to 'lay fifty,' that between them 'they'd be too hard for +the witch.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h4>BEING A SHORT HISTORY OF THE GREAT BATTLE OF BELMONT THAT LASTED FOR SO +MANY DAYS, WHEREIN THE BELLIGERENTS SHOWED SO MUCH CONSTANCY AND VALOUR, +AND SOMETIMES ONE SIDE AND SOMETIMES T'OTHER WAS VICTORIOUS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div><p>o jolly old General Chattesworth was away to Scarborough, and matters +went by no means pleasantly at Belmont; for there was strife between the +ladies. Dangerfield—cunning fellow—went first to Aunt Becky with his +proposal; and Aunt Becky liked it—determined it should prosper, and +took up and conducted the case with all her intimidating energy and +ferocity. But Gertrude's character had begun to show itself of late in +new and marvellous lights, and she fought her aunt with cool, but +invincible courage; and why should she marry, and above all, why marry +that horrid, grim old gentleman, Mr. Dangerfield. No, she had money +enough of her own to walk through life in maiden meditation, fancy free, +without being beholden to anybody for a sixpence. Why, Aunt Rebecca +herself had never married, and was she not all the happier of her +freedom? Aunt Rebecca tried before the general went away, to inflame and +stir him up upon the subject. But he had no capacity for coercion. She +almost regretted she had made him so very docile. He would leave the +matter altogether to his daughter. So Aunt Rebecca, as usual, took, as +we have said, the carriage of the proceedings.</p> + +<p>Since the grand eclaircissement had taken place between Mervyn and +Gertrude Chattesworth, they met with as slight and formal a recognition +as was possible, consistently with courtesy. Puddock had now little to +trouble him upon a topic which had once cost him some uneasiness, and +Mervyn acquiesced serenely in the existing state of things, and seemed +disposed to be 'sweet upon' pretty Lilias Walsingham, if that young lady +had allowed it; but her father had dropped hints about his history and +belongings which surrounded him in her eyes with a sort of chill and +dismal halo. There was something funeste and mysterious even in his +beauty; and her spirits faltered and sank in his presence. Something of +the same unpleasant influence, too, or was it fancy, she thought his +approach seemed now to exercise upon Gertrude also, and that she, too, +was unaccountably chilled and darkened by his handsome, but ill-omened +presence.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky was not a woman to be soon tired, or even daunted. The young +lady's resistance put her upon her mettle, and she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> was all the more +determined, that she suspected her niece had some secret motive for +rejecting a partner in some respects so desirable.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, it is true, Gertrude's resistance flagged; but this was only +the temporary acquiescence of fatigue, and the battle was renewed with +the old spirit on the next occasion, and was all to be fought over +again. At breakfast there was generally, as I may say, an affair of +picquets, and through the day a dropping fire, sometimes rising to a +skirmish; but the social meal of supper was generally the period when, +for the most part, these desultory hostilities blazed up into a general +action. The fortune of war as usual shifted. Sometimes Gertrude left the +parlour and effected a retreat to her bed-room. Sometimes it was Aunt +Rebecca's turn to slam the door, and leave the field to her adversary. +Sometimes, indeed, Aunt Becky thought she had actually finished the +exhausting campaign, when her artillery had flamed and thundered over +the prostrate enemy for a full half hour unanswered; but when, at the +close of the cannonade she marched up, with drums beating and colours +flying, to occupy the position and fortify her victory, she found, much +to her mortification, that the foe had only, as it were, lain down to +let her shrapnels and canister fly over, and the advance was arrested +with the old volley and hurrah. And there they were—not an inch +gained—peppering away at one another as briskly as ever, with the work +to begin all over again.</p> + +<p>'You think I have neither eyes nor understanding; but I can see, young +lady, as well as another; ay, Madam, I've eyes, and some experience too, +and 'tis my simple duty to my brother, and to the name I bear, not to +mention <i>you</i>, niece, to prevent, if my influence or authority can do +it, the commission of a folly which, I can't but suspect, may possibly +be meditated, and which, even you, niece, would live very quickly to +repent.'</p> + +<p>Gertrude did not answer; she only looked a little doubtfully at her +aunt, with a gaze of deep, uneasy enquiry. That sort of insinuation +seemed to disconcert her. But she did not challenge her aunt to define +her meaning, and the attack was soon renewed at another point.</p> + +<p>When Gertrude walked down to the town, to the King's House, or even to +see Lily, at this side of the bridge, Dominick, the footman, was ordered +to trudge after her—a sort of state she had never used in her little +neighbourly rambles—and Gertrude knew that her aunt catechised that +confidential retainer daily. Under this sort of management, the haughty +girl winced and fretted, and finally sulked, grew taciturn and +sarcastic, and shut herself up altogether within the precincts of +Belmont.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h4>NARRATING HOW LIEUTENANT PUDDOCK AND CAPTAIN DEVEREUX BREWED A BOWL OF +PUNCH, AND HOW THEY SANG AND DISCOURSED TOGETHER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>f people would only be content with that which is, let well alone, and +allow to-day to resemble yesterday and to-morrow to day, the human race +would be much fatter at no greater cost, and sleep remarkably well. But +so it is that the soul of man can no more rest here than the sea or the +wind. We are always plotting against our own repose, and as no man can +stir in a crowd without disturbing others, it happens that even the +quietest fellows are forced to fight for their <i>status quo</i>, and +sometimes, though they would not move a finger or sacrifice a button for +the chance of 'getting on,' are sulkily compelled to cut capers like the +rest. Nature will have it so, and has no end of resources, and will not +suffer even the sluggish to sit still, but if nothing else will do, pins +a cracker to their skirts, in the shape of a tender passion, or some +other whim, and so sets them bouncing in their own obese and clumsy way, +to the trouble of others as well as their own discomfort. It is a hard +thing, but so it is; the comfort of absolute stagnation is nowhere +permitted us. And such, so multifarious and intricate our own mutual +dependencies, that it is next to impossible to marry a wife, or to take +a house for the summer at Brighton, or to accomplish any other entirely +simple, good-humoured, and selfish act without affecting, not only the +comforts, but the reciprocal relations of dozens of other respectable +persons who appear to have nothing on earth to say to us or our +concerns. In this respect, indeed, society resembles a pyramid of +potatoes, in which you cannot stir one without setting others, in +unexpected places, also in motion. Thus it was, upon very slight +motives, the relations of people in the little world of Chapelizod began +to shift and change considerably, and very few persons made a decided +move of any sort without affecting or upsetting one or more of his +neighbours.</p> + +<p>Among other persons unexpectedly disturbed just now was our friend +Captain Devereux. The letter reached him at night. Little Puddock walked +to his lodgings with him from the club, where he had just given a +thplendid rethitation from Shakespeare, and was, as usual after such +efforts, in a high state of excitement, and lectured his companion, for +whom, by-the-bye, he cherished a boyish admiration, heightened very +considerably by his not quite understanding him, upon the extraordinary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +dramatic capabilities and versatilities of Shakespeare's plays, which, +he said, were not half comprehended.</p> + +<p>'It was only on Tuesday—the night, you know, I fired the pistol at the +robbers, near the dog-house, through the coach window, returning all +alone from Smock-alley Theatre. I was thinking, upon my honour, if I had +your parts, my dear Devereux, and could write, as I know you can, I'd +make a variation upon every play of Shakespeare, that should be strictly +moulded upon it, and yet in no respect recognisable.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, like those Irish airs that will produce tears or laughter, as they +are played slow or quick; or minced veal, my dear Puddock, which the +cook can dress either savoury or sweet at pleasure; or Aunt Rebecca, +that produces such different emotions in her different moods, and +according to our different ways of handling her, is scarce recognisable +in some of them, though still the same Aunt Becky,' answered Devereux, +knocking at Irons' door.</p> + +<p>'No, but seriously, by sometimes changing an old person to a young, +sometimes a comical to a melancholy, or the reverse, sometimes a male +for a female, or a female for a male—I assure you, you can so entirely +disguise the piece, and yet produce situations so new and +surprising——.'</p> + +<p>'I see, by all the gods at once, 'tis an immortal idea! Let's take +Othello—I'll set about it to-morrow—to-night, by Jove! A gay young +Venetian nobleman, of singular beauty, charmed by her tales of +"anthropophagites and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," +is seduced from his father's house, and married by a middle-aged, +somewhat hard-featured black woman, Juno, or Dido, who takes him +away—not to Cyprus—we must be original, but we'll suppose to the +island of Stromboli—and you can have an eruption firing away during the +last act. There Dido grows jealous of our hero, though he's as innocent +as Joseph; and while his valet is putting him to bed he'll talk to him +and prattle some plaintive little tale how his father had a man called +Barbarus. And then, all being prepared, and his bed-room candle put out, +Dido enters, looking unusually grim, and smothers him with a pillow in +spite of his cries and affecting entreaties, and—— By Jupiter! here's +a letter from Bath, too.'</p> + +<p>He had lighted the candles, and the letter with its great red eye of a +seal, lying upon the table, transfixed his wandering glance, and smote +somehow to his heart with an indefinite suspense and misgiving.</p> + +<p>'With your permission, my dear Puddock?' said Devereux, before breaking +the seal; for in those days they grew ceremonious the moment a point of +etiquette turned up. Puddock gave him leave, and he read the letter.</p> + +<p>'From my aunt,' he said, throwing it down with a discontented air; and +then he read it once more, thought for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> while, and put it into his +pocket. 'The countess says I must go, Puddock. She has got my leave from +the general; and hang it—there's no help for it—I can't vex her, you +know. Indeed, Puddock, I <i>would</i> not vex her. Poor old aunt—she has +been mighty kind to me—no one knows how kind. So I leave to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>'Not to stay away!' exclaimed Puddock, much concerned.</p> + +<p>'I don't know, dear Puddock. I know no more than the man in the moon +what her plans are. Lewis, you know, is ordered by the doctors to +Malaga; and Loftus—honest dog—I managed that trifle for him—goes with +him; and the poor old lady, I suppose, is in the vapours, and wants +me—and that's all. And Puddock, we must drink a bowl of punch +together—you and I—or something—anything—what you please.'</p> + +<p>And so they sat some time longer, and grew very merry and friendly, and +a little bit pathetic in their several ways. And Puddock divulged his +secret but noble flame for Gertrude Chattesworth, and Devereux sang a +song or two, defying fortune, in his sweet, sad tenor; and the nymph who +skipt up and down stairs with the kettle grew sleepy at last; and Mrs. +Irons rebelled in her bed, and refused peremptorily to get up again, to +furnish the musical topers with rum and lemons, and Puddock, having +studied his watch—I'm bound to say with a slight hiccough and +supernatural solemnity—for about five minutes, satisfied himself it was +nearly one o'clock, and took an affecting, though soldier-like leave of +his comrade, who, however, lent him his arm down the stairs, which were +rather steep; and having with difficulty dissuaded him from walking into +the clock, the door of which was ajar, thought it his duty to see the +gallant little lieutenant home to his lodgings; and so in the morning +good little Puddock's head ached. He had gone to bed with his waistcoat +and leggings on—and his watch was missing and despaired of, till +discovered, together with a lemon, in the pocket of his surtout, hanging +against the wall; and a variety of other strange arrangements came to +light, with not one of which could Puddock connect himself.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he was 'dithguthted' at his condition; and if upon the occasion +just described he had allowed himself to be somewhat 'intoxicated with +liquor,' I must aver that I do not recollect another instance in which +this worthy little gentleman suffered himself to be similarly overtaken. +Now and then a little 'flashy' he might be, but nothing more +serious—and rely upon it, this was no common virtue in those days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH CAPTAIN DEVEREUX'S FIDDLE PLAYS A PRELUDE TO 'OVER THE HILLS +AND FAR AWAY.'</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>here was some little undefinable coolness between old General +Chattesworth and Devereux. He admired the young fellow, and he liked +good blood in his corps, but somehow he was glad when he thought he was +likely to go. When old Bligh, of the Magazine, commended the handsome +young dog's good looks, the general would grow grave all at once, and +sniff once or twice, and say, 'Yes, a good-looking fellow certainly, and +might make a good officer, a mighty good officer, but he's wild, a +troublesome dog.' And, lowering his voice, 'I tell you what, colonel, as +long as a young buck sticks to his claret, it is all fair; but hang it, +you see, I'm afraid he likes other things, and he won't wait till after +dinner—this between ourselves, you know. 'Tis not a button to me, by +Jupiter, what he does or drinks, off duty; but hang it, I'm afraid some +day he'll break out; and once or twice in a friendly way, you know, I've +had to speak with him, and, to say truth, I'd rather he served under +anyone else. He's a fine fellow, 'tis a pity there should be anything +wrong, and it would half break my heart to have to take a public course +with him; not, you know, that it has ever come to anything like +that—but—but I've heard things—and—and he must pull up, or he'll not +do for the service.' So, though the thing did not amount to a scandal, +there was a formality between Devereux and his commanding officer, who +thought he saw bad habits growing apace, and apprehended that ere long +disagreeable relations might arise between them.</p> + +<p>Lord Athenry had been no friend to Devereux in his nonage, and the +good-natured countess, to make amends, had always done her utmost to +spoil him, and given him a great deal more of his own way, as well as of +plum-cake, and Jamaica preserves, and afterwards a great deal more +money, than was altogether good for him. Like many a worse person, she +was a little bit capricious, and a good deal selfish; but the young +fellow was handsome. She was proud of his singularly good looks, and his +wickedness interested her, and she gave him more money than to all the +best public charities to which she contributed put together. Devereux, +indeed, being a fast man, with such acres as he inherited, which +certainly did not reach a thousand, mortgaged pretty smartly, and with +as much personal debt beside, of the fashionable and refined sort, as +became a young buck of bright though doubtful expectations—and if the +truth must be owned, sometimes pretty nearly pushed into a corner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>—was +beholden, not only for his fun, but, occasionally for his daily bread +and even his liberty, to those benevolent doles.</p> + +<p>He did not like her peremptory summons; but he could not afford to +quarrel with his bread and butter, nor to kill by undutiful behaviour +the fair, plump bird whose golden eggs were so very convenient. I don't +know whether there may not have been some slight sign in the +handwriting—in a phrase, perhaps, or in the structure of the +composition, which a clever analysis might have detected, and which only +reached him vaguely, with a foreboding that he was not to see Chapelizod +again so soon as usual when this trip was made. And, in truth, his aunt +had plans. She designed his retirement from the Royal Irish Artillery, +and had negociated an immediate berth for him on the Staff of the +Commander of the Forces, and a prospective one in the household of Lord +Townshend; she had another arrangement 'on the anvil' for a seat in +Parliament, which she would accomplish, if that were possible; and +finally a wife. In fact her ladyship had encountered old General +Chattesworth at Scarborough only the autumn before, and they had had, in +that gay resort, a good deal of serious talk (though serious talk with +the good countess never lasted very long), between their cards and other +recreations, the result of which was, that she began to think, with the +good general, that Devereux would be better where one unlucky +misadventure would not sully his reputation for life. Besides, she +thought Chapelizod was not safe ground for a young fellow so eccentric, +perverse, and impetuous, where pretty faces were plentier than good +fortunes, and at every tinkling harpsichord there smiled a possible +<i>mesalliance</i>. In the town of Chapelizod itself, indeed, the young +gentleman did not stand quite so high in estimation as with his aunt, +who thought nothing was good or high enough for her handsome nephew, +with his good blood and his fine possibilities. The village folk, +however, knew that he was confoundedly dipped; that he was sometimes +alarmingly pestered by duns, and had got so accustomed to hear that his +uncle, the earl, was in his last sickness, and his cousin, the next +heir, dead, when another week disclosed that neither one nor the other +was a bit worse than usual, that they began to think that Devereux's +turn might very possibly never come at all. Besides, the townspeople had +high notions of some of their belles, and not without reason. There was +Miss Gertrude Chattesworth, for instance, with more than fourteen +thousand pounds to her fortune, and Lilias Walsingham, who would inherit +her mother's money, and the good rector's estate of twelve hundred a +year beside, and both with good blood in their veins, and beautiful +princesses too. However, in those days there was more parental despotism +than now. The old people kept their worldly wisdom to themselves, and +did not take the young into a scheming partnership; and youth and +beauty, I think, were more romantic, and a great deal less venal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Such being the old countess's programme—a plan, according to her +lights, grand and generous, she might have dawdled over it, for a good +while, for she did not love trouble. It was not new; the airy castle had +been some years built, and now, in an unwonted hurry, she wished to +introduce the tenant to the well-aired edifice, and put him in actual +possession. For a queer little attack in her head, which she called a +fainting fit, and to which nobody dared afterwards to make allusion, and +which she had bullied herself and everybody about her into forgetting, +had, nevertheless, frightened her confoundedly. And when her helpless +panic and hysterics were over, she silently resolved, if the thing were +done, then 'twere well 'twere done quickly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH LILIAS HEARS A STAVE OF AN OLD SONG AND THERE IS A LEAVE-TAKING +BESIDE THE RIVER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>evereux's move was very sudden, and the news did not reach the Elms +till his groom had gone on to Island-bridge with the horses, and he +himself, booted and spurred, knocked at the door. The doctor was not at +home; he had ridden into Dublin. Of course it was chiefly to see him he +had gone there.</p> + +<p>'And Miss Walsingham?'</p> + +<p>She was also out; no, not in the garden. John thought maybe at old Miss +Chattesworth's school; or, Sally said, maybe at Belmont; they did not +know.</p> + +<p>Devereux looked into the large room at the right hand of the hall, with +the fair sad portrait of Lilias's young mother smiling, from the wall. +Like <i>her</i>, too—and the tall glasses of flowers—and the harpsichord +open, with the music she would play, just as usual, that evening, he +supposed; and he stood at the door, looking round the room, booted and +spurred, as I have said, with his cocked hat held to his breast, in a +reverie. It was not easy for old Sally to guess what was passing in his +mind, for whenever he was sad he smiled, but with the somewhat of bitter +in his smile, and when he suffered he used to joke.</p> + +<p>Just at that moment Lilias Walsingham was walking along the high street +of the village to the King's House, and stopping to say a good-natured +little word to old Jenny Creswell, was overtaken by mild Mrs. Sturk, who +was walking her little menagerie into the park.</p> + +<p>'And oh! dear Miss Walsingham, did you hear the news? she said; 'Captain +Devereux is gone to England, and I believe we sha'n't see him here +again.'</p> + +<p>Lilias felt that she grew pale, but she patted one of the chil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>dren on +the head, and smiled, and asked him some foolish little question.</p> + +<p>'But why don't you listen, dear Miss Lilias? You don't hear, I think,' +said Mrs. Sturk.</p> + +<p>'I do hear, indeed; when did he go?' she asked, coldly enough.</p> + +<p>'About half an hour ago,' Mrs. Sturk thought: and so, with a word or two +more, and a kissing of hands, the good lady turned, with her brood, up +the park lane, and Lily walked on to pay her visit to Mrs. Colonel +Stafford, feeling all the way a strange pang of anger and +disappointment.</p> + +<p>'To think of his going away without taking leave of my father!'</p> + +<p>And when she reached the hall-door of the King's House for a moment she +forgot what she had come for, and was relieved to find that good Mrs. +Strafford was in town.</p> + +<p>There was then, I don't know whether there is not now, a little path +leading by the river bank from Chapelizod to Island-bridge, just an +angler's footpath, devious and broken, but withal very sweet and pretty. +Leaving the King's House, she took this way home, and as she walked down +to the river bank, the mortified girl looked down upon the grass close +by her feet, and whispered to the daisies as she went along—'No, +there's no more kindness nor friendliness left in the world; the people +are all cold creatures now, and hypocrites; and I'm glad he's gone.'</p> + +<p>She paused at the stile which went over the hedge just beside an old +fluted pier, with a grass-grown urn at top, and overgrown with a +climbing rose-tree, just such a study as a young lady might put in her +album; and then she recollected the long letter from old Miss Wardle +that Aunt Becky had sent her to read, with a request, which from that +quarter was a command, that she should return it by six o'clock, for +Aunt Becky, even in matters indifferent, liked to name hours, and nail +people sharp and hard to futile appointments and barren punctualities.</p> + +<p>She paused at the stile; she liked the old pier; its partner next the +river was in fragments, and the ruin and the survivor had both been +clothed by good Mrs. Strafford—who drew a little, and cultivated the +picturesque—with the roses I have mentioned, besides woodbine and ivy. +She had old Miss Wardle's letter in her hand, full, of course, of +shocking anecdotes about lunatics, and the sufferings of Fleet +prisoners, and all the statistics, and enquiries, and dry little +commissions, with which that worthy lady's correspondence abounded. It +was open in her hand, and rustled sharp and stiffly in the air, but it +was not inviting just then. From that point it was always a pretty look +down or up the river; and her eyes followed with the flow of its waters +towards Inchicore. She loved the river; and in her thoughts she wondered +why she loved it—so cold, so unimpressible—that went shining and +rejoicing away into the sea.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> And just at that moment she heard a sweet +tenor, with a gaiety somehow pathetic, sing not far away the words she +remembered—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'And she smiled upon the stream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like one that smiles at folly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dreamer on a dream.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Devereux was coming—it was his playful salutation. Her large eyes +dropped to the ground with the matchless blush of youth. She was +strangely glad, but vexed at having changed colour; but when he came up +with her, in the deep shadow thrown by the old pier, with its thick +festooneries, he could not tell, he only knew she looked beautiful.</p> + +<p>'My dreams take wing, but my follies will not leave me. And you have +been ill, Miss Lilias?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, nothing; only a little cold.'</p> + +<p>'And I am going—I only knew last night—really going away.' He paused; +but the young lady did not feel called upon to say anything, and only +allowed him to go on. In fact, she was piqued, and did not choose to +show the least concern about his movements. 'And I've a great mind now +that I'm departing this little world,' and he glanced, it seemed to her, +regretfully towards the village, 'to put you down, Miss Lily, if you +will allow it, in my codicil for a legacy——'</p> + +<p>She laughed a pleasant little careless laugh. How ill-natured! but, oh! +wasn't it musical.</p> + +<p>'Then I suppose, if you were not to see me for some time, or maybe for +ever, the village folks won't break their hearts after Dick Devereux?'</p> + +<p>And the gipsy captain smiled, and his eyes threw a soft violet shadow +down upon her; and there was that in his tone which for a moment touched +her with a strange reproach, like a bar of sweet music.</p> + +<p>But little Lily was spirited; and if <i>he</i>, so early a friend, could go +away without bidding good-bye, why he should not suppose <i>she</i> cared.</p> + +<p>'Break our hearts? Not at all, perhaps; but of course I—the parson's +daughter—I should, and old Moore, the barber, and Pat Moran, the +hackney coachman, and Mrs. Irons your fat landlady, you've been so very +good to all of us, you know.'</p> + +<p>'Well,' he interrupted, 'I've left my white surtout to Moran: a hat, let +me see, and a pair of buckles to Moore; and my glass and china to dear +Mrs. Irons.'</p> + +<p>'Hat—buckles—surtout—glass—china—gone! Then it seems to me your +earthly possessions are pretty nearly disposed of, and your worldly +cares at an end.'</p> + +<p>'Yes; very nearly, but not quite,' he laughed. 'I have one treasure +left—my poor monkey; he's a wonderful fellow—he has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> travelled half +over the world, and is a perfect fine gentleman—and my true comrade +until now. Do you think Dr. Walsingham, of his charity, would give the +poor fellow free quarters at the Elms?'</p> + +<p>She was going to make answer with a jest, satirically; but her mood +changed quickly. It was, she thought, saucy of Captain Devereux to fancy +that she should care to have his pet; and she answered a little +gravely—</p> + +<p>'I can't say indeed; had you cared to see him, you might have asked him; +but, indeed, Captain Devereux, I believe you're jesting.'</p> + +<p>'Faith! Madam, I believe I am; or, it does not much matter—dreaming +perhaps. There's our bugle!' And the sweet sounds quivered and soared +through the pleasant air. 'How far away it sounds already; ours are +sweet bugles—the sweetest bugles to my ear in the wide world. Yes, +dreaming. I said I had but one treasure left,' he continued, with a +fierce sort of tenderness that was peculiar to him: 'and I did not mean +to tell you, but I will. Look at that, Miss Lily, 'tis the little rose +you left on your harpsichord this morning. I stole it: 'tis mine; and +Richard Devereux would die rather than lose it to another.'</p> + +<p>So then, after all, he had been at the Elms; and she had wronged him.</p> + +<p>'Yes, dreaming,' he continued, in his old manner; 'and 'tis time I were +awake, awake and on the march.'</p> + +<p>'You are then really going?' she said, so that no one would have guessed +how strangely she felt at that moment.</p> + +<p>'Yes, really going,' he said, quite in his own way; 'Over the hills and +far away; and so, I know, you'll first wish your old friend God speed.'</p> + +<p>'I do, indeed.'</p> + +<p>'And then you'll shake hands, Miss Lily, as in old times.'</p> + +<p>And out came the frank little hand, and he looked on it, with a darkling +smile, as it lay in his own sinewy but slender grasp; and she said with +a smile—'Good-bye.'</p> + +<p>She was frightened lest he should possibly say more than she knew how to +answer.</p> + +<p>'And somehow it seems to me, I have a great deal to say.'</p> + +<p>'And I've a great deal to read, you see;' and she just stirred old Miss +Wardle's letter, that lay open in her hand, with a smile just the least +in the world of comic distress.</p> + +<p>'A great deal,' he said.</p> + +<p>'And farewell, again,' said Lilias.</p> + +<p>'Farewell! dear Miss Lily.'</p> + +<p>And then, he just looked his old strange look upon her; and he went: and +she dropped her eyes upon the letter. He had got into the far meadow, +where the path makes a little turn round the clump of poplars, and hides +itself. Just there he looked over his shoulder, a last look it might be, +the handsome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> strange creature that had made so many of her hours pass +so pleasantly; he that was so saucy with everyone else, and so gentle +with her; of whom, she believed, she might make anything, a hero or a +demigod! She knew a look would call him back—back, maybe, to her feet; +but she could not give that little sign. There she stood, affecting to +read that letter, one word of which she did not see. 'She does not care; +but—but there's no one like her. No—she does not care,' he thought; +and she let him think it: but her heart swelled to her throat, and she +felt as if she could have screamed, 'Come back—my only love—my +darling—without you I must die!' But she did not raise her head. She +only read on, steadily, old Miss Wardle's letter—over and over—the +same half-dozen lines. And when, after five minutes more, she lifted up +her eyes, the hoary poplars were ruffling their thick leaves in the +breeze—and he gone; and the plaintive music came mellowed from the +village, and the village and the world seemed all on a sudden empty for +her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH AUNT BECKY AND DOCTOR TOOLE, IN FULL BLOW, WITH DOMINICK, THE +FOOTMAN, BEHIND THEM, VISIT MISS LILY AT THE ELMS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>fter such leave-takings, especially where something like a revelation +takes place, there sometimes supervenes, I'm told, a sort of excitement +before the chill and ache of separation sets in. So, Lily, when she went +home, found that her music failed her, all but the one strange little +air, 'The river ran between them;' and then she left the harpsichord and +went into the garden through the glass door, but the flowers had only +half their interest, and the garden was solitary, and she felt restless, +as if she were going to make a journey, or looking for strange news; and +then she bethought her again of Mrs. Colonel Stafford, that she might +have by this time returned from Dublin, and there was some little +interest about the good old lady, even in this, that she had just +returned by the same road that he had gone away by, that she might have +chanced to see him as he passed; that at least she might happen to speak +of him, and to know something of the likelihood of his return, or even +to speculate about him; for now any talk in which his name occurred was +interesting, though she did not know it quite herself. So she went down +to the King's House, and did find old Mrs. Stafford at home: and after +an entertaining gossip about some 'rich Nassau damask,' at Haughton's in +the Coombe, that had taken her fancy mightily, and how she had chosen a +set of new Nankeen plates and fine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> oblong dishes at the Music Hall, and +how Peter Raby, the watchman, was executed yesterday morning, in web +worsted breeches, for the murder of Mr. Thomas Fleming, of +Thomas-street, she did come at last to mention Devereux: and she said +that the colonel had received a letter from General Chattesworth, 'who +by-the-bye,' and then came a long parenthesis, very pleasant, you may be +sure, for Lily to listen to; and the general, it appeared, thought it +most likely that Devereux would not return to Chapelizod, and the Royal +Irish Artillery; and then she went on to other subjects, and Lily staid +a long time, thinking she might return to Devereux, but she did not +mention him again. So home went little Lily more pensive than she came.</p> + +<p>It was near eight o'clock, when who should arrive at the door, and +flutter the crows in the old elms with an energetic double knock, but +Aunt Rebecca, accompanied by no less a personage than Dr. Toole in full +costume, and attended by old Dominick, the footman.</p> + +<p>The doctor was a little bit ruffled and testy, for having received a +summons from Belmont, he had attended in full blow, expecting to +prescribe for Aunt Rebecca or Miss Gertrude, and found, instead, that he +was in for a barren and benevolent walk of half a mile on the Inchicore +road, with the energetic Miss Rebecca, to visit one of her felonious +pensioners who lay sick in his rascally crib. It was not the first time +that the jolly little doctor had been entrapped by the good lady into a +purely philanthropic excursion of this kind. But he could not afford to +mutiny, and vented his disgust in blisters and otherwise drastic +treatment of the malingering scoundrels whom he served out after his +kind for the trouble and indignity they cost him.</p> + +<p>'And here we are, Lily dear, on our way to see poor dear Pat Doolan, +who, I fear, is not very long for this world. Dominick!—he's got a +brain fever, my dear.'</p> + +<p>The doctor said 'pish!' inaudibly, and Aunt Becky went on.</p> + +<p>'You know the unhappy creature is only just out of prison, and if ever +mortal suffered unjustly, he's the man. Poor Doolan's as innocent as you +or I, my dear, or sweet little Spot, there;' pointing her fan like a +pistol at that interesting quadruped's head. 'The disgrace has broken +his heart, and that's at the bottom of his sickness. I wish you could +hear him speak, poor dear wretch—Dominick!' and she had a word for that +domestic in the hall.</p> + +<p>'Hear him speak, indeed!' said Toole, taking advantage of her momentary +absence. 'I wish you could, the drunken blackguard. King Solomon could +not make sense of it. She gave that burglar, would you believe it, +Ma'am? two guineas, by Jupiter: the first of this month—and whiskey +only sixpence a pint—and he was drunk without intermission of course, +day and night for a week after. Brain fever, indeed, 'tis just as sweet +a little fit of delirium tremens, my dear Madam, as ever sent an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +innocent burglar slap into bliss;' and the word popped out with a +venomous hiss and an angry chuckle.</p> + +<p>'And so, my dear,' resumed Aunt Becky, marching in again; 'good Doctor +Toole—our good Samaritan, here—has taken him up, just for love, and +the poor man's fee—his blessing.'</p> + +<p>The doctor muttered something about 'taking him up,' but inarticulately, +for it was only for the relief of his own feelings.</p> + +<p>'And now, dear Lilias, we want your good father to come with us, just to +pray by the poor fellow's bedside: he's in the study, is he?'</p> + +<p>'No, he was not to be home until to-morrow morning.'</p> + +<p>'Bless me!' cried Aunt Becky, with as much asperity as if she had said +something different; 'and not a soul to be had to comfort a dying wretch +in your father's parish—yes, he's dying; we want a minister to pray +with him, and here we've a Flemish account of the rector. This tells +prettily for Dr. Walsingham!'</p> + +<p>'Dr. Walsingham's the best rector in the whole world, and the holiest +man and the noblest,' cried brave little Lily, standing like a deer at +bay, with her wild shy eyes looking full in Aunt Becky's, and a flush in +her cheeks, and the beautiful light of truth beaming like a star from +her forehead. And for a moment it looked like battle; but the old lady +smiled a kind of droll little smile, and gave her a little pat on the +cheek, saying with a shake of her head, 'saucy girl!'</p> + +<p>'And you,' said Lily, throwing her arms about her neck, 'are my own Aunt +Becky, the greatest darling in the world!' And so, as John Bunyan says, +'the water stood in their eyes,' and they both laughed, and then they +kissed, and loved one another the better. That was the way their little +quarrels used always to end.</p> + +<p>'Well, doctor, we must only do what we can,' said Aunt Becky, looking +gravely on the physician: 'and I don't see why <i>you</i> should not +read—you can lend us a prayer-book, darling—just a collect or two, and +the Lord's Prayer—eh?'</p> + +<p>'Why, my dear Ma'am, the fellow's howling about King Lewis and the +American Indians, Dominick says, and ghosts and constables, and devils, +and worse things, Madam, and—pooh—punch and laudanum's his only +chance; don't mind the prayer-book, Miss Lily—there's no use in it, +Mistress Chattesworth! I give you my honour, Ma'am, he could not make +head or tale of it.'</p> + +<p>In fact, the doctor was terrified lest Aunt Rebecca should compel him to +officiate, and he was thinking how the fellows at the club, and the +Aldermen of Skinner's-alley, would get hold of the story, and treat the +subject less gravely than was desirable.</p> + +<p>So Aunt Becky, with Lily's leave, called in Dominick, to examine him +touching the soundness of Pat Doolan's mind, and the honest footman had +no hesitation in pronouncing him wholly <i>non compos</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Pleasant praying with a chap like that, by Jove, as drunk as an owl, +and as mad as a March hare! my dear Ma'am,' whispered Toole to Lilias.</p> + +<p>'And, Lily dear', there's poor Gertrude all alone—'twould be good +natured in you to go up and drink a dish of tea with her; but, then, +you're cold—you're afraid?'</p> + +<p>She was not afraid—she had been out to-day—and it had done her all the +good in the world, and it was very good of Aunt Becky to think of it, +for she was lonely too: and so off went the elder Miss Chattesworth, +with her doctor and Dominick, in their various moods, on their mission +of mercy; and Lily sent into the town for the two chairmen, Peter Brian +and Larry Foy, the two-legged ponies, as Toole called them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h4>NARRATING HOW MISS LILIAS VISITED BELMONT, AND SAW A STRANGE COCKED-HAT +IN THE SHADOW BY THE WINDOW.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>t that time, in every hall of gentility, there stood a sedan-chair, the +property of the lady of the house; and by the time the chairmen had +arrived and got the poles into their places, and trusty John Tracy had +got himself into his brown surtout, trimmed with white lace, and his +cane in his hand—(there was no need of a lantern, for the moon shone +softly and pleasantly down)—Miss Lilias Walsingham drew her red riding +hood about her pretty face, and stepped into the chair; and so the door +shut, the roof closed in, and the young lady was fairly under weigh. She +had so much to think of, so much to tell about her day's adventure, that +before she thought she had come half the way, they were flitting under +the shadows of the poplars that grew beside the avenue; and, through the +window, she saw the hospitable house spreading out its white front as +they drew near, and opening its wings to embrace her.</p> + +<p>The hall-door stood half open, though it had been dark some time; and +the dogs came down with a low growl, and plenty of sniffing, which +forthwith turned into a solemn wagging of tails, for they were intimate +with the chairmen, and with John Tracy, and loved Lilias too. So she got +out in the hall, and went into the little room at the right, and opening +the door of the inner and larger one—there was no candle there, and +'twas nearly dark—saw Gertrude standing by the window which looked out +on the lawn toward the river. That side of the house was in shade, but +she saw that the window was thrown up, and Gertrude, she thought, was +looking toward her, though she did not move, until she drew nearer, +wondering why she did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> approach, and then, pausing in a kind of +unpleasant doubt, she heard a murmured talking, and plainly saw the +figure of a man, with a cloak, it seemed, wrapped about him, and leaning +from outside, against the window-sill, and, as she believed, holding +Gertrude's hand.</p> + +<p>The thing that impressed her most was the sharp outline of the +cocked-hat, with the corners so peculiarly pinched in, and the feeling +that she had never seen that particular hat before in the parish of +Chapelizod.</p> + +<p>Lily made a step backward, and Gertrude instantly turned round, and +seeing her, uttered a little scream.</p> + +<p>''Tis I, Gertrude, darling—Lily—Lily Walsingham,' she said, perhaps as +much dismayed as Gertrude herself; 'I'll return in a moment.'</p> + +<p>She saw the figure, outside, glide hurriedly away by the side of the +wall.</p> + +<p>'Lily—Lily, darling; no, don't go—I did not expect you;' and Gertrude +stopped suddenly, and then as suddenly said—</p> + +<p>'You are very welcome, Lily;' and she drew the window down, and there +was another pause before she said—'Had not we better go up to the +drawing-room, and—and—Lily darling, you're very welcome. Are you +better?'</p> + +<p>And she took little Lily's hand, and kissed her.</p> + +<p>Little Lilias all this time had said nothing, so entirely was she +disconcerted. And her heart beat fast with a kind of fear: and she felt +Gertrude's cold hand tremble she fancied in hers.</p> + +<p>'Yes, darling, the drawing-room, certainly,' answered Lily. And the two +young ladies went up stairs holding hands, and without exchanging +another word.</p> + +<p>'Aunt Becky has gone some distance to see a sick pensioner; I don't +expect her return before an hour.'</p> + +<p>'Yes—I know—and she came, dear Gertrude, to see me; and I should not +have come, but that she asked me, and—and——'</p> + +<p>She stopped, for she was speaking apologetically, like an intruder, and +she was shocked to feel what a chasm on a sudden separated them, and +oppressed with the consciousness that their old mutual girlish +confidence was dead and gone; and the incident of the evening, and +Gertrude's changed aspect, and their changed relations, seemed a +dreadful dream.</p> + +<p>Gertrude looked so pale and wretchedly, and Lily saw her eyes, wild and +clouded, once or twice steal toward her with a glance of such dark alarm +and enquiry, that she was totally unable to keep up the semblance of +their old merry gossiping talk, and felt that Gertrude read in her face +the amazement and fear which possessed her.</p> + +<p>'Lily, darling, let us sit near the window, far away from the candles, +and look out; I hate the light.'</p> + +<p>'With all my heart,' said Lily. And two paler faces than theirs, that +night, did not look out on the moonlight prospect.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I hate the light, Lily,' repeated Gertrude, not looking at her +companion, but directly out through the bow-window upon the dark outline +of the lawn and river bank, and the high grounds on the other side. 'I +hate the light—yes, I hate the light, because my thoughts are +darkness—yes, my thoughts are darkness. No human being knows me; and I +feel like a person who is <i>haunted</i>. Tell me what you saw when you came +into the parlour just now.'</p> + +<p>'Gertrude, dear, I ought not to have come in so suddenly.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, 'twas but right—'twas but kind in you, Lily—right and kind—to +treat me like the open-hearted and intimate friend that, Heaven knows, I +was to you, Lily, all my life. I think—at least, I think—till +lately—but you were always franker than I—and truer. You've walked in +the light, Lily, and that's the way to peace. I turned aside, and walked +in mystery; and it seems to me I am treading now the valley of the +shadow of death. Waking and talking, I am, nevertheless, in the solitude +and darkness of the grave. And what did you see, Lily—I know you'll +tell me truly—when you came into the parlour, as I stood by the +window?'</p> + +<p>'I saw, I think, the form of a man in a cloak and hat, as I believe, +talking with you in whispers, Gertrude, from without.'</p> + +<p>'The form of a man, Lily—you're right—not a man, but the form of a +man,' she continued, bitterly; 'for it seems to me sometimes it can be +no human fascination that has brought me under the tyranny in which I +can scarce be said to breathe.'</p> + +<p>After an interval she said—</p> + +<p>'It will seem incredible. You've heard of Mr. Dangerfield's proposal, +and you've heard how I've received it. Well, listen.'</p> + +<p>'Gertrude, dear!' said Lily, who was growing frightened.</p> + +<p>'I'm going,' interrupted Miss Chattesworth, 'to tell you my strange, if +you will, but not guilty—no, <i>not</i> guilty—secret. I'm no agent now, +but simply passive in the matter. But you must first pledge me your +sacred word that neither to my father nor to yours, nor to my aunt, nor +to any living being, will you ever reveal what I am about to tell you, +till I have released you from your promise.'</p> + +<p>Did ever woman refuse a secret? Well, Lily wavered for a moment. But +then suddenly stooping down, and kissing her, she said:</p> + +<p>'No, Gertrude, darling—you'll not be vexed with me—but you must not +tell me your secret. You have excuses such as I should not have—you've +been drawn into this concealment, step by step, unwillingly; but, +Gertrude, darling, I must not hear it. I could not look Aunt Becky in +the face, nor the kind general, knowing that I was——'</p> + +<p>She tried to find a word.</p> + +<p>'<i>Deceiving</i> them, Lily,' said Gertrude, with a moan.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes, Gertrude, darling.' And she kissed her again. 'And it might be to +your great hurt. But I thank you all the same from my heart for your +confidence and love; and I'm gladder than you'll ever know, Gerty, that +they are still the same.' And thus the two girls kissed silently and +fervently, and poor Gertrude Chattesworth wept uncomplainingly, looking +out upon the dark prospect.</p> + +<p>'And you'll tell me, darling, when you're happier, as you soon will be?' +said Lily.</p> + +<p>'I will—I will indeed. I'm sometimes happier—sometimes quite +happy—but I'm very low to-night, Lily,' answered she.</p> + +<p>Then Lily comforted and caressed her friend. And I must confess she was +very curious, too, and nothing but a terror of possessing a secret under +such terms, withheld her from hearing Gertrude's confession. But on her +way home she thanked Heaven for her resolution, and was quite sure that +she was happier and better for it.</p> + +<p>They were roused by Aunt Becky's knock at the hall-door, and her voice +and Dominick's under the window.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h4>SHOWING HOW SOME OF THE FEUDS IN CHAPELIZOD WAXED FIERCER, AND OTHERS +WERE SOLEMNLY CONDONED.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img085.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'B'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'B'" /></div><p>y this time little Dr. Toole had stepped into the club, after his wont, +as he passed the Phœnix. Sturk was playing draughts with old Arthur +Slowe, and Dangerfield, erect and grim, was looking on the game, over +his shoulder. Toole and Sturk were more distant and cold in their +intercourse of late, though this formality partook of their respective +characters. Toole used to throw up his nose, and raise his eyebrows, and +make his brother mediciner a particularly stiff, and withal scornful +reverence when they met. Sturk, on the other hand, made a short, surly +nod—'twas little more—and, without a word, turned on his heel, with a +gruff pitch of his shoulder towards Toole.</p> + +<p>The fact was, these two gentlemen had been very near exchanging pistol +shots, or sword thrusts, only a week or two before; and all about the +unconscious gentleman who was smiling in his usual pleasant fashion over +the back of Sturk's chair. So Dangerfield's little dyspepsy had like to +have cured one or other of the village leeches, for ever and a day, of +the heart-ache and all other aches that flesh is heir to. For +Dangerfield commenced with Toole: and that physician, on the third day +of his instalment, found that Sturk had stept in and taken his patient +bodily out of his hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I've seen one monkey force open the jaws of his brother, resolutely +introduce his fingers, pluck from the sanctuary of his cheek the filbert +he had just stowed there for his private nutrition and delight, and +crunch and eat it with a stern ecstasy of selfishness, himself; and I +fancy that the feelings of the quadrumanous victim, his jaws aching, his +pouch outraged, and his bon-bouche in the miscreant's mouth, a little +resembles those of the physician who has suffered so hideous a +mortification as that of Toole.</p> + +<p>Toole quite forgave Dangerfield. That gentleman gave him to understand +that <i>his</i> ministrations were much more to his mind than those of his +rival. But—and this was conveyed in strict confidence—this change was +put upon him by a—a—in fact a nobleman—Lord Castlemallard—with whom, +just now, Dr. Sturk can do a great deal; 'and you know I can't quarrel +with my lord. It has pained me, I assure you, very much; and to say +truth, whoever applied to him to interfere in the matter, was, in my +mind, guilty of an impertinence, though, as you see, I can't resent it.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Whoever</i> applied? 'tis pretty plain,' repeated Toole, with a vicious +sneer. 'The whispering, undermining—and as stupid as the Hill of Howth. +I wish you safe out of his hands, Sir.'</p> + +<p>And positively, only for Aunt Becky, who was always spoiling this sort +of sport, and who restrained the gallant Toole by a peremptory +injunction, there would have been, in Nutter's unfortunate phrase, 'wigs +on the green,' next day.</p> + +<p>So these gentlemen met on the terms I've described: and Nutter's +antipathy also, had waxed stronger and fiercer. And indeed, since +Dangerfield's arrival, and Sturk's undisguised endeavours to ingratiate +himself with Lord Castlemallard, and push him from his stool, they had +by consent ceased to speak to one another. When Sturk met Nutter, he, +being of superior stature, looked over his head at distant objects: and +when Nutter encountered Sturk, the little gentleman's dark face grew +instantaneously darker—first a shade—then another shadow—then the +blackness of thunder overspread it; and not only did he speak not a word +to Sturk, but seldom opened his lips, while that gentleman remained in +the room.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, if some feuds grew blacker and fiercer by time, there +were others which were Christianly condoned; foremost among which was +the mortal quarrel between Nutter and O'Flaherty. On the evening of +their memorable meeting on the Fifteen Acres, Puddock dined out, and +O'Flaherty was too much exhausted to take any steps toward a better +understanding. But on the night following, when the club had their grand +supper in King William's parlour, it was arranged with Nutter that a +gentlemanlike reconciliation was to take place; and accordingly, about +nine o'clock, at which time Nutter's arrival was expected, Puddock, with +the pomp and gravity becoming such an occasion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> accompanied by +O'Flaherty, big with his speech, entered the spacious parlour.</p> + +<p>When they came in there was a chorus of laughter ringing round, with a +clapping of hands, and a Babel of hilarious applause; and Tom Toole was +seen in the centre, sitting upon the floor, hugging his knees, with his +drawn sword under his arm, his eyes turned up to the ceiling, and a +contortion so unspeakably ludicrous upon his queer little face, as was +very near causing little Puddock to explode in an unseemly burst of +laughter.</p> + +<p>Devereux, sitting near the door, luckily saw them as they entered, and +announced them in a loud tone—'Lieutenant Puddock, gentlemen, and +Lieutenant Fireworker O'Flaherty.' For though Gipsy Devereux loved a bit +of mischief, he did not relish it when quite so serious, as the +Galwegian Fireworker was likely to make any sort of trifling on a point +so tender as his recent hostilities on the Fifteen Acres.</p> + +<p>Toole bounded to his feet in an instant, adjusting his wig and eyeing +the new comers with intense but uneasy solemnity, which produced some +suppressed merriment among the company.</p> + +<p>It was well for the serenity of the village that O'Flaherty was about to +make a little speech—a situation which usually deprived him of half his +wits. Still with the suspicion of conscious weakness, he read something +affecting himself in the general buzz and countenance of the assembly; +and said to Devereux, on purpose loud enough for Toole to hear—'Ensign +Puddock and myself would be proud to know what was the divarting +tom-foolery going on about the floor, and for which we arrived +unfortunately a little too leet?'</p> + +<p>'Tom-foolery, Sir, is an unpleasant word!' cried the little doctor, +firing up, for he was a game-cock.</p> + +<p>'Tom Toolery he means,' interposed Devereux, 'the pleasantest word, on +the contrary, in Chapelizod. Pray, allow me to say a word a degree more +serious. I'm commissioned, Lieutenant Puddock and Lieutenant O'Flaherty' +(a bow to each), 'by Mr. Mahony, who acted the part of second to Mr. +Nutter, on the recent occasion, to pray that you'll be so obliging as to +accept his apology for not being present at this, as we all hope most +agreeable meeting. Our reverend friend, Father Roach whose guest he had +the honour to be, can tell you more precisely the urgent nature of the +business on which he departed.'</p> + +<p>Father Roach tried to stop the captain with a reproachful glance, but +that unfeeling officer fairly concluded his sentence notwithstanding, +with a wave of his hand and a bow to the cleric; and sitting down at the +same moment, left him in possession of the chair.</p> + +<p>The fact was, that at an unseemly hour that morning three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> bailiffs—for +the excursion was considered hazardous—introduced themselves by a +stratagem into the reverend father's domicile, and nabbed the +high-souled Patrick Mahony, as he slumbered peacefully in his bed, to +the terror of the simple maid who let them in. Honest Father Roach was +for showing fight on behalf of his guest. On hearing the row and +suspecting its cause—for Pat had fled from the kingdom of Kerry from +perils of the same sort—his reverence jumped out of bed with a great +pound on the floor, and not knowing where to look for his clothes in the +dark, he seized his surplice, which always lay in the press at the head +of his bed, and got into it with miraculous speed, whisking along the +floor two pounds and a half of Mr. Fogarty's best bacon, which the holy +man had concealed in the folds of that sacred vestment, to elude the +predatory instincts of the women, and from which he and Mr. Mahony were +wont to cut their jovial rashers.</p> + +<p>The shutter of poor Mahony's window was by this time open, and the gray +light disclosed the grimly form of Father Roach, in his surplice, +floating threateningly into the chamber. But the bailiffs were picked +men, broad-shouldered and athletic, and furnished with active-looking +shillelaghs. Veni, vidi, victus sum! a glance showed him all was lost.</p> + +<p>'My blessin' an you, Peg Finigan! and was it you let them in?' murmured +his reverence, with intense feeling.</p> + +<p>'At whose suit?' enquired the generous outlaw, sitting up among the +blankets.</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Elizabeth Woolly, relict and administhrathrix of the late Mr. +Timotheus Woolly, of High-street, in the city of Dublin, tailor,' +responded the choragus of the officers.</p> + +<p>'Woolly—I was thinkin' so,' said the captive. 'I wisht I <i>had</i> her by +the wool, bad luck to her!'</p> + +<p>So away he went, to the good-natured ecclesiastic's grief, promising, +nevertheless, with a disconsolate affectation of cheerfulness, that all +should be settled, and he under the Priest's roof-tree again before +night.</p> + +<p>'I don't—exactly—know the nature of the business, gentlemen,' said +Father Roach, with considerable hesitation.</p> + +<p>'<i>Urgent</i>, however, it <i>was</i>—wasn't it?' said Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Urgent—well; <i>certainly</i>—a—and——'</p> + +<p>'And a summons there was no resisting—from a lady—eh? You said so, +Father Roach,' persisted Devereux.</p> + +<p>'A—from a leedy—a—yes—certainly,' replied he.</p> + +<p>'A <i>widow</i>—is not she?' enquired Devereux.</p> + +<p>'A widda, undoubtedly,' said the priest.</p> + +<p>'Thay no more Thir,' said little Puddock, to the infinite relief of the +reverend father, who flung another look of reproach at Devereux, and +muttered his indignation to himself. 'I'm perfectly satisfied; and so, I +venture to thay, is Lieutenant O'Flaherty——'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Is not he going to say something to Nutter?' enquired Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' whispered Puddock, 'I hope he'll get through it. I—I wrote a few +sentences myself; but he's by no means perfect—in fact, between +ourselves, he's a somewhat slow study.'</p> + +<p>'Suppose you purge his head again, Puddock?' Puddock did not choose to +hear the suggestion: but Nutter, in reply to a complimentary speech from +Puddock, declared, in two or three words, his readiness to meet +Lieutenant O'Flaherty half-way; 'and curse me, Sir, if I know, at this +moment, what I did or said to offend him.'</p> + +<p>Then came a magnanimous, but nearly unintelligible speech from +O'Flaherty, prompted by little Puddock, who, being responsible for the +composition, was more nervous during the delivery of that remarkable +oration, than the speaker himself; and 'thuffered indethcribably' at +hearing his periods mangled; and had actually to hold O'Flaherty by the +arm, and whisper in an agony—'not yet—<i>curthe</i> it—not yet'—to +prevent the incorrigible fireworker from stretching forth his bony red +hand before he had arrived at that most effective passage which Puddock +afterwards gave so well in private for Dick Devereux, beginning, 'and +thus I greet——'</p> + +<p>Thus was there a perfect reconciliation, and the gentlemen of the club, +Toole included, were more than ever puzzled to understand the origin of +the quarrel, for Puddock kept O'Flaherty's secret magnificently, and +peace prevailed in O'Flaherty's breast until nearly ten months +afterwards, when Cluffe, who was talking of the American war, asked +O'Flaherty, who was full of volunteering, how he would like a 'clean +shave with an Indian scalping knife,' whereupon O'Flaherty stood erect, +and having glowered about him for a moment, strode in silence from the +room, and consulted immediately with Puddock on the subject, who, after +a moment's reflection found it no more than chance medley.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h4>DREAMS AND TROUBLES, AND A DARK LOOK-OUT.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div><p>o there was no feud in the club worth speaking of but those of which +Dr. Sturk was the centre; and Toole remarked this night that Sturk +looked very ill—and so, in truth, he did; and it was plain, too, that +his mind was not in the game, for old Slowe, who used not to have a +chance with him, beat him three times running, which incensed Sturk, as +small things will a man who is in the slow fever of a secret trouble. He +threw down the three shillings he had lost with more force than was +necessary, and muttering a curse, clapped on his hat and took up a +newspaper at another table, with a rather flushed face. He happened to +light upon a dolorous appeal to those 'whom Providence had blessed with +riches,' on behalf of a gentleman 'who had once held a commission under +his Majesty, and was now on a sudden by some unexpected turns of +fortune, reduced, with his unhappy wife and five small children, to want +of bread, and implored of his prosperous fellow-citizens that charitable +relief which, till a few months since, it was his custom and pleasure to +dispense to others.' And this stung him with a secret pang of insecurity +and horror. Trifles affected him a good deal now. So he pitched down the +newspaper and walked across to his own house, with his hands in his +pockets, and thought again of Dangerfield, and who the deuce he could +be, or whether he had really ever, anywhere—in the body or in the +spirit—encountered him, as he used to feel with a boding vagueness he +had done. And then those accursed dreams: he was not relieved as he +expected by disclosing them. The sense of an ominous meaning pointing at +him in all their grotesque images and scenery, still haunted him.</p> + +<p>'Parson Walsingham, with all his reading,' his mind muttered, as it +were, to itself, 'is no better than an old woman; and that knave and +buffoon, Mr. Apothecary Toole, looked queer, the spiteful dog, just to +disquiet me. I wonder at Dr. Walsingham though. A sensible man would +have laughed me into spirits. On my soul, I think he believes in +dreams.' And Sturk laughed within himself scornfully. It was all +affectation, and addressed strictly to himself, who saw through it all; +but still he practised it. 'If these infernal losses had not come to +spoil my stomach. I should not have remembered them, much less let them +haunt me this way, like a cursed file of ghosts. I'll try gentian +to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Everything and everyone was poking at the one point of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> secret +fears. Dr. Walsingham preached a sermon upon the text, 'remember the +days of darkness for they are many.' It went over the tremendous themes +of death and judgment in the rector's own queer, solemn, measured way, +and all the day after rang in Sturk's ear as the drums and fifes in the +muffled peal of the Dead March used to do long ago, before his ear grew +familiar with its thrilling roll. Sermons usually affected Sturk no more +than they did other military gentlemen. But he was in a morbid state; +and in this one or two terms or phrases, nothing in themselves, happened +to touch upon a sensitive and secret centre of pain in the doctor's +soul.</p> + +<p>For instance, when he called death 'the great bankruptcy which would +make the worldly man, in a moment, the only person in his house not +worth a shilling,' the preacher glanced unconsciously at a secret fear +in the caverns of Sturk's mind, that echoed back the sonorous tones and +grisly theme of the rector with a hollow thunder.</p> + +<p>There was a time when Sturk, like other shrewd, bustling fellows, had no +objection to hear who had an execution in his house, who was bankrupt, +and who laid by the heels; but now he shrunk from such phrases. He hated +to think that a clever fellow was ever absolutely beggared in the +world's great game. He turned his eye quickly from the <i>Gazette</i>, as it +lay with other papers on the club table; for its grim pages seemed to +look in his face with a sort of significance, as if they might some day +or other have a small official duty to perform by him; and when an +unexpected bankruptcy was announced by Cluffe or Toole in the club-room, +it made his ear ring like a slap, and he felt sickish for half an hour +after.</p> + +<p>One of that ugly brood of dreams which haunted his nights, borrowed, +perhaps, a hint from Dr. Walsingham's sermon. Sturk thought he heard +Toole's well-known, brisk voice, under his windows, exclaim, 'What is +the dirty beggar doing there? faugh!—he smells all over like +carrion—ha, ha ha!' and looking out, in his dream, from his +drawing-room window, he saw a squalid mendicant begging alms at his +hall-door. 'Hollo, you, Sir; what do want there?' cried the surgeon, +with a sort of unaccountable antipathy and fear. 'He lost his last +shilling in the great bankruptcy, in October,' answered Dunstan's voice +behind his ear; and in the earth-coloured face which the beggar turned +up towards him, Sturk recognised his own features—''Tis I'—he gasped +out with an oath, and awoke in a horror, not knowing where he was. +'I—I'm dying.'</p> + +<p>'October,' thought Sturk—'bankruptcy. 'Tis just because I'm always +thinking of that infernal bill, and old Dyle's renewal, and the rent.'</p> + +<p>Indeed, the surgeon had a stormy look forward, and the navigation of +October was so threatening, awful, and almost desperate, as he stood +alone through the dreadful watches at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> helm, with hot cheek and +unsteady hand, trusting stoically to luck and hoping against hope, that +rocks would melt, and the sea cease from drowning, that it was almost a +wonder he did not leap overboard, only for the certainty of a cold head +and a quiet heart, and one deep sleep.</p> + +<p>And, then, he used to tot up his liabilities for that accursed month, +near whose yawning verge he already stood; and then, think of every +penny coming to him, and what might be rescued and wrung from runaways +and bankrupts whose bills he held, and whom he used to curse in his bed, +with his fists and his teeth clenched, when poor little Mrs. Sturk, +knowing naught of this danger, and having said her prayers, lay sound +asleep by his side. Then he used to think, if he could only get the +agency in time it would set him up—he could borrow £200 the day after +his appointment; and he must make a push and extend his practice. It was +ridiculous, that blackguard little Toole carrying off the best families +in the neighbourhood, and standing in the way of a man like him; and +Nutter, too—why, Lord Castlemallard knew as well as he did, that Nutter +was not fit to manage the property, and that <i>he was</i>—and Nutter +without a child or anyone, and <i>he</i> with seven! and he counted them over +mentally with a groan. 'What was to become of them?' Then Nutter would +be down upon him, without mercy, for the rent; and Dangerfield, if, +indeed, he cared to do it [curse it, he trusted nobody], could not +control him; and Lord Castlemallard, the selfish profligate, was away in +Paris, leaving his business in the hands of that bitter old botch, who'd +go any length to be the ruin of him.</p> + +<p>Then he turned over the chances of borrowing a hundred pounds from the +general—as he did fifty times every day and night, but always with the +same result—'No; curse him, he's as weak as water—petticoat +government—he'll do nothing without his sister's leave, and she hates +me like poison;' and then he thought—'it would not be much to ask Lord +Castlemallard—there's still time—to give me a month or two for the +rent, but if the old sneak thought I owed twopence, I might whistle for +the agency, and besides, faith!—I don't think he'd interfere.'</p> + +<p>Then the clock down stairs would strike 'three,' and he felt thankful, +with a great sigh, that so much of the night was over, and yet dreaded +the morning.</p> + +<p>And then he would con over his chances again, and think which was most +likely to give him a month or two. Old Dyle—'Bah! he's a stone, he +would not give me an hour. Or Carny, curse him, unless Lucas would move +him. And, no, Lucas is a rogue, selfish beast: he owes me his place; and +I don't think he'd stir his finger to snatch me from perdition. Or +Nutter—Nutter, indeed!—why that fiend has been waiting half the year +round to put in his distress the first hour he can.'</p> + +<p>And then Sturk writhed round on his back, as we may sup<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>pose might St. +Anthony on his gridiron, and rolled his eye-balls up toward the dark +bed; and uttered a dismal groan, and thought of the three inexorable +fates, Carny, Nutter, and Dyle, who at that moment held among them the +measure, and the thread, and the shears of his destiny: and standing +desperately in the dark at the verge of the abyss, he mentally hurled +the three ugly spirits together into his bag, and flung them whirling +through the mirk into the lake that burns with fire and brimstone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h4>TELLING HOW LILIAS WALSINGHAM FOUND TWO LADIES AWAITING HER ARRIVAL AT +THE ELMS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>hen Lilias Walsingham, being set down in the hall at the Elms, got out +and threw back her hood, she saw two females sitting there, who rose, as +she emerged, and bobbed a courtesy each. The elder was a slight thin +woman of fifty or upwards, dark of feature, but with large eyes, the +relics of early beauty. The other a youthful figure, an inch or two +taller, slim and round, and showing only a pair of eyes, large and dark +as the others, looking from under her red hood, earnestly and sadly as +it seemed, upon Miss Walsingham.</p> + +<p>'Good-evening, good neighbours,' said Miss Lily in her friendly way; +'the master is in town, and won't return till to-morrow; but may be you +wish to speak to me?'</p> + +<p>''Tis no place for the like of yous,' said old John Tracy, gruffly, for +he knew them, with the privilege of an old servant. 'If you want to see +his raverence, you must come in the morning.'</p> + +<p>'But it may be something, John, that can't wait, and that I can do,' +said Lily.</p> + +<p>'And, true for you, so it is, my lady,' said the elder woman, with +another bob; 'an' I won't delay you, Ma'am, five minutes, if you plaze, +an' it's the likes of you,' she said, in a shrewish aside, with a flash +of her large eyes upon John Tracy, 'that stands betune them that's +willin' to be good and the poor—so yez do, saucepans and +bone-polishers, bad luck to yez.'</p> + +<p>The younger woman plucked the elder by the skirt; but Lily did not hear. +She was already in the parlour.</p> + +<p>'Ay, there it is,' grinned old John, with a wag of his head.</p> + +<p>And so old Sally came forth and asked the women to step in, and set +chairs for them, while Lily was taking off her gloves and hood by the +table.</p> + +<p>'You'll tell me first who you are,' said Lily, 'my good woman—for I +don't think we've met before—and then you will say what I can do for +you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>'</p> + +<p>'I'm the Widdy Glynn, Ma'am, at your sarvice, that lives beyant +Palmerstown, down by the ferry, af its playsin' to you; and this is my +little girl, Ma'am, av you plaze. Nan, look up at the lady, you slut.'</p> + +<p>She did not need the exhortation, for she was, indeed, looking at the +lady, with a curious and most melancholy gaze.</p> + +<p>'An' what I'm goin' to say, my lady, if you plase, id best be said +alone;' and the matron glanced at old Sally, and bobbed another +courtesy.</p> + +<p>'Very well,' said Miss Walsingham. 'Sally, dear, the good woman wants to +speak with me alone: so you may as well go and wait for me in my room.'</p> + +<p>And so the young lady stood alone in presence of her two visitors, +whereupon, with a good many courtesies, and with great volubility, the +elder dame commenced—</p> + +<p>''Tis what we heerd, Ma'am, that Captain Devereux, of the Artillery +here, in Chapelizod, Ma'am, that's gone to England, was coortin' you my +lady; and I came here with this little girl, Ma'am, if you plaze, to +tell you, if so be it's thrue, Ma'am, that there isn't this minute a +bigger villian out iv gaol—who brought my poor little girl there to +disgrace and ruin, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>Here Nan Glynn began to sob into her apron.</p> + +<p>''Twas you, Richard Devereux, that promised her marriage—with his hand +on the Bible, on his bended knee. 'Twas you, Richard Devereux, you +hardened villian—yes, Ma'am, that parjured scoundrel—(don't be cryin', +you fool)—put that ring there, you see, on her finger, Miss, an' a +priest in the room, an' if ever man was woman's husband in the sight of +God, Richard Devereux is married to Nan Glynn, poor an' simple as she +stands there.'</p> + +<p>'Stop, mother,' sobbed Nan, drawing her back by the arm; 'don't you see +the lady's sick.'</p> + +<p>'No—no—not anything; only—only shocked,' said poor Lilias, as white +as marble, and speaking almost in a whisper; 'but I can't say Captain +Devereux ever spoke to me in the way you suppose, that's all. I've no +more to say.'</p> + +<p>Nan Glynn, sobbing and with her apron still to her eyes, was gliding to +the door, but her mother looked, with a coarse sort of cunning in her +eye, steadily at the poor young lady, in some sort her victim, and added +more sternly—</p> + +<p>'Well, my lady, 'tis proud I am to hear it, an' there's no harm done, at +any rate; an' I thought 'twas only right I should tell you the thruth, +and give you this warnin', my lady; an' here's the atturney's writin', +Ma'am—if you'll plaze to read it—Mr. Bagshot, iv Thomas +Street—sayin', if you'll be plazed to look at it—that 'tis a good +marriage, an' that if he marries any other woman, gentle or simple, +he'll take the law iv him in my daughter's cause, the black, parjured +villian, an' transport him, with a burnt hand, for bigamany; an' 'twas +only right, my lady,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> as the townspeople was talking, as if it was as +how he was thryin' to invagle you, Miss, the desaver, for he'd charrum +the birds off the trees, the parjurer; and I'll tell his raverence all +about it when I see him, in the morning—for 'tis only right he should +know. Wish the lady good-night, Nan, you slut—an the same from myself, +Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>And, with another courtesy, the Glynns of Palmerstown withdrew.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<h4>OF A MESSENGER FROM CHAPELIZOD VAULT WHO WAITED IN THE TYLED HOUSE FOR +MR. MERVYN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img048.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" /></div><p>ervyn was just about this time walking up the steep Ballyfermot Road. +It was then a lonely track, with great bushes and hedgerows overhanging +it; and as other emotions subsided, something of the chill and +excitement of solitude stole over him. The moon was wading through +flecked masses of cloud. The breath of night rustled lightly through the +bushes, and seemed to follow her steps with a strange sort of sigh and a +titter. He stopped and looked back under the branches of an old thorn, +and traced against the dark horizon the still darker outline of the +ivied church tower of Chapelizod, and thought of the dead that lay +there, and of all that those sealed lips might tell, and old tales of +strange meetings on moors and desolate places with departed spirits, +flitted across his brain; and the melancholy rush of the night air swept +close about his ears, and he turned and walked more briskly toward his +own gloomy quarters, passing the churchyard of Ballyfermot on his right. +There were plenty of head-stones among the docks and nettles: some short +and some tall, some straight and some slanting back, and some with a +shoulder up, and a lonely old ash-tree still and dewy in the midst, +glimmering cold among the moveless shadows; and then at last he sighted +the heavy masses of old elm, and the pale, peeping front of the 'Tyled +House,' through the close and dismal avenue of elm, he reached the front +of the mansion. There was no glimmer of light from the lower windows, +not even the noiseless flitting of a bat over the dark little +court-yard. His key let him in. He knew that his servants were in bed. +There was something cynical in his ree-raw independence. It was unlike +what he had been used to, and its savagery suited with his bitter and +unsociable mood of late.</p> + +<p>But his step sounding through the hall, and the stories about the place +of which he was conscious. He battled with his dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>turbed foolish +sensations, however, and though he knew there was a candle burning in +his bed-room, he turned aside at the foot of the great stair, and +stumbled and groped his way into the old wainscoted back-parlour, that +looked out, through its great bow window, upon the haunted orchard, and +sat down in its dismal solitude.</p> + +<p>He ruminated upon his own hard fate—the meanness of man-kind—the +burning wrongs, as he felt confident, of other times, Fortune's +inexorable persecution of his family, and the stygian gulf that deepened +between him and the object of his love; and his soul darkened with a +fierce despair, and with unshaped but evil thoughts that invited the +tempter.</p> + +<p>The darkness and associations of the place were unwholesome, and he was +about to leave it for the companionship of his candle, but that, on a +sudden, he thought he heard a sound nearer than the breeze among the old +orchard trees.</p> + +<p>This was the measured breathing of some one in the room. He held his own +breath while he listened—'One of the dogs,' he thought, and he called +them quietly; but no dog came. 'The wind, then, in the chimney;' and he +got up resolutely, designing to open the half-closed shutter. He fancied +as he did so that he heard the respiration near him, and passed close to +some one in the dark.</p> + +<p>With an unpleasant expectation he threw back the shutters, and +unquestionably he did see, very unmistakably, a dark figure in a chair; +so dark, indeed, that he could not discern more of it than the rude but +undoubted outline of a human shape; and he stood for some seconds, +holding the open shutter in his hand, and looking at it with more of the +reality of fear than he had, perhaps, ever experienced before. Pale +Hecate now, in the conspiracy, as it seemed, withdrew on a sudden the +pall from before her face, and threw her beams full upon the figure. A +slim, tall shape, in dark clothing, and, as it seemed, a countenance he +had never beheld before—black hair, pale features, with a +sinister-smiling character, and a very blue chin, and closed eyes.</p> + +<p>Fixed with a strange horror, and almost expecting to see it undergo some +frightful metamorphosis, Mervyn stood gazing on the cadaverous intruder.</p> + +<p>'Hollo! who's that?' cried Mervyn sternly.</p> + +<p>The figure opened his eyes, with a wild stare, as if he had not opened +them for a hundred years before, and rose up with an uncertain motion, +returning Mervyn's gaze, as if he did not know where he was.</p> + +<p>'Who are you?' repeated Mervyn.</p> + +<p>The phantom seemed to recover himself slowly, and only said: 'Mr. +Mervyn?'</p> + +<p>'Who are you, Sir?' cried Mervyn, again.</p> + +<p>'Zekiel Irons,' he answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Irons? what <i>are</i> you, and what business have you here, Sir?' demanded +Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'The Clerk of Chapelizod,' he continued, quietly and remarkably sternly, +but a little thickly, like a man who had been drinking.</p> + +<p>Mervyn now grew angry.</p> + +<p>'The Clerk of Chapelizod—here—sleeping in my parlour! What the devil, +Sir, do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'Sleep—Sir—sleep! There's them that sleeps with their eyes open. +Sir—you know who they may be; there's some sleeps sound enough, like me +and you; and some that's sleep-walkers,' answered Irons; and his +enigmatical talk somehow subdued Mervyn, for he said more quietly—</p> + +<p>'Well, what of all this, Sirrah?'</p> + +<p>'A message,' answered Irons. The man's manner, though quiet, was dogged, +and somewhat savage.</p> + +<p>'Give it me, then,' said Mervyn, expecting a note, and extending his +hand.</p> + +<p>'I've nothing for your hand, Sir, 'tis for your ear,' said he.</p> + +<p>'From whom, then, and what?' said Mervyn, growing impatient again.</p> + +<p>'I ask your pardon, Mr. Mervyn; I have a good deal to do, back and +forward, sometimes early, sometimes late, in the church—Chapelizod +Church—all alone, Sir; and I often think of you, when I walk over the +south-side vault.'</p> + +<p>'What's your message, I say, Sir, and who sends it,' insisted Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'Your father,' answered Irons.</p> + +<p>Mervyn looked with a black and wild sort of enquiry on the clerk—was he +insane or what?—and seemed to swallow down a sort of horror, before his +anger rose again.</p> + +<p>'You're mistaken—my father's dead,' he said, in a fierce but agitated +undertone.</p> + +<p>'He's dead, Sir—yes,' said his saturnine visitor, with the same faint +smile and cynical quietude.</p> + +<p>'Speak out, Sirrah; whom do you come from?'</p> + +<p>'The late Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Dunoran.' He spoke, as I +have said, a little thickly, like a man who had drunk his modicum of +liquor.</p> + +<p>'You've been drinking, and you dare to mix my—my father's name with +your drunken dreams and babble—you wretched sot!'</p> + +<p>A cloud passed over the moon just then, and Irons darkened, as if about +to vanish, like an offended apparition. But it was only for a minute, +and he emerged in the returning light, and spoke—</p> + +<p>'A naggin of whiskey, at the Salmon House, to raise my heart before I +came here. I'm not drunk—that's sure.' He answered, quite unmoved, like +one speaking to himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And—why—what can you mean by speaking of him?' repeated Mervyn, +unaccountably agitated.</p> + +<p>'I speak <i>for</i> him, Sir, by your leave. Suppose he greets you with a +message—and you don't care to hear it?'</p> + +<p>'You're mad,' said Mervyn, with an icy stare, to whom the whole colloquy +began to shape itself into a dream.</p> + +<p>'Belike <i>you're</i> mad, Sir,' answered Irons, in a grim, ugly tone, but +with face unmoved. ''Twas not a light matter brought me here—a +message—there—well!—your right honourable father, that lies in lead +and oak, without a name on his coffin-lid, would have you to know that +what he said was—as it should be—and I can prove it—'</p> + +<p>'What?—he said <i>what?</i>—what is it?—what can you prove? Speak out, +Sirrah!' and his eyes shone white in the moonlight, and his hand was +advanced towards Irons's throat, and he looked half beside himself, and +trembling all over.</p> + +<p>'Put down your hand or you hear no more from me,' said Irons, also a +little transformed.</p> + +<p>Mervyn silently lowered his hand clenched by his side, and, with +compressed lips, nodded an impatient sign to him.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir, he'd have you to understand he never did it, and I can prove +it—<i>but I won't!</i>'</p> + +<p>That moment, something glittered in Mervyn's hand, and he strode towards +Irons, overturning a chair with a crash.</p> + +<p>'I have you—come on and you're a dead man,' said the clerk, in a hoarse +voice, drawing into the deep darkness toward the door, with the dull +gleam of a pistol-barrel just discernible in his extended hand.</p> + +<p>'Stay—don't go,' cried Mervyn, in a piercing voice; 'I conjure—I +implore—whatever you are, come back—see, I'm unarmed,' (and he flung +his sword back toward the window).</p> + +<p>'You young gentlemen are always for drawing upon poor bodies—how would +it have gone if I had not looked to myself, Sir, and come furnished?' +said Irons, in his own level tone.</p> + +<p>'I don't know—I don't <i>care</i>—I don't care if I were dead. Yes, yes, +'tis true, I almost wish he had shot me.'</p> + +<p>'Mind, Sir, you're on honour,' said the clerk, in his old tone, as he +glided slowly back, his right hand in his coat pocket, and his eye with +a quiet suspicion fixed upon Mervyn, and watching his movements.</p> + +<p>'I don't know what or who you are, but if ever you knew what human +feeling is—I say, if you are anything at all capable of compassion, you +will kill me at a blow rather than trifle any longer with the terrible +hope that has been my torture—I believe my insanity, all my life.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir,' said Irons, mildly, and with that serene suspicion of a +smile on his face, 'if you wish to talk to me you must take me +different; for, to say truth, I was nearer killing you that time than +you were aware, and all the time I mean you no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> harm! and yet, if I +thought you were going to say to anybody living, Zekiel Irons, the +clerk, was here on Tuesday night, I believe I'd shoot you now.'</p> + +<p>'You wish your visit secret? well, you have my honour, no one living +shall hear of it,' said Mervyn. 'Go on.'</p> + +<p>'I've little to say, your honour; but, first, do you think your servants +heard the noise just now?'</p> + +<p>'The old woman's deaf, and her daughter dare not stir after night-fall. +You need fear no interruption.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, I know; the house is haunted, they say, but dead men tell no tales. +'Tis the living I fear, I thought it would be darker—the clouds broke +up strangely; 'tis as much as my life's worth to me to be seen near this +Tyled House; and never you speak to me nor seem to know me when you +chance to meet me, do you mind, Sir? I'm bad enough myself, but there's +some that's worse.'</p> + +<p>'Tis agreed, there shall be no recognition,' answered Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'There's them watching me that can see in the clouds, or the running +waters, what you're thinking of a mile away, that can move as soft as +ghosts, and can gripe as hard as hell, when need is. So be patient for a +bit—I gave you the message—I tell you 'tis true; and as to my proving +it at present, I can, you see, and I can't; but the hour is coming, only +be patient, and swear, Sir, upon your soul and honour, that you won't +let me come to perdition by reason of speaking the truth.'</p> + +<p>'On my soul and honour, I mean it,' answered Mervyn. 'Go on.'</p> + +<p>'Nor ever tell, high or low, rich or poor, man, woman, or child, that I +came here; because—no matter.'</p> + +<p>'That I promise, too; for Heaven's sake go on.'</p> + +<p>'If you please, Sir, no, not a word more till the time comes,' answered +Irons; 'I'll go as I came.' And he shoved up the window-sash and got out +lightly upon the grass, and glided away among the gigantic old +fruit-trees, and was lost before a minute.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he came intending more. He had seemed for a while to have made +up his mind, Mervyn thought, to a full disclosure, and then he +hesitated, and, on second thoughts, drew back. Barren and tantalising, +however, as was this strange conference, it was yet worth worlds, as +indicating the quarter from which information might ultimately be hoped +for.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE RECTOR COMES HOME, AND LILY SPEAKS HER MIND, AND TIME +GLIDES ON, AND AUNT REBECCA CALLS AT THE ELMS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img015.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" /></div><p>ext morning, punctual at the early breakfast-hour of those days, the +cheery voice of the old rector was heard at the garden rails that +fronted the house, and out ran Tom Clinton, from the stable-yard, and +bid his 'raverence,' with homely phrase, and with a pleasant grin, +'welcome home,' and held his bridle and stirrup, while the parson, with +a kind smile, and half a dozen enquiries, and the air of a man who, +having made a long journey and a distant sojourn, expands on beholding +old faces and the sights of home again; he had been away, to be sure, +only one night and a part of a day, but his heart clave to his home and +his darling; and Lilias ran to the garden gate to meet him, with her old +smile and greeting, it seemed fonder and more tender than ever, and then +they kissed and hugged and kissed again, and he patted her cheek and +thought she looked a little pale, but would not say anything just then +that was not altogether cheerful; and so they stepped up the two or +three yards of gravel walk—she at his right side, with her right hand +in his and her left clinging by his arm, and nestling close by his side, +and leading him up to the house like a beloved captive.</p> + +<p>And so at breakfast he narrated all his adventures, and told who were at +the dinner party, and described two fine ladies' dresses—for the doctor +had skill in millinery, though it was as little known as Don Quixote's +talent for making bird-cages and tooth-picks, confided, as we remember, +in one of his conversations with honest Sancho, under the cork trees. He +told her his whole innocent little budget of gossip, in his own simple, +pleasant way; and his little Lily sat looking on her beloved old man, +and smiling, but saying little, and her eyes often filling with tears; +and he looked, when he chanced to see it—wistfully and sadly for an +instant, but he made no remark.</p> + +<p>And sometime after, as she happened to pass the study-door, he called +her—'Little Lily, come here.' And in she came; and there was the +doctor, all alone and erect before his bookshelves, plucking down a +volume here, and putting up one there, and—</p> + +<p>'Shut the door, little Lily,' said he gently and cheerily, going on with +his work. 'I had a letter yesterday evening, my darling, from Captain +Devereux, and he tells me that he's very much attached to you; and I +don't wonder at his being in love with little Lily—he could not help +it.' And he laughed fondly, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> was taking down a volume that rather +stuck in its place, so he could not turn to look at her; for, the truth +was, he supposed she was blushing, and could not bear to add to her +confusion; and he, though he continued his homely work, and clapped the +sides of his books together, and blew on their tops, and went so simply +and plainly to the point, was flushed and very nervous himself; for, +though he thought of her marriage at some time or another as a thing +that was to be, still it had seemed a long way off. And now, now it was +come, and little Lily was actually going to be married—going away—and +her place would know her no more; and her greeting and her music would +be missed in the evening, and the garden lonely, and the Elms dark, +without Lily.</p> + +<p>'And he wants to marry my little Lily, if she'll have him. And what does +my darling wish me to say to him?' and he spoke very cheerily.</p> + +<p>'My darling, <i>you're</i> my darling; and your little Lily will never, never +leave you. She'll stay.' And here the little speech stopped, for she was +crying, with her arms about his neck; and the old man cried, too, and +smiled over her, and patted her gracious head, with a little trembling +laugh, and said, 'God bless you, my treasure.'</p> + +<p>'Well, little Lily, will you have him?' he said, after a little pause.</p> + +<p>'No, my darling, no!' she answered, still crying.</p> + +<p>'You <i>won't</i> have him?'</p> + +<p>'No—no—never!'</p> + +<p>'Well, little Lily, I won't answer his letter to-day; there's no hurry, +you know. And, if you are of the same mind to-morrow, you can just say +you wish me to write.'</p> + +<p>'Change, I can't; my answer will always be the same—always the same.'</p> + +<p>And she kissed him again, and went toward the door; but she turned back, +drying her eyes, with a smile, and said—</p> + +<p>'No, your little Lily will stay with her darling old man, and be a +pleasant old maid, like Aunt Becky: and I'll play and sing your +favourite airs, and Sally and I will keep the house; and we'll be +happier in the Elms, I'm determined, than ever we were—and won't you +call me, darling, when you're going out?'</p> + +<p>So little Lily ran away, and up stairs; and as she left the study and +its beloved tenant, at every step the air seemed to darken round her, +and her heart to sink. And she turned the key in her door, and threw +herself on the bed; and, with her face to the pillow, cried as if her +heart would break.</p> + +<p>So the summer had mellowed into autumn, and the fall of the leaf, and +Devereux did not return; and, it was alleged in the club, on good +authority, that he was appointed on the staff of the Commander of the +Forces; and Puddock had a letter from him, dated in England, with little +or no news in it; and Dr. Walsingham had a long epistle from Malaga, +from honest Dan Loftus,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> full of Spanish matter for Irish history, and +stating, with many regrets, that his honourable pupil had taken ill of a +fever. And this bit of news speedily took wind, and was discussed with a +good deal of interest, and some fun, at the club; and the odds were +freely given and taken upon the event.</p> + +<p>The politics of Belmont were still pretty much in the old position. The +general had not yet returned, and Aunt Rebecca and Gertrude fought +pitched battles, as heretofore, on the subject of Dangerfield. That +gentleman had carried so many points in his life by simply waiting, that +he was nothing daunted by the obstacles which the caprice of the young +lady presented to the immediate accomplishment of his plans. And those +which he once deliberately formed, were never abandoned for trifles.</p> + +<p>So when Aunt Becky and Miss Gertrude at length agreed on an +armistice—the conditions being that the question of Mr. Dangerfield's +bliss or misery was to stand over for judgment until the general's +return, which could not now be deferred more than two or three +weeks—the amorous swain, on being apprised of the terms by Aunt +Rebecca, acquiesced with alacrity, in a handsome, neat, and gallant +little speech, and kissed Aunt Rebecca's slender and jewelled hand, with +a low bow and a grim smile, all which she received very graciously.</p> + +<p>Of course, Dangerfield knew pretty well how matters stood; he was not a +man to live in a dream; facts were his daily bread. He knew to a month +how old he was, and pretty exactly how time had dealt with his personal +charms. He had a very exact and cynical appreciation of the terms on +which Miss Chattesworth would—if at all—become and continue to be his +wife. But he wanted her—she suited him exactly, and all he needed to +make his kingdom sure, when he had obtained her, was his legal rights. +He was no Petruchio; neither was it his theory to rule by love. He had a +different way. Without bluster, and without wheedling, he had the art of +making those who were under his rule perfectly submissive; sooner or +later they all came to fear him as a child does a spectre. He had no +misgivings about the peace of his household.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Gertrude grew happier and more like herself, and Aunt +Rebecca had her own theories about the real state of that young lady's +affections, and her generally unsuspected relations with others.</p> + +<p>Aunt Rebecca called at the Elms to see Lilias Walsingham, and sat down +beside her on the sofa.</p> + +<p>'Lily, child, you're not looking yourself. I'll send you some drops. You +must positively nurse yourself. I'm almost sorry I did not bring Dr. +Toole.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed I'm glad you did not, Aunt Becky; I take excellent care of +myself. I have not been out for three whole days.'</p> + +<p>'And you must not budge, darling, while this east wind continues. D'ye +mind? And what do you think, my dear, I do be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>lieve I've discovered the +secret reason of Gertrude's repugnance to Mr. Dangerfield's most +advantageous offer.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, indeed!' said Lily, becoming interested.</p> + +<p>'Well, I suppose you suspected she <i>had</i> a secret?' said Aunt Rebecca.</p> + +<p>'I can only say, dear Aunt Becky, she has not told it to <i>me</i>.'</p> + +<p>'Now, listen to me, my dear,' said Aunt Becky, laying her fan upon +Lily's arm. 'So sure as you sit there, Gertrude likes somebody, and I +think I shall soon know who he is. Can you conjecture, my dear?' And +Aunt Rebecca paused, looking, Lilias thought, rather pale, and with a +kind of smile too.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Lilias; 'no, I really can't.'</p> + +<p>'Well, maybe when I tell you I've reason to think he's one of our +officers here. Eh? Can you guess?' said Aunt Becky, holding her fan to +her mouth, and looking straight before her.</p> + +<p>It was now Lily's turn to look pale for a moment, and then to blush so +much that her ears tingled, and her eyes dropped to the carpet. She had +time to recover, though, for Aunt Becky, as I've said, was looking +straight before her, a little pale, awaiting the result of Lily's +presumed ruminations. A moment satisfied her it could not be Devereux, +and she was soon quite herself again.</p> + +<p>'An officer! no, Aunt Becky—there certainly is Captain Cluffe, who +always joins your party when you and Gertrude go down to hear the band, +and Lieutenant Puddock, too, who does the same—but you know—'</p> + +<p>'Well, my dear, all in good time. Gertrude's very secret, and proud too; +but I shall know very soon. I've ascertained, my dear, that an officer +came under the window the other evening, and sang a verse of a French +chanson, from the meadow, in a cloak, if you please, with a guitar. I +could name his name, my dear—'</p> + +<p>'Do pray tell me,' said Lily, whose curiosity was all alive.</p> + +<p>'Why—a—not yet, my dear,' answered Aunt Becky, looking down; 'there +are—there's a reason—but the affair, I may tell you, began, in +earnest, on the very day on which she refused Mr. Mervyn. But I forgot +you did not know <i>that</i> either—however, you'll never mention it.' And +she kissed her cheek, calling her 'my wise little Lily.'</p> + +<p>'And my dear, it has been going on so regularly ever since, with, till +very lately, so little disguise, that I only wonder everybody doesn't +see it as plain as I do myself; and Lily, my dear,' continued Aunt +Rebecca, energetically, rising from the sofa, as some object caught her +eye through the glass-door in the garden, 'your beautiful roses are all +trailing in the mud. What on earth is Hogan about? and there, see, just +at the door, a boxful of nails!—I'd nail his ear to the wall if he were +mine,' and Aunt Rebecca glanced sharply through the glass, this way and +that, for the offending gardener, who, happily, did not appear. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +off went Aunt Becky to something else; and in a little time remembered +the famous academy in Martin's-row, and looking at her watch, took her +leave in a prodigious hurry, and followed by Dominick, in full livery, +and two dogs, left Lilias again to the society of her own sad thoughts.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + + +<h4>IN WHICH DR. STURK TRIES THIS WAY AND THAT FOR A REPRIEVE ON THE EVE OF +EXECUTION.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div><p>o time crept on, and the day arrived when Sturk must pay his rent, or +take the ugly consequences. The day before he spent in Dublin +financiering. It was galling and barren work. He had to ask favours of +fellows whom he hated, and to stand their refusals, and pretend to +believe their lying excuses, and appear to make quite light of it, +though every failure stunned him like a blow of a bludgeon, and as he +strutted jauntily off with a bilious smirk, he was well nigh at his +wits' end. It was dark as he rode out by the low road to +Chapelizod—crest-fallen, beaten—scowling in the darkness through his +horse's ears along the straight black line of road, and wishing, as he +passed the famous Dog-house, that he might be stopped and plundered, and +thus furnished with a decent excuse for his penniless condition, and a +plea in which all the world would sympathise for a short +indulgence—and, faith! he did not much care if they sent a bullet +through his harassed brain. But the highwaymen, like the bankers, seemed +to know, by instinct, that he had not a guinea, and declined to give him +even the miserable help he coveted.</p> + +<p>When he got home he sent down for Cluffe to the Phœnix, and got him +to take Nutter, who was there also, aside, and ask him for a little +time, or to take part of the rent. Though the latter would not have +helped him much; for he could not make out ten pounds just then, were it +to save his life. But Nutter only said—</p> + +<p>'The rent's not mine; I can't give it or lose it; and Sturk's not safe. +Will <i>you</i> lend it? <i>I</i> can't.'</p> + +<p>This brought Cluffe to reason. He had opened the business, like a jolly +companion, in a generous, full-blooded way.</p> + +<p>'Well, by Jove, Nutter, I can't blame you; for you see, between +ourselves, I'm afraid 'tis as you say. We of the Royal Irish have done, +under the rose, you know, all we can; and I'm sorry the poor devil has +run himself into a scrape; but hang it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> we must have a conscience; and +if you think there's a risk of losing it, why I don't see that I can +press you.</p> + +<p>The reader must not suppose when Cluffe said, 'we of the Royal Irish,' +in connection with some pecuniary kindness shown to Sturk, that that +sensible captain had given away any of his money to the surgeon; but +Sturk, in their confidential conference, had hinted something about a +'helping hand,' which Cluffe coughed off, and mentioned that Puddock had +lent him fifteen pounds the week before.</p> + +<p>And so he had, though little Puddock was one of the poorest officers in +the corps. But he had no vices, and husbanded his little means +carefully, and was very kindly and off-hand in assisting to the extent +of his little purse a brother in distress, and never added advice when +so doing—for he had high notions of politeness—or, in all his life, +divulged any of these little money transactions.</p> + +<p>Sturk stood at his drawing-room window, with his hat on, looking towards +the Phœnix, and waiting for Cluffe's return. When he could stand the +suspense no longer, he went down and waited at his door-steps. And the +longer Cluffe stayed the more did Sturk establish himself in the +conviction that the interview had prospered, and that his ambassador was +coming to terms with Nutter. He did not know that the entire question +had been settled in a minute-and-a-half, and that Cluffe was at that +moment rattling away at backgammon with his arch-enemy, Toole, in a +corner of the club parlour.</p> + +<p>It was not till Cluffe, as he emerged from the Phœnix, saw Sturk's +figure stalking in the glimpses of the moon, under the village elm, that +he suddenly recollected and marched up to him. Sturk stood, with his +face and figure mottled over with the shadows of the moving leaves and +the withered ones dropping about him, his hands in his pockets, and a +crown-piece—I believe it was his last available coin just then—shut up +fast and tight in his cold fingers, with his heart in his mouth, and +whistling a little to show his unconcern.</p> + +<p>'Well,' said Sturk, 'he won't, of course?'</p> + +<p>Cluffe shook his head.</p> + +<p>'Very good—I'll manage it another way,' said Sturk, confidently. +'Good-night;' and Sturk walked off briskly towards the turnpike.</p> + +<p>'He might have said "thank you," I think,' Cluffe said, looking after +him with a haughty leer—'mixing myself up in his plaguy affairs, and +asking favours of fellows like Nutter.' But just then, having reached +the corner next the Phœnix, Sturk hesitated, and Cluffe, thinking he +might possibly turn back and ask him for money, turned on his heel, and, +like a prudent fellow, trudged rapidly off to his lodgings.</p> + +<p>Toole and O'Flaherty were standing in the doorway of the Phœnix, +observing the brief and secret meeting under the elm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>'That's Sturk,' said Toole.</p> + +<p>O'Flaherty grunted acquiescence.</p> + +<p>Toole watched attentively till the gentlemen separated, and then +glancing on O'Flaherty from the corner of his eye, with a knowing smile, +'tipped him the wink,' as the phrase went in those days.</p> + +<p>'An affair of honour?' said O'Flaherty, squaring himself. He smelt +powder in everything.</p> + +<p>'More like an affair of <i>dishonour</i>,' said Toole, buttoning his coat. +'He's been "kiting" all over the town. Nutter can distrain for his rent +to-morrow, and Cluffe called him outside the bar to speak with him; put +that and that together, Sir.' And home went Toole.</p> + +<p>Sturk, indeed, had no plan, and was just then incapable of forming any. +He changed his route, not knowing why, and posted over the bridge, and a +good way along the Inchicore road, and then turned about and strode back +again and over the bridge, without stopping, and on towards Dublin; and +suddenly the moon shone out, and he recollected how late it was growing, +and so turned about and walked homeward.</p> + +<p>As he passed by the row of houses looking across the road towards the +river, from Mr. Irons's hall-door step a well-known voice accosted him—</p> + +<p>'A thweet night, doctor—the moon tho thilver bright—the air tho +thoft!'</p> + +<p>It was little Puddock, whose hand and face were raised toward the sweet +regent of the sky.</p> + +<p>'Mighty fine night,' said Sturk, and he paused for a second. It was +Puddock's way to be more than commonly friendly and polite with any man +who owed him money; and Sturk, who thought, perhaps rightly, that the +world of late had been looking cold and black upon him, felt, in a sort +of way, thankful for the greeting and its cordial tone.</p> + +<p>'A night like this,' pursued the little lieutenant, 'my dear Sir, brings +us under the marble balconies of the palace of the Capulets, and sets us +repeating "On such a night sat Dido on the wild seabanks"—you +remember—"and with a willow wand, waved her love back to Carthage,"—or +places us upon the haunted platform, where buried Denmark revisits the +glimpses of the moon. My dear doctor, 'tis wonderful—isn't it—how much +of our enjoyment of Nature we owe to Shakespeare—'twould be a changed +world with us, doctor, if Shakespeare had not written—' Then there was +a little pause, Sturk standing still.</p> + +<p>'God be wi' ye, lieutenant,' said he, suddenly taking his hand. 'If +there were more men like you there would be fewer broken hearts in the +world.' And away went Sturk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<h4>SHOWING HOW CHARLES NUTTER'S BLOW DESCENDED, AND WHAT PART THE SILVER +SPECTACLES BORE IN THE CRISIS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>n the morning the distress and keepers were in Sturk's house.</p> + +<p>We must not be too hard upon Nutter. 'Tis a fearful affair, and no +child's play, this battle of life. Sturk had assailed him like a beast +of prey; not Nutter, to be sure, only Lord Castlemallard's agent. Of +that functionary his wolfish instinct craved the flesh, bones, and +blood. Sturk had no other way to live and grow fat. Nutter or he must go +down. The little fellow saw his great red maw and rabid fangs at his +throat. If he let him off, he would devour him, and lie in his bed, with +his cap on, and his caudles and cordials all round, as the wolf did by +Little Red Riding Hood's grandmamma; and with the weapon which had come +to hand—a heavy one too,—he was going, with Heaven's help, to deal him +a brainblow.</p> + +<p>When Sturk heard in the morning that the blow was actually struck, he +jumped out of bed, and was taken with a great shivering fit, sitting on +the side of it. Little Mrs. Sturk, as white as her nightcap with terror, +was yet decisive in emergency, and bethought her of the brandy bottle, +two glasses from which the doctor swallowed before his teeth gave over +chattering, and a more natural tint returned to his blue face.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Barney, dear, are we ruined?' faltered poor little Mrs. Sturk.</p> + +<p>'Ruined, indeed!' cried Sturk, with an oath, 'Come in here.' He thought +his study was on the same floor with his bed-room, as it had been in old +times in their house in Limerick, ten or twelve years before.</p> + +<p>'That's the nursery, Barney, dear,' she said, thinking, in the midst of +the horror, like a true mother, of the children's sleep.</p> + +<p>Then he remembered and ran down to the study, and pulled out a sheaf of +bills and promissory notes, and renewals thereof, making a very +respectable show.</p> + +<p>'Ruined, indeed!' he cried, hoarsely, talking to his poor little wife in +the tones and with the ferocity which the image of Nutter; with which +his brain was filled, called up. 'Look, I say, here's one fellow owes me +that—and that—and that—and there—there's a dozen in that by +another—there's two more sets there pinned together—and here's an +account of them all—two thousand two hundred—and you may say three +hundred—two thousand three hundred—owed me here; and that miscreant +won't give me a day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>'</p> + +<p>'Is it the rent, Barney?'</p> + +<p>'The rent? To be sure; what else should it be?' shouted the doctor, with +a stamp.</p> + +<p>And so pale little Mrs. Sturk stole out of the room, as her lord with +bitter mutterings pitched his treasure of bad bills back again into the +escritoire: and she heard him slam the study door and run down stairs to +browbeat and curse the men in the hall, for he had lost his head +somewhat, between panic and fury. He was in his stockings and slippers, +with an old flowered silk dressing-gown, and nothing more but his shirt, +and looked, they said, like a madman. One of the fellows was smoking, +and Sturk snatched the pipe from his mouth, and stamped it to atoms on +the floor, roaring at them to know what the —— brought them there; and +without a pause for an answer, thundered, 'And I suppose you'll not let +me take my box of instruments out of the house—mind, it's worth fifty +pounds; and curse me, if one of our men dies for want of them in +hospital, I'll indict you both, and your employer along with you, <i>for +murder!</i>' And so he railed on, till his voice failed him with a sort of +choking, and there was a humming in his ears, and a sort of numbness in +his head, and he thought he was going to have a fit; and then up the +stairs he went again, and into his study, and resolved to have Nutter +out—and it flashed upon him that he'd say, 'Pay the rent first;' and +then—what next? why he'd post him all over Dublin, and Chapelizod, and +Leixlip, where the Lord Lieutenant and Court were.</p> + +<p>And down he sat to a sheet of paper, with his left hand clenched on the +table, and his teeth grinding together, as he ransacked his vocabulary +for befitting terms; but alas, his right hand shook so that his +penmanship would not do, in fact, it half frightened him. 'By my soul! I +believe something bad has happened me,' he muttered, and popped up his +window, and looked out, half dreaming over the church-yard on the park +beyond, and the dewy overhanging hill, all pleasantly lighted up in the +morning sun.</p> + +<p>While this was going on, little Mrs. Sturk, who on critical occasions +took strong resolutions promptly, made a wonderfully rapid toilet, and +let herself quietly out of the street door. She had thought of Dr. +Walsingham; but Sturk had lately, in one of his imperious freaks of +temper, withdrawn his children from the good doctor's catechetical +class, and sent him besides, one of his sturdy, impertinent notes—and +the poor little woman concluded there was no chance there. She knew +little of the rector—of the profound humility and entire placability of +that noble soul.</p> + +<p>Well, she took the opposite direction, and turning her back on the town, +walked at her quickest pace toward the Brass Castle. It was not eight +o'clock yet, but the devil had been up betimes and got through a good +deal of his day's work, as we have seen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> The poor little woman had made +up her mind to apply to Dangerfield. She had liked his talk at Belmont, +where she had met him; and he enquired about the poor, and listened to +some of her woful tales with a great deal of sympathy; and she knew he +was very rich, and that he appreciated her Barney, and so she trudged +on, full of hope, though I don't think many people who knew the world +better would have given a great deal for her chance.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield received the lady very affably, in his little parlour, where +having already despatched his early meal, he was writing letters. He +looked hard at her when she came in, and again when she sat down; and +when she had made an end of her long and dismal tale, he opened a sort +of strong box, and took out a thin quarto and read, turning the leaves +rapidly over.</p> + +<p>'Ay, here we have him—Chapelizod—Sturk, Barnabas—Surgeon, R.I.A., +assignee of John Lowe—hey! one gale day, as you call it, +only!—September. How came that? Rent, £40. Why, then, he owes a whole +year's rent, £40, Ma'am. September, and his days of grace have expired. +He ought to have paid it.'</p> + +<p>Here there came a dreadful pause, during which nothing was heard but the +sharp ticking of his watch on the table.</p> + +<p>'Well, Ma'am,' he said, 'when a thing comes before me, I say yes or no +promptly. I like your husband, and I'll lend him the amount of his +rent.'</p> + +<p>Poor little Mrs. Sturk jumped up in an ecstasy, and then felt quite +sick, and sat down almost fainting, with a deathlike smile.</p> + +<p>'There's but one condition I attach, that you tell me truly, my dear +Ma'am, whether you came to me directly or indirectly at his suggestion.'</p> + +<p>No, indeed, she had not; it was all her own thought; she had not dared +to mention it to him, lest he should forbid her, and now she should be +almost afraid to tell him where she had been.</p> + +<p>'He'll not be very angry, depend on't, my good Madam; you did wisely in +coming to me. I respect your sense and energy; and should you hereafter +stand in need of a friendly office, I beg you'll remember once who is +disposed to help you.'</p> + +<p>Then he sat down and wrote with a flying pen—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have just learned from Mrs. Sturk that +you have an immediate concern for forty pounds, to which, I venture +to surmise, will be added some fees, etc. I take leave, therefore, +to send herewith fifty guineas, which I trust will suffice for this +troublesome affair. We can talk hereafter about repayment. Mrs. +Sturk has handed me a memorandum of the advance.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">'Your very obedient, humble servant,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;" class="smcap">Giles Dangerfield.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Brass Castle, Chapelizod,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'2nd October, 1767.'</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then poor little Mrs. Sturk was breaking out into a delirium of +gratitude. But he put his hand upon her arm kindly, and with a little +bow and an emphasis, he said—</p> + +<p>'Pray, not a <i>word</i>, my dear Madam. Just write a line;' and he slid his +desk before her with a sheet of paper on it; 'and say Mr. Dangerfield +has this day handed me a loan of fifty guineas for my husband, Doctor +Barnabas Sturk. Now sign, if you please, and add the date. Very good!'</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid you can hardly read it—my fingers tremble a little,' said +Mrs. Sturk, with a wild little deprecatory titter, and for the first +time very near crying.</p> + +<p>''Tis mighty well,' said Dangerfield, politely; and he accompanied the +lady with the note and fifty guineas, made up in a little rouleau, fast +in her hand, across his little garden, and with—'A fine morning truly,' +and 'God bless you, Madam,' and one of his peculiar smiles, he let her +out through his little wicket on the high road. And so away went Mrs. +Sturk, scarce feeling the ground under her feet; and Giles Dangerfield, +carrying his white head very erect, with an approving conscience, and +his silver spectacles flashing through the leaves of his lilacs and +laburnums, returned to his parlour.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sturk, who could hardly keep from running, glided along at a +wonderful rate, wondering now and then how quickly the whole affair—so +awful as it seemed to her in magnitude—was managed. Dangerfield had +neither hurried her nor himself, and yet he despatched the matter and +got her away in less than five minutes.</p> + +<p>In little more than a quarter of an hour after, Dr. Sturk descended his +door-steps in full costume, and marched down the street and passed the +artillery barrack, from his violated fortress, as it were, with colours +flying, drums beating, and ball in mouth. He paid the money down at +Nutter's table, in the small room at the Phœnix, where he sat in the +morning to receive his rents, eyeing the agent with a fixed smirk of +hate and triumph, and telling down each piece on the table with a fierce +clink that had the ring of a curse in it. Little Nutter met his stare of +suppressed fury with an eye just as steady and malign and a countenance +blackened by disappointment. Not a word was heard but Sturk's insolent +tone counting the gold at every clang on the table.</p> + +<p>Nutter shoved him a receipt across the table, and swept the gold into +his drawer.</p> + +<p>'Go over, Tom,' he said to the bailiff, in a stern low tone, 'and see +the men don't leave the house till the fees are paid.'</p> + +<p>And Sturk laughed a very pleasant laugh, you may be sure, over his +shoulder at Nutter, as he went out at the door.</p> + +<p>When he was gone Nutter stood up, and turned his face toward the empty +grate. I have seen some plain faces once or twice look so purely +spiritual, and others at times so infernal, as to ac<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>quire in their +homeliness a sort of awful grandeur; and from every feature of Nutter's +dark wooden face was projected at that moment a supernatural glare of +baffled hatred that dilated to something almost sublime.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING HOW, IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT, A VISION CAME TO STURK, AND +HIS EYES WERE OPENED.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div><p>turk's triumph was only momentary. He was in ferocious spirits, indeed, +over the breakfast-table, and bolted quantities of buttered toast and +eggs, swallowed cups of tea, one after the other, almost at a single +gulp, all the time gabbling with a truculent volubility, and every now +and then a thump, which made his spoon jingle in his saucer, and poor, +little Mrs. Sturk start, and whisper, 'Oh, my dear!' But after he had +done defying and paying off the whole world, and showing his wife, and +half convincing himself, that he was the cleverest and finest fellow +alive, a letter was handed to him, which reminded him, in a dry, short +way, of those most formidable and imminent dangers that rose up, +apparently insurmountable before him; and he retired to his study to +ruminate again, and chew the cud of bitter fancy, and to write letters +and tear them to pieces, and, finally, as was his wont, after hospital +hours, to ride into Dublin, to bore his attorney with barren inventions +and hopeless schemes of extrication.</p> + +<p>Sturk came home that night with a hang-dog and jaded look, and taciturn +and half desperate. But he called for whiskey, and drank a glass of that +cordial, and brewed a jug of punch in silence, and swallowed glass after +glass, and got up a little, and grew courageous and flushed, and prated +away, rather loud and thickly with a hiccough now and then, and got to +sleep earlier than usual.</p> + +<p>Somewhere among the 'small hours' of the night he awoke suddenly, +recollecting something.</p> + +<p>'I have it,' cried Sturk, with an oath, and an involuntary kick at the +foot-board, that made his slumbering helpmate bounce.</p> + +<p>'What is it, Barney, dear?' squalled she, diving under the bed-clothes, +with her heart in her mouth.</p> + +<p>'It's like a revelation,' cried Sturk, with another oath; and that was +all Mrs. Sturk heard of it for some time. But the surgeon was wide +awake, and all alive about it, whatever it was. He sat straight up in +the bed, with his lips energetically compressed, and his eyebrows +screwed together, and his shrewd, hard eyes rolling thoughtfully over +the curtains, in the dark, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> now and then an ejaculation of wonder, +or a short oath, would slowly rise up, and burst from his lips, like a +great bubble from the fermentation.</p> + +<p>Sturk's brain was in a hubbub. He had fifty plans, all jostling and +clamouring together, like a nursery of unruly imps—'Take <i>me</i>'—'No, +take <i>me</i>'—'No, <i>me</i>!' He had been dreaming like mad, and his sensorium +was still all alive with the images of fifty phantasmagoria, filled up +by imagination and conjecture, and a strange, painfully-sharp +remembrance of things past—all whirling in a carnival of roystering but +dismal riot—masks and dice, laughter, maledictions, and drumming, fair +ladies, tipsy youths, mountebanks, and assassins: tinkling serenades, +the fatal clang and rattle of the dice-box, and long drawn, distant +screams.</p> + +<p>There was no more use in Sturk's endeavours to reduce all this to order, +than in reading the Riot Act to a Walpurgis gathering. So he sat +muttering unconscious ejaculations, and looking down, as it were, from +his balcony, waiting for the uproar to abate; and when the air did clear +and cool a little, there was just one face that remained impassive, and +serenely winked before his eyes.</p> + +<p>When things arrived at this stage, and he had gathered his recollections +about him, and found himself capable of thinking, being a man of action, +up he bounced and struck a light, vaulted into his breeches, hauled on +his stockings, hustled himself into his roquelaure, and, candle in hand, +in slippered feet, glided, like a ghost, down stairs to the back +drawing-room, which, as we know, was his study.</p> + +<p>The night was serene and breathless. The sky had cleared, and the +moonlight slept mistily on the soft slopes of the park. The landscape +was a febrifuge, and cooled and quieted his brain as he stood before it +at his open window, in solitary meditation. It was not till his slowly +wandering eye lighted on the churchyard, with a sort of slight shock, +that he again bestirred himself.</p> + +<p>There it lay, with its white tombstones and its shadows spread under +him, seeming to say—'Ay, here I am; the narrow goal of all your plans. +Not one of the glimmering memorials you see that does not cover what +once was a living world of long-headed schemes, chequered remembrances, +and well-kept secrets. Here lie your brother plotters, all in bond, only +some certain inches below; with their legs straight and their arms by +their sides, as when grim Captain <span class="smcap">Death</span> called the stern word +"attention!" with their sightless faces and unthinking foreheads turned +up to the moon. Dr. Sturk, there are lots of places for you to choose +among—suit yourself—here—or here—or maybe here.'</p> + +<p>And so Sturk closed the window and remembered his dream, and looked out +stealthily but sternly from the door, which was ajar, and shut it +sharply, and with his hands in his breeches' pockets, took a quick turn +to the window; his soul had got into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> harness again, and he was busy +thinking. Then he snuffed the candle, and then quickened his invention +by another brisk turn; and then he opened his desk, and sat down to +write a note.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said he to himself, pausing for a minute, with his pen in his +fingers, ''tis as certain as that I sit here.'</p> + +<p>Well, he wrote the note. There was a kind of smile on his face, which +was paler than usual all the while; and he read it over, and threw +himself back in his chair, and then read it over again, and did not like +it, and tore it up.</p> + +<p>Then he thought hard for a while, leaning upon his elbow; and took a +couple of great pinches of snuff, and snuffed his candle again, and, as +it were, snuffed his wits, and took up his pen with a little flourish, +and dashed off another, and read it, and liked it, and gave it a little +sidelong nod, as though he said, 'You'll do;' and, indeed, considering +all the time and thought he spent upon it, the composition was no great +wonder, being, after all, no more than this:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;" class="smcap">'Dear Sir,</span>—Will you give me the honour of a meeting at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">my house this morning, as you pass through the town? I shall</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">remain within till noon; and hope for some minutes' private discourse</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">with you.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">'Your most obedient, very humble servant,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;" class="smcap">'Barnabas Sturk.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Then he sealed it with a great red seal, large enough for a patent +almost, impressed with the Sturk arms—a boar's head for crest, and a +flaunting scroll, with 'Dentem fulmineum cave' upon it. Then he peeped +again from the window to see if the gray of the morning had come, for he +had left his watch under his bolster, and longed for the time of action.</p> + +<p>Then up stairs went Sturk; and so, with the note, like a loaded pistol, +over the chimney, he popped into bed, where he lay awake in agitating +rumination, determined to believe that he had seen the last of those +awful phantoms—those greasy bailiffs—that smooth, smirking, formidable +attorney; and—curse him—that bilious marshal's deputy, with the +purplish, pimply tinge about the end of his nose and the tops of his +cheeks, that beset his bed in a moving ring—this one pushing out a +writ, and that rumpling open a parchment deed, and the other fumbling +with his keys, and extending his open palm for the garnish. Avaunt. He +had found out a charm to rout them all, and they sha'n't now lay a +finger on him—a short and sharp way to clear himself; and so I believe +he had.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING A LITTLE REHEARSAL IN CAPTAIN CLUFFE'S, LODGING, AND A +CERTAIN CONFIDENCE BETWEEN DR. STURK AND MR. DANGERFIELD.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img048.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" /></div><p>rs. Sturk, though very quiet, was an active little body, with a gentle, +anxious face. She was up and about very early, and ran down to the +King's House, to ask Mrs. Colonel Stafford, who was very kind to her, +and a patroness of Sturk's, to execute a little commission for her in +Dublin, as she understood she was going into town that day, and the +doctor's horse had gone lame, and was in the hands of the farrier. So +the good lady undertook it, and offered a seat in her carriage to Dr. +Sturk, should his business call him to town. The carriage would be at +the door at half-past eleven.</p> + +<p>And as she trotted home—for her Barney's breakfast-hour was drawing +nigh—whom should she encounter upon the road, just outside the town, +but their grim spectacled benefactor, Dangerfield, accompanied by, and +talking in his usual short way to Nutter, the arch enemy, who, to say +truth, looked confoundedly black and she heard the silver spectacles +say, ''Tis, you understand, my own thoughts <i>only</i> I speak, Mr. Nutter.'</p> + +<p>The fright and the shock of seeing Nutter so near her, made her +salutation a little awkward; and she had, besides, an instinctive +consciousness that they were talking about the terrible affair of +yesterday. Dangerfield, on meeting her, bid Nutter good-morning +suddenly, and turned about with Mrs. Sturk, who had to slacken her pace +a little, for the potent agent chose to walk rather slowly.</p> + +<p>'A fine morning after all the rain, Madam. How well the hills look,' and +he pointed across the Liffey with his cane; 'and the view down the +river,' and he turned about, pointing towards Inchicore.</p> + +<p>I believe he wanted to see how far Nutter was behind them. He was +walking in the opposite direction, looking down on the kerb-stones of +the footpath, and touching them with his cane, as if counting them as he +proceeded. Dangerfield nodded, and his spectacles in the morning sun +seemed to flash two sudden gleams of lightning after him.</p> + +<p>'I've been giving Nutter a bit of my mind, Madam, about that procedure +of his. He's very angry with me, but a great deal more so with your +husband, who has my sympathies with him; and I think I'm safe in saying +he's likely soon to have an offer of employment under my Lord +Castlemallard, if it suits him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>And he walked on, and talked of other things in short sentences, and +parted with Mrs. Sturk with a grim brief kindness at the door, and so +walked with his wiry step away towards the Brass Castle, where his +breakfast awaited him, and he disappeared round the corner of Martin's +Row.</p> + +<p>'And which way was he going when you met him and that—that <i>Nutter</i>?' +demanded Sturk, who was talking in high excitement, and not being able +to find an epithet worthy of Nutter, made it up by his emphasis and his +scowl. She told him.</p> + +<p>'H'm! then, he can't have got my note yet!'</p> + +<p>She looked at him in a way that plainly said, 'what note?' but Sturk +said no more, and he had trained her to govern her curiosity.</p> + +<p>As Dangerfield passed Captain Cluffe's lodgings, he heard the gay tinkle +of a guitar, and an amorous duet, not altogether untunefully sung to +that accompaniment; and he beheld little Lieutenant Puddock's back, with +a broad scarlet and gold ribbon across it, supporting the instrument on +which he was industriously thrumming, at the window, while Cluffe, who +was emitting a high note, with all the tenderness he could throw into +his robust countenance, and one of those involuntary distortions which +in amateurs will sometimes accompany a vocal effort, caught the eye of +the cynical wayfarer, and stopped short with a disconcerted little cough +and a shake of his chops, and a grim, rather red nod, and 'Good-morning, +Mr. Dangerfield.' Puddock also saluted, still thrumming a low chord or +two as he did so, for he was not ashamed, like his stout playmate, and +saw nothing incongruous in their early minstrelsy.</p> + +<p>The fact is, these gallant officers were rehearsing a pretty little +entertainment they designed for the ladies at Belmont. It was a +serenade, in short, and they had been compelled to postpone it in +consequence of the broken weather; and though both gentlemen were, of +course, romantically devoted to their respective objects, yet there were +no two officers in his Majesty's service more bent upon making love with +a due regard to health and comfort than our friends Cluffe and Puddock. +Puddock, indeed, was disposed to conduct it in the true masquerading +spirit, leaving the ladies to guess at the authors of that concord of +sweet sounds with which the amorous air of night was to quiver round the +walls and groves of Belmont; and Cluffe, externally acquiescing, had yet +made up his mind, if a decent opportunity presented, to be detected and +made prisoner, and that the honest troubadours should sup on a hot +broil, and sip some of the absent general's curious Madeira at the feet +of their respective mistresses, with all the advantage which a situation +so romantic and so private would offer.</p> + +<p>So 'tinkle, tinkle, twang, twang, THRUM!' went the industrious and +accomplished Puddock's guitar; and the voices of the enamoured swains +kept tolerable tune and time; and Pud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>dock would say, 'Don't you think, +Captain Cluffe, 'twould perhapth go better if we weren't to try that +shake upon A. Do let's try the last two barth without it;' and 'I'm +thorry to trouble you, but jutht wonth more, if you pleathe—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'"But hard ith the chathe my thad heart mutht purthue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While Daphne, thweet Daphne, thtill flieth from my view."'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Puddock, indeed, had strict notions about rehearsing, and, on occasions +like this, assumed managerial airs, and in a very courteous way took the +absolute command of Captain Cluffe, who sang till he was purple, and his +belts and braces cracked again, not venturing to mutiny, though he +grumbled a little aside.</p> + +<p>So when Dangerfield passed Cluffe's lodging again, returning on his way +into Chapelizod, the songsters were at it still. And he smiled his +pleasant smile once more, and nodded at poor old Cluffe, who this time +was very seriously put out, and flushed up quite fiercely, and said, +almost in a mutiny—</p> + +<p>'Hang it, Puddock, I believe you'd keep a fellow singing ballads over +the street all day. Didn't you see that cursed fellow, Dangerfield, +sneering at us—curse him—I suppose he never heard a gentleman sing +before; and, by Jove, Puddock, you know you do make a fellow go over the +same thing so often it's enough to make a dog laugh.'</p> + +<p>A minute after Dangerfield had mounted Sturk's door-steps, and asked to +see the doctor. He was ushered up stairs and into that back drawing-room +which we know so well. Sturk rose as he entered.</p> + +<p>'Your most obedient, Mr. Dangerfield,' said the doctor, with an anxious +bow.</p> + +<p>'Good-morning, Sir,' said Dangerfield. 'I've got your note, and am here +in consequence; what can I do?'</p> + +<p>Sturk glanced at the door, to see it was shut, and then said—</p> + +<p>'Mr. Dangerfield, I've recollected a—<i>something</i>.'</p> + +<p>'You <i>have</i>? ho! Well, my good Sir?'</p> + +<p>'You, I know, were acquainted with—with <i>Charles Archer</i>?'</p> + +<p>Sturk looked for a moment on the spectacles, and then dropped his eyes.</p> + +<p>'Charles Archer,' answered Dangerfield promptly, 'yes, to be sure. But, +Charles, you know, got into trouble, and 'tis not an acquaintance you or +I can boast of; and, in fact, we must not mention him; and I have long +ceased to know anything of him.'</p> + +<p>'But, I've just remembered his address; and there's something about his +private history which I very well know, and which gives me a claim upon +his kind feeling, and he's now in a position to do me a material +service; and there's no man living, Mr. Dangerfield, has so powerful an +influence with him as your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>self. Will you use it in my behalf, and +attach me to you by lasting gratitude?'</p> + +<p>Sturk looked straight at Dangerfield; and Dangerfield looked at him, +quizzically, perhaps a little ashamed, in return; after a short pause—</p> + +<p>'I <i>will</i>,' said Dangerfield, with a sprightly decision. '<i>But</i>, you +know, Charles is not a fellow to be trifled with—hey? and we must not +mention his name—you understand—or hint where he lives, or anything +about him, in short.'</p> + +<p>'That's plain,' answered Sturk.</p> + +<p>'You're going into town, Mrs. Sturk tells me, in Mrs. Strafford's +carriage. Well, when you return this evening, put down in writing what +you think Charles can do for you, and I'll take care he considers it.'</p> + +<p>'I thank you, Sir,' said Sturk, solemnly.</p> + +<p>'And hark ye, you'd better go about your business in town—do you +see—just as usual; 'twill excite enquiry if you don't; so you must in +this and other things proceed exactly as I direct you,' said +Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Exactly, Sir, depend on't,' answered Sturk.</p> + +<p>'Good-day,' said Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Adieu,' said the doctor; and they shook hands, gravely.</p> + +<p>On the lobby Dangerfield encountered Mrs. Sturk, and had a few pleasant +words with her, patting the bull-heads of the children, and went down +stairs smiling and nodding; and Mrs. Sturk popped quietly into the +study, and found her husband leaning on the chimney piece, and swabbing +his face with his handkerchief—strangely pale—and looking, as the good +lady afterwards said, for all the world as if he had seen a ghost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + +<h4>THE CLOSET SCENE, WITH THE PART OF POLONIUS OMITTED.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>hen Magnolia and the major had gone out, each on their several devices, +poor Mrs. Macnamara called Biddy, their maid, and told her, in a +vehement, wheezy, confidential whisper in her ear, though there was +nobody by but themselves, and the door was shut.</p> + +<p>'Biddy, now mind—d'ye see—the lady that came to me in the end of +July—do you remember?—in the black satin—you know?—she'll be here +to-day, and we're going down together in her coach to Mrs. Nutter's; but +that does not signify. As soon as she comes, bring her in here, into +this room—d'ye mind?—and go across that instant minute—d'ye see +now?—straight to Dr. Toole, and ask him to send me the peppermint drops +he promised me.'</p> + +<p>Then she cross-questioned Biddy, to ascertain that she perfectly +understood and clearly remembered; and, finally, she promised her +half-a-crown if she peformed this very simple commission to her +mistress's satisfaction and held her tongue religiously on the subject. +She had apprised Toole the evening before, and now poor 'Mrs. Mack's +sufferings, she hoped, were about to be brought to a happy termination +by the doctor's ingenuity. She was, however, very nervous indeed, as the +crisis approached; for such a beast as Mary Matchwell at bay was a +spectacle to excite a little tremor even in a person of more nerve than +fat Mrs. Macnamara.</p> + +<p>And what could Mary Matchwell want of a conjuring conference, of all +persons in the world, with poor little Mrs. Nutter? Mrs. Mack had done +in this respect simply as she was bid. She had indeed no difficulty to +persuade Mrs. Nutter to grant the interview. That harmless little +giggling creature could not resist the mere mention of a fortune-teller. +Only for Nutter, who set his face against this sort of sham witchcraft, +she would certainly have asked him to treat her with a glimpse into +futurity at that famous-sibyl's house; and now that she had an +opportunity of having the enchantress <i>tête-à-tête</i> in her own snug +parlour at the Mills, she was in a delightful fuss of mystery and +delight.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mack, indeed, from her own sad experience, felt a misgiving and a +pang in introducing the formidable prophetess. But what could she do? +She dared not refuse; all she could risk was an anxious hint to poor +little Mrs. Nutter, 'not to be telling her <i>anything</i>, good, bad, or +indifferent, but just to ask her what questions she liked, and no more.' +Indeed, poor Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> Mack was low and feverish about this assignation, and +would have been more so but for the hope that her Polonius, behind the +arras, would bring the woman of Endor to her knees.</p> + +<p>All on a sudden she heard the rumble and jingle of a hackney coach, and +the clang of the horses' hoofs pulled up close under her window; her +heart bounded and fluttered up to her mouth, and then dropped down like +a lump of lead, and she heard a well-known voice talk a few sentences to +the coachman, and then in the hall, as she supposed, to Biddy; and so +she came into the room, dressed as usual in black, tall, thin, and +erect, with a black hood shading her pale face and the mist and chill of +night seemed to enter along with her.</p> + +<p>It was a great relief to poor Mrs. Mack, that she actually saw Biddy at +that moment run across the street toward Toole's hall-door, and she +quickly averted her conscious glance from the light-heeled handmaid.</p> + +<p>'Pray take a chair, Ma'am,' said Mrs. Mack, with a pallid face and a low +courtesy.</p> + +<p>Mistress Matchwell made a faint courtesy in return, and, without saying +anything, sat down, and peered sharply round the room.</p> + +<p>'I'm glad, Ma'am, you had no dust to-day; the rain, Ma'am, laid it +beautiful.'</p> + +<p>The grim woman in black threw back her hood a little, and showed her +pale face and thin lips, and prominent black eyes, altogether a grisly +and intimidating countenance, with something wild and suspicious in it, +suiting by no means ill with her supernatural and malign pretensions.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mack's ear was strained to catch the sound of Toole's approach, and +a pause ensued, during which she got up and poured out a glass of port +for the lady, and she presented it to her deferentially. She took it +with a nod, and sipped it, thinking, as it seemed, uneasily. There was +plainly something more than usual upon her mind. Mrs. Mack +thought—indeed, she was quite sure—she heard a little fussing about +the bed-room door, and concluded that the doctor was getting under +cover.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Matchwell had set her empty glass upon the table, she glided +to the window, and Mrs. Mack's guilty conscience smote her, as she saw +her look towards Toole's house. It was only, however, for the coach; and +having satisfied herself it was at hand, she said—</p> + +<p>'We'll have some minutes quite private, if you please—'tisn't my +affair, you know, but yours,' said the weird woman.</p> + +<p>There had been ample time for the arrangement of Toole's ambuscade. Now +was the moment. The crisis was upon her. But poor Mrs. Mack, just as she +was about to say her little say about the front windows and opposite +neighbours, and the privacy of the back bed-room, and to propose their +retiring thither, felt a sinking of the heart—a deadly faintness, and +an instinctive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> conviction that she was altogether overmatched, and that +she could not hope to play successfully any sort of devil's game with +that all-seeing sorceress. She had always thought she was a plucky woman +till she met Mistress Mary. Before <i>her</i> her spirit died within her—her +blood flowed hurriedly back to her heart, leaving her body cold, pale, +and damp, and her soul quailing under her gaze.</p> + +<p>She cleared her voice twice, and faltered an enquiry, but broke down in +panic; and at that moment Biddy popped in her head—</p> + +<p>'The doctor, Ma'am, was sent for to Lucan, an' he won't be back till six +o'clock, an' he left no peppermint drops for you, Ma'am, an' do you want +me, if you plase, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'Go down, Biddy, that'll do,' said Mrs. Mack, growing first pale, and +then very red.</p> + +<p>Mary Matchwell scented death afar off; for her the air was always +tainted with ominous perfumes. Every unusual look or dubious word +thrilled her with a sense of danger. Suspicion is the baleful instinct +of self-preservation with which the devil gifts his children; and hers +never slept.</p> + +<p>'<i>What</i> doctor?' said Mrs. Matchwell, turning her large, dismal, wicked +gaze full on Mrs. Mack.</p> + +<p>'Doctor Toole, Ma'am.' She dared not tell a literal lie to that +piercing, prominent pair of black eyes.</p> + +<p>'And why did you send for Doctor O'Toole, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'I did not send for the doctor,' answered the fat lady, looking down, +for she could not stand that glance that seemed to light up all the +caverns of her poor soul, and make her lies stand forth self-confessed. +'I did not send for him, Ma'am, only for some drops he promised me. I've +been very sick—I—I—I'm so miserable.'</p> + +<p>And poor Mrs. Mack's nether lip quivered, and she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>'You're enough to provoke a saint, Mrs. Macnamara,' said the woman in +black, rather savagely, though coldly enough. 'Why you're on the point +of fortune, as it seems to me.' Here poor Mrs. Mack's inarticulate +lamentations waxed more vehement. 'You don't believe it—very well—but +where's the use of crying over your little difficulties, Ma'am, like a +great baby, instead of exerting yourself and thanking your best friend?'</p> + +<p>And the two ladies sat down to a murmuring <i>tête-à-tête</i> at the far end +of the room; you could have heard little more than an inarticulate +cooing, and poor Mrs. Mack's sobs, and the stern—</p> + +<p>'And is that all? I've had more trouble with you than with fifty +reasonable clients—you can hardly be serious—I tell you plainly, you +must manage matters better, my good Madam; for, frankly, Ma'am, <i>this</i> +won't do.'</p> + +<p>With which that part of the conference closed, and Mary Matchwell looked +out of the window. The coach stood at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> door, the horses dozing +patiently, with their heads together, and the coachman, with a black +eye, mellowing into the yellow stage, and a cut across his nose—both +doing well—was marching across from the public-house over the way, +wiping his mouth in the cuff of his coat.</p> + +<p>'Put on your riding-hood, if you please, Madam, and come down with me in +the coach to introduce me to Mrs. Nutter,' said Mrs. Matchwell, at the +same time tapping with her long bony fingers to the driver.</p> + +<p>'There's no need of that, Madam. I said what you desired, and I sent a +note to her last night, and she expects you just now; and, indeed, I'd +rather not go, Madam, if you please.'</p> + +<p>''Tis past that now—just do as I tell you, for come you must,' answered +Mrs. Matchwell.</p> + +<p>As the old woman of Berkley obeyed, and got up and went quietly away +with her visitor, though her dead flesh quivered with fear, so poor Mrs. +Mack, though loath enough, submitted in silence.</p> + +<p>'Now, you look like a body going to be hanged—you do; what's the matter +with you, Madam? I tell you, you mustn't look that way. Here, take a sup +o' this;' and she presented the muzzle of a small bottle like a pistol +at her mouth as she spoke—</p> + +<p>'There's a glass on the table, if you let me, Ma'am,' said Mrs. Mack.</p> + +<p>'Glass be——; here, take a mouthful.'</p> + +<p>And she popped it between her lips; and Mrs. Mack was refreshed and her +spirit revived within her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH PALE HECATE VISITS THE MILLS, AND CHARLES NUTTER, ESQ., ORDERS +TEA.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img050.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'P'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'P'" /></div><p>oor Mrs. Nutter, I have an honest regard for her memory. If she was +scant of brains, she was also devoid of guile—giggle and raspberry-jam +were the leading traits of her character. And though she was slow to +believe ill-natured stories, and made, in general, a horrid jumble when +she essayed to relate news, except of the most elementary sort; and used +to forget genealogies, and to confuse lawsuits and other family feuds, +and would have made a most unsatisfactory witness upon any topic on +earth, yet she was a ready sympathiser, and a restless but purblind +matchmaker—always suggesting or suspecting little romances, and always +amazed when the eclaircissement came off. Excellent for +condoling—better still for rejoicing—she would, on hearing of a +surprising good match, or an unexpected son and heir, or a +pleasantly-timed legacy, go off like a mild little peal of joy-bells, +and keep ringing up and down and zig-zag, and to and again, in all sorts +of irregular roulades, without stopping, the whole day long, with 'Well, +to be sure.' 'Upon my conscience, now, I scarce can believe it.' 'An' +isn't it pleasant, though.' 'Oh! the creatures—but it was badly +wanted!' 'Dear knows—but I'm glad—ha, ha, ha,' and so on. A train of +reflection and rejoicing not easily exhausted, and readily, by simple +transposition, maintainable for an indefinite period. And people, when +good news came, used to say, 'Sally Nutter will be glad to hear that;' +and though she had not a great deal of sense, and her conversation was +made up principally of interjections, assisted by little gestures, and +wonderful expressions of face; and though, when analysed it was not +much, yet she made a cheerful noise, and her company was liked; and her +friendly little gesticulation, and her turning up of the eyes, and her +smiles and sighs, and her 'whisht a bit,' and her 'faith and troth now,' +and 'whisper,' and all the rest of her little budget of idiomatic +expletives, made the people somehow, along with her sterling qualities, +fonder of her than perhaps, having her always at hand, they were quite +aware.</p> + +<p>So they both entered the vehicle, which jingled and rattled so +incessantly and so loud that connected talk was quite out of the +question, and Mrs. Macnamara was glad 'twas so; and she could not help +observing there was something more than the ordinary pale cast of +devilment in Mary Matchwell's face—something, she thought, almost +frightful, and which tempted her to believe in her necromantic faculty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>So they reached Nutter's house, at the mills, a sober, gray-fronted +mansion, darkened with tall trees, and in went Mrs. Mack. Little Mrs. +Nutter received her in a sort of transport of eagerness, giggle, and +curiosity.</p> + +<p>'And is she really in the coach now? and, my dear, does she really tell +the wonders they say? Mrs. Molly told me—well, now, the most surprising +things; and do you actually believe she's a conjuror? But mind you, +Nutter must not know I had her here. He can't abide a fortune-teller. +And what shall I ask her? I think about the pearl cross—don't you? For +I <i>would</i> like to know, and then whether Nutter or his enemies—you know +who I mean—will carry the day—don't you know? Doctor Sturk, my dear, +and—and—but that's the chief question.'</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Mack glanced over her shoulder to see she wasn't watched, and +whispered her in haste—</p> + +<p>'For mercy's sake, my dear, take my advice, and that is, listen to all +she tells you, but tell her nothing.'</p> + +<p>'To be sure, my dear, that's only common sense,' said Mrs. Nutter.</p> + +<p>And Mary Matchwell, who thought they had been quite long enough +together, descended from the carriage, and was in the hall before Mrs. +Nutter was aware; and the silent apparition overawed the poor little +lady, who faltered a 'Good-evening, Madam—you're very welcome—pray +step in.' So in they all trooped to Nutter's parlour.</p> + +<p>So soon as little Mrs. Nutter got fairly under the chill and shadow of +this inauspicious presence, her giggle subsided, and she began to think +of the dreadful story she had heard of her having showed Mrs. Flemming +through a glass of fair water, the apparition of her husband with his +face half masked with blood, the day before his murder by the watchmen +in John's-lane. When, therefore, this woman of Endor called for water +and glasses, and told Mrs. Mack that she must leave them alone together, +poor little empty Mrs. Nutter lost heart, and began to feel very queer, +and to wish herself well out of the affair; and, indeed, was almost +ready to take to her heels and leave the two ladies in possession of the +house, but she had not decision for this.</p> + +<p>'And mayn't Mrs. Mack stay in the room with us?' she asked, following +that good lady's retreating figure with an imploring look.</p> + +<p>'By no means.'</p> + +<p>This was addressed sternly to Mrs. Mack herself, who, followed by poor +Mrs. Nutter's eyes, moved fatly and meekly out of the room.</p> + +<p>She was not without her fair share of curiosity, but on the whole, was +relieved, and very willing to go. She had only seen Mary Matchwell take +from her pocket and uncase a small, oval-shaped steel mirror, which +seemed to have the property of magnifying objects; for she saw her +cadaverous fingers reflected in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> it to fully double their natural size, +and she had half filled a glass with water, and peered through it askew, +holding it toward the light.</p> + +<p>Well, the door was shut, and an interval of five minutes elapsed; and +all of a sudden two horrible screams in quick succession rang through +the house.</p> + +<p>Betty, the maid, and Mrs. Mack were in the small room on the other side +of the hall, and stared in terror on one another. The old lady, holding +Betty by the wrist, whispered a benediction; and Betty crying—'Oh! my +dear, what's happened the poor misthress?' crossed the hall in a second, +followed by Mrs. Mack, and they heard the door unlocked on the inside as +they reached it.</p> + +<p>In they came, scarce knowing how, and found poor little Mrs. Nutter flat +upon the floor, in a swoon, her white face and the front of her dress +drenched with water.</p> + +<p>'You've a scent bottle, Mrs. Macnamara—let her smell to it,' said the +grim woman in black, coldly, but with a scarcely perceptible gleam of +triumph, as she glanced on the horrified faces of the women.</p> + +<p>Well, it was a long fainting-fit; but she did come out of it. And when +her bewildered gaze at last settled upon Mrs. Matchwell, who was +standing darkly and motionless between the windows, she uttered another +loud and horrible cry, and clung with her arms round Mrs. Mack's neck, +and screamed—</p> + +<p>'Oh! Mrs. Mack, <i>there</i> she is—<i>there</i> she is—<i>there</i> she is.'</p> + +<p>And she screamed so fearfully and seemed in such an extremity of terror, +that Mary Matchwell, in her sables, glided, with a strange sneer on her +pale face, out of the room across the hall, and into the little parlour +on the other side, like an evil spirit whose mission was half +accomplished, and who departed from her for a season.</p> + +<p>'She's here—she's here!' screamed poor little Mrs. Nutter.</p> + +<p>'No, dear, no—she's not—she's gone, my dear, indeed she's gone,' +replied Mrs. Mack, herself very much appalled.</p> + +<p>'Oh! is she gone—is she—<i>is</i> she gone?' cried Mrs. Nutter, staring all +round the room, like a child after a frightful dream.</p> + +<p>'She's gone, Ma'am, dear—she isn't here—by this crass, she's gone!' +said Betty, assisting Mrs. Mack, and equally frightened and incensed.</p> + +<p>'Oh! oh! Betty, where is he gone? Oh! Mrs. Mack—oh! no—no—never! It +can't be—it couldn't. It <i>is</i> not he—he never did it.'</p> + +<p>'I declare to you, Ma'am, she's not right in her head!' cried poor +Betty, at her wits' ends.</p> + +<p>'There—<i>there</i> now, Sally, darling—<i>there</i>,' said frightened Mrs. +Mack, patting her on the back.</p> + +<p>'There—there—there—I see him,' she cried again. 'Oh! +Charley,—Charley, sure—sure I didn't see it aright—it was not real.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>'There now, don't be frettin' yourself, Ma'am dear,' said Betty.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Mack glanced over her shoulder in the direction in which Mrs. +Nutter was looking, and with a sort of shock, not knowing whether it was +a bodily presence or a simulacrum raised by the incantations of Mary +Matchwell, she beheld the dark features and white eye-balls of Nutter +himself looking full on them from the open door.</p> + +<p>'Sally—what ails you, sweetheart?' said he, coming close up to her with +two swift steps.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Charley—'twas a dream—nothing else—a bad dream, Charley. Oh! say +it's a dream,' cried the poor terrified little woman. 'Oh! she's +coming—she's coming!' she cried again, with an appalling scream.</p> + +<p>'<i>Who</i>—what's the matter?' cried Nutter, looking in the direction of +his poor wife's gaze in black wrath and bewilderment, and beholding the +weird woman who had followed him into the room. As he gazed on that +pale, wicked face and sable shape, the same sort of spell which she +exercised upon Mrs. Mack, and poor Mrs. Nutter, seemed in a few seconds +to steal over Nutter himself, and fix him in the place where he stood. +His mahogany face bleached to sickly boxwood, and his eyes looked like +pale balls of stone about to leap from their sockets.</p> + +<p>After a few seconds, however, with a sort of gasp, like a man awaking +from a frightful sleep, he said—</p> + +<p>'Betty, take the mistress to her room;' and to his wife, 'go, +sweetheart. Mrs. Macnamara, this must be explained,' he added; and +taking her by the hand, he led her in silence to the hall-door, and +signed to the driver.</p> + +<p>'Oh! thank you, Mr. Nutter,' she stammered; 'but the coach is not mine; +it came with that lady who's with Mrs. Nutter.'</p> + +<p>He had up to this moved with her like a somnambulist.</p> + +<p>'Ay, that lady; and who the devil is she?' and he seized her arm with a +sudden grasp that made her wince.</p> + +<p>'Oh! that lady!' faltered Mrs. Mack—'she's, I believe—she's Mrs. +Matchwell—the—the lady that advertises her abilities.'</p> + +<p>'Hey! I know—the fortune-teller, and go-between,—her!'</p> + +<p>She was glad he asked her no more questions, but let her go, and stood +in a livid meditation, forgetting to bid her good evening. She did not +wait, however, for his courteous dismissal, but hurried away towards +Chapelizod. The only thing connected with the last half-hour's events +that seemed quite clear and real to the scared lady was the danger of +being overtaken by that terrible woman, and a dreadful sense of her own +share as an accessory in the untold mischief that had befallen poor Mrs. +Nutter.</p> + +<p>In the midst of her horrors and agitation Mrs. Mack's curiosity was not +altogether stunned. She wondered vaguely, as she pattered along, with +what dreadful exhibition of her infernal skill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> Mary Matchwell had +disordered the senses of poor little Mrs. Nutter—had she called up a +red-eyed, sooty-raven to her shoulder—as old Miss Alice Lee (when she +last had a dish of tea with her) told her she had once done before—and +made the ominous bird speak the doom of poor Mrs. Nutter from that +perch? or had she raised the foul fiend in bodily shape, or showed her +Nutter's dead face through the water?</p> + +<p>With these images flitting before her brain, she hurried on at her best +pace, fancying every moment that she heard the rumble of the accursed +coach behind her, and longing to see the friendly uniform of the Royal +Irish Artillery, and the familiar house fronts of the cheery little +street, and above all, to hide herself securely among her own household +gods.</p> + +<p>When Nutter returned to the parlour his wife had not yet left it.</p> + +<p>'I'll attend here, go you up stairs,' said Nutter. He spoke strangely, +and looked odd, and altogether seemed strung up to a high pitch.</p> + +<p>Out went Betty, seeing it was no good dawdling; for her master was +resolute and formidable. The room, like others in old-fashioned houses +with thick walls, had a double door. He shut the one with a stern slam, +and then the other; and though the honest maid loitered in the hall, +and, indeed, placed her ear very near the door, she was not much the +wiser.</p> + +<p>There was some imperfectly heard talk in the parlour, and cries, and +sobs, and more talking. Then before Betty was aware, the door suddenly +opened, and out came Mary Matchwell, with gleaming eyes, and a pale +laugh of spite and victory and threw a look, as she passed, upon the +maid that frightened her, and so vanished into her coach.</p> + +<p>Nutter disengaged himself from poor Mrs. Nutter's arms, in which he was +nearly throttled, while she sobbed and shrieked—</p> + +<p>'Oh! Charley, dear—dearest Charley—Charley, darling—isn't it +frightful?' and so on.</p> + +<p>'Betty, take care of her,' was all he said, and that sternly, like a man +quietly desperate, but with a dismal fury in his face.</p> + +<p>He went into the little room on the other side of the now darkening +hall, and shut the door, and locked it inside. It was partly because he +did not choose to talk just now any more with his blubbering and +shrieking wife. He was a very kind husband, in his way, but a most +incapable nurse, especially in a case of hysterics.</p> + +<p>He came out with a desk in his hands.</p> + +<p>'Moggy,' he said, in a low tone, seeing his other servant-woman in the +dusk crossing at the foot of the stairs, 'here, take this desk, leave it +in our bed-room—'tis for the mistress; tell her so by-and-by.'</p> + +<p>The wench carried it up; but poor Mrs. Nutter was in no condition to +comprehend anything, and was talking quite wildly, and seemed to be +growing worse rather than better.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nutter stood alone in the hall, with his back to the door from which he +had just emerged, his hands in his pockets, and the same dreary and +wicked shadow over his face.</p> + +<p>'So that——Sturk will carry his point after all,' he muttered.</p> + +<p>On the hall wainscot just opposite hung his horse-pistols; and when he +saw them, and that wasn't for a while—for though he was looking +straight at them, he was staring, really, quite through the dingy wooden +panel at quite other objects three hundred miles away—when he <i>did</i> see +them, I say, he growled in the same tone—</p> + +<p>'I wish one of those bullets was through my head, so t'other was through +his.'</p> + +<p>And he cursed him with laconic intensity. Then Nutter slapped his +pockets, like a man feeling if his keys and other portable chattels are +all right before he leaves his home. But his countenance was that of one +whose mind is absent and wandering. And he looked down on the ground, as +it seemed in profound and troubled abstraction; and, after a while, he +looked up again, and again glared on the cold pistols that hung before +him—ready for anything. And he took down one with a snatch and weighed +it in his hand, and fell to thinking again; and, as he did, kept opening +and shutting the pan with a snap, and so for a long time, and thinking +deeply to the tune of that castanet, and at last he roused himself, who +knows from what dreams, and hung up the weapon again by its fellow, and +looked about him.</p> + +<p>The hall-door lay open, as Mary Matchwell had left it. Nutter stood on +the door-step, where he could hear faintly, from above stairs, the cries +and wails of poor, hysterical Mrs. Nutter. He remained there a good +while, during which, unperceived by him, Dr. Toole's pestle-and-mortar-boy, +who had entered by the back-way, had taken a seat in the hall. He was +waiting for an empty draught-bottle, in exchange for a replenished flask +of the same agreeable beverage, which he had just delivered; for physic +was one of poor Mrs. Nutter's weaknesses, though, happily, she did not +swallow half what came home for her.</p> + +<p>When Nutter turned round, the boy—a sharp, tattling vagabond, he knew +him well—was reading a printed card he had picked up from the floor, +with the impress of Nutter's hob-nailed tread upon it. It was endorsed +upon the back, 'For Mrs. Macnamara, with the humble duty of her obedient +servant, M. M.'</p> + +<p>'What's that, Sirrah?' shouted Nutter.</p> + +<p>'For Mrs. Nutter, I think, Sir,' said the urchin, jumping up with a +start.</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Nutter,' repeated he—'No—Mrs. Mac—Macnamara,' and he thrust it +into his surtout pocket. 'And what brings you here, Sirrah?' he added +savagely; for he thought everybody was spying after him now, and, as I +said, he knew him for a tattling young dog—he had taken the infection +from his master, who had trained him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Here, woman,' he cried to Moggy, who was passing again, 'give that +pimping rascal his —— answer; and see, Sirrah, if I find you sneaking +about the place again, I'll lay that whip across your back.'</p> + +<p>Nutter went into the small room again.</p> + +<p>'An' how are ye, Jemmie—how's every inch iv you?' enquired Moggy of the +boy, when his agitation was a little blown over.</p> + +<p>'I'm elegant, thank ye,' he answered; 'an' what's the matther wid ye +all? I cum through the kitchen, and seen no one.'</p> + +<p>'Och! didn't you hear? The poor mistress—she's as bad as bad can be.' +And then began a whispered confidence, broken short by Nutter's again +emerging, with the leather belt he wore at night on, and a short +back-sword, called a <i>coutteau de chasse</i>, therein, and a heavy +walking-cane in his hand.</p> + +<p>'Get tea for me, wench, in half an hour,' said he, this time quite +quietly, though still sternly, and without seeming to observe the +quaking boy, who, at first sight, referred these martial preparations to +a resolution to do execution upon him forthwith; 'you'll find me in the +garden when it's ready.'</p> + +<p>And he strode out, and pushing open the wicket door in the thick garden +hedge, and, with his cane shouldered, walked with a quick, resolute step +down towards the pretty walk by the river, with the thick privet hedge +and the row of old pear trees by it. And that was the last that was +heard or seen of Mr. Nutter for some time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + +<h4>SWANS ON THE WATER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>t about half-past six that evening, Puddock arrived at Captain Cluffe's +lodgings, and for the last time the minstrels rehearsed their lovelorn +and passionate ditties. They were drest 'all in their best,' under that +outer covering, which partly for mystery and partly for bodily +comfort—the wind, after the heavy rains of the last week, having come +round to the east—these prudent troubadours wore.</p> + +<p>Though they hardly glanced at the topic to one another, each had his +delightful anticipations of the chances of the meeting. Puddock did not +value Dangerfield a rush, and Cluffe's mind was pretty easy upon that +point from the moment his proposal for Gertrude Chattesworth had taken +wind.</p> + +<p>Only for that cursed shower the other night, that made it incumbent on +Cluffe, who had had two or three sharp little visits of his patrimonial +gout, and no notion of dying for love, to get to his quarters as quickly +as might be—he had no doubt that the last stave of their first duet +rising from the meadow of Belmont, with that charming roulade—devised +by Puddock, and the pathetic twang-twang of his romantic instrument, +would have been answered by the opening of the drawing-room window, and +Aunt Becky's imperious summons to the serenaders to declare themselves, +and come in and partake of supper!</p> + +<p>The only thing that at all puzzled him, unpleasantly connected with that +unsuccessful little freak of musical love-making, was the fellow they +saw getting away from under the open window—the very same at which +Lilias Walsingham had unintentionally surprised her friend Gertrude. He +had a surtout on, with the cape cut exactly after the fashion of +Dangerfield, and a three-cocked hat with very pinched corners, in the +French style, which identical hat Cluffe was ready to swear he saw upon +Dangerfield's head very early one morning, as he accidentally espied him +viewing his peas and tulips in the little garden of the Brass Castle by +the river side.</p> + +<p>'Twas fixed, in fact, in Cluffe's mind that Dangerfield was the man; and +what the plague need had a declared lover of any such clandestine +manœuvres. Was it possible that the old scoundrel was, after all, +directing his night visits differently, and keeping the aunt in play, as +a reserve, in the event of the failure of his suit to the niece? Plans +as gross, he knew, had succeeded; old women were so devilish easily won, +and loved money too, so well sometimes.</p> + +<p>These sly fellows agreed that they must not go to Belmont by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +Chapelizod-bridge, which would lead them through the town, in front of +the barrack, and under the very sign-board of the Phœnix. No, they +would go by the Knockmaroon-road, cross the river by the ferry, and +unperceived, and unsuspected, enter the grounds of Belmont on the +further side.</p> + +<p>So away went the amorous musicians, favoured by the darkness, and +talking in an undertone, and thinking more than they talked, while +little Puddock, from under his cloak, scratched a faint little arpeggio +and a chord, ever and anon, upon 'the inthrument.'</p> + +<p>When they reached the ferry, the boat was tied at the near side, but +deuce a ferryman could they see. So they began to shout and hallo, +singly, and together, until Cluffe, in much ire and disgust, exclaimed—</p> + +<p>'Curse the sot—drunk in some whiskey-shop—the blackguard! That is the +way such scoundrels throw away their chances, and help to fill the high +roads with beggars and thieves; curse him, I sha'n't have a note left if +we go on bawling this way. I suppose we must go home again.'</p> + +<p>'Fiddle-thtick!' exclaimed the magnanimous Puddock. 'I pulled myself +across little more than a year ago, and 'twas as easy as—as—anything. +Get in, an' loose her when I tell you.'</p> + +<p>This boat was managed by means of a rope stretched across the stream +from bank to bank; seizing which, in both hands, the boatman, as he +stood in his skiff, hauled it, as it seemed, with very moderate exertion +across the river.</p> + +<p>Cluffe chuckled as he thought how sold the rascally boatman would be, on +returning, to find his bark gone over to the other side.</p> + +<p>'Don't be uneathy about the poor fellow,' said Puddock; 'we'll come down +in the morning and make him a present, and explain how it occurred.'</p> + +<p>'Explain <i>yourself</i>—poor fellow, be hanged!' muttered Cluffe, as he +took his seat, for he did not part with his silver lightly. 'I say, +Puddock, tell me when I'm to slip the rope.'</p> + +<p>The signal given, Cluffe let go, entertaining himself with a little +jingle of Puddock's guitar, of which he had charge, and a verse or two +of their last song; while the plump little lieutenant, standing upright, +midships in the boat, hauled away, though not quite so deftly as was +desirable. Some two or three minutes had passed before they reached the +middle of the stream, which was, as Puddock afterwards remarked, +'gigantically thwollen;' and at this point they came to something very +like a stand-still.</p> + +<p>'I say, Puddock, keep her head a little more up the stream, will you?' +said Cluffe, thinking no evil, and only to show his nautical knowledge.</p> + +<p>'It's easy to say keep her head up the stream,' gasped Puddock who was +now labouring fearfully, and quite crimson in the face,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> tugging his +words up with a desperate lisp, and too much out of breath to say more.</p> + +<p>The shades of the night and the roar of the waters prevented Cluffe +observing these omens aright.</p> + +<p>'What the plague are you doing <i>now</i>? cried Cluffe, arresting a +decorative passage in the middle, and for the first time seriously +uncomfortable, as the boat slowly spun round, bringing what Cluffe +called her head—though head and tail were pretty much alike—toward the +bank they had quitted.</p> + +<p>'Curse you, Puddock, why—what are you going back for? you can't do it.'</p> + +<p>'Lend a hand,' bawled Puddock, in extremity. 'I say, help, seize the +rope; I say, Cluffe, quick, Sir, my arms are breaking.'</p> + +<p>There was no exaggeration in this—there seldom was in any thing Puddock +said; and the turn of the boat had twisted his arms like the strands of +a rope.</p> + +<p>'Hold on, Puddock, curse you, I'm comin',' roared Cluffe, quite alive to +the situation. 'If you let go, I'm <i>diddled</i> but I'll shoot you.'</p> + +<p>'Catch the rope, I thay, Thir, or 'tith all over!'</p> + +<p>Cluffe, who had only known that he was slowly spinning round, and that +Puddock was going to commit him to the waves, made a vehement exertion +to catch the rope, but it was out of reach, and the boat rocked so +suddenly from his rising, that he sat down by mistake again, with a +violent plump that made his teeth gnash, in his own place; and the shock +and his alarm stimulated his anger.</p> + +<p>'Hold on, Sir; hold on, you little devil, I say, one minute, +here—hold—hollo!'</p> + +<p>While Cluffe was shouting these words, and scrambling forward, Puddock +was crying—</p> + +<p>'Curth it, Cluffe, quick—oh! hang it, I can't thtand it—bleth my +<i>thoul</i>!</p> + +<p>And Puddock let go, and the boat and its precious freightage, with a +horrid whisk and a sweep, commenced its seaward career in the dark.</p> + +<p>'Take the oars, Sir, hang you!' cried Cluffe.</p> + +<p>'There are no oarth,' replied Puddock, solemnly.</p> + +<p>'Or the helm.'</p> + +<p>'There'th no helm.'</p> + +<p>'And what the devil, Sir?' and a splash of cold water soused the silken +calves of Cluffe at this moment.</p> + +<p>'Heugh! heugh!—and what the devil <i>will</i> you do, Sir? you don't want to +drown me, I suppose?' roared Cluffe, holding hard by the gunwale.</p> + +<p>'<i>You</i> can thwim, Cluffe; jump in, and don't mind me,' said little +Puddock, sublimely.</p> + +<p>Cluffe, who was a bit of a boaster, had bragged, one evening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> at mess, +of his swimming, which he said was famous in his school days; 'twas a +lie, but Puddock believed it implicitly.</p> + +<p>'Thank you!' roared Cluffe. 'Swim, indeed!—buttoned up this +way—and—and the gout too.'</p> + +<p>'I say, Cluffe, save the guitar, if you can,' said Puddock.</p> + +<p>In reply, Cluffe cursed that instrument through his teeth, with positive +fury, and its owner; and, indeed, he was so incensed at this unfeeling +request, that if he had known where it was, I think he would have gone +nigh to smash it on Puddock's head, or at least, like the 'Minstrel +Boy,' to tear its chords asunder; for Cluffe was hot, especially when he +was frightened. But he forgot—though it was hanging at that moment by a +pretty scarlet and gold ribbon about his neck.</p> + +<p>'Guitar be <i>diddled</i>!' cried he; ''tis gone—where <i>we're</i> going—to the +bottom. What devil possessed you, Sir, to drown us this way?'</p> + +<p>Puddock sighed. They were passing at this moment the quiet banks of the +pleasant meadow of Belmont, and the lights twinkled from the bow-window +in the drawing-room. I don't know whether Puddock saw them—Cluffe +certainly did not.</p> + +<p>'Hallo! hallo!—a rope!' cried Cluffe, who had hit upon this desperate +expedient for raising the neighbourhood. 'A rope—a rope! hallo! +hallo!—a ro-o-o-ope!'</p> + +<p>And Aunt Becky, who heard the wild whooping, mistook it for drunken +fellows at their diversions, and delivered her sentiments in the +drawing-room accordingly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + +<h4>SWANS IN THE WATER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>e're coming to something—what's that?' said Puddock, as a long row of +black stakes presented themselves at some distance ahead, in the dusky +moonlight, slanting across the stream.</p> + +<p>''Tis the salmon-weir!' roared Cluffe with an oath that subsided into +something like a sickening prayer.</p> + +<p>It was only a fortnight before that a tipsy fellow had been found +drowned in the net. Cluffe had lost his head much more than Puddock, +though Cluffe had fought duels. But then, he really could not swim a +bit, and he was so confoundedly buckled up.</p> + +<p>'Sit to the right. Trim the boat, Sir!' said little Puddock.</p> + +<p>'Trim the devil!' bawled Cluffe, to whom this order of Puddock's, it +must be owned a useless piece of marinetism in their situation, was +especially disgusting; and he added, looking furiously ahead—''Tisn't +the boat I'd trim, I promise you: you—you ridiculous murderer!'</p> + +<p>Just then Puddock's end of the boat touched a stone, or a post, or +something in the current, and that in which Cluffe sat came wheeling +swiftly round across the stream, and brought the gallant captain so near +the bank that, with a sudden jerk, he caught the end of a branch that +stretched far over the water, and, spite of the confounded tightness of +his toilet, with the energy of sheer terror, climbed a good way; but, +reaching a point where the branch forked, he could get no further, +though he tugged like a brick. But what was a fat fellow of fifty, +laced, and buckled, and buttoned up, like poor Cluffe—with his legs +higher up among the foliage than his head and body—to do, and with his +right calf caught in the fork of a branch, so as to arrest all progress, +and especially as the captain was plainly too much for the branch, which +was drooping toward the water, and emitting sounds premonitory of a +smash.</p> + +<p>With a long, screaking crash the branch stooped down to the water, and, +so soon as the old element made itself acquainted with those parts that +reached it first, the gallant captain, with a sort of sob, redoubled his +efforts, and down came the faithless bough, more and more +perpendicularly, until his nicely got-up cue and bag, then his powdered +head, and finally Captain Cluffe's handsome features, went under the +surface. When this occurred, he instantaneously disengaged his legs with +a vague feeling that his last struggle above water was over.</p> + +<p>His feet immediately touched the bottom; he stood erect, little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> above +his middle, and quite out of the main current, within half-a-dozen steps +of the bank, and he found himself—he scarcely knew how—on terra firma, +impounded in a little flower-garden, with lilacs and laburnums, and +sweet-briars, and, through a window close at hand, whom should he see +but Dangerfield, who was drying his hands in a towel; and, as Cluffe +stood for a moment, letting the water pour down through his sleeves, he +further saw him make some queer little arrangements, and eventually pour +out and swallow a glass of brandy, and was tempted to invoke his aid on +the spot; but some small incivilities which he had bestowed upon +Dangerfield, when he thought he cherished designs upon Aunt Rebecca, +forbade; and at that moment he spied the little wicket that opened upon +the road, and Dangerfield stept close up to the window, and cried +sternly, 'Who's there?' with his grim spectacles close to the window.</p> + +<p>The boyish instinct of 'hide and seek' took possession of Cluffe, and he +glided forth from the precincts of the Brass Castle upon the high road, +just as the little hall-door was pushed open, and he heard the harsh +tones of Dangerfield challenging the gooseberry bushes and hollyhocks, +and thrashing the evergreens with his cane.</p> + +<p>Cluffe hied straight to his lodgings, and ordered a sack posset. Worthy +Mrs. Mason eyed him in silent consternation, drenched and dishevelled, +wild, and discharging water from every part of his clothing and +decorations, as he presented himself without a hat, before her dim dipt +candle in the hall.</p> + +<p>'I'll take that—that vessel, if you please, Sir, that's hanging about +your neck,' said the mild and affrighted lady, meaning Puddock's guitar, +through the circular orifice of which, under the chords, the water with +which it was filled occasionally splashed.</p> + +<p>'Oh—eh?—the instrument?—confound it!' and rather sheepishly he got +the gray red and gold ribbon over his dripping head, and placing it in +her hand without explanation, he said—'A warming-pan as quickly as may +be, I beg, Mrs. Mason—and the posset, I do earnestly request. You +see—I—I've been nearly drowned—and—and I can't answer for +consequences if there be one minute's delay.</p> + +<p>And up he went streaming, with Mrs. Mason's candle, to his bed-room, and +dragged off his clinging garments, and dried his fat body, like a man +coming out of a bath, and roared for hot water for his feet, and +bellowed for the posset and warming-pan, and rolled into his bed, and +kept the whole house in motion.</p> + +<p>And so soon as he had swallowed his cordial, and toasted his sheets, and +with the aid of his man rolled himself in a great blanket, and clapped +his feet in a tub of hot water, and tumbled back again into his bed, he +bethought him of Puddock, and ordered his man to take his compliments to +Captain Burgh and Lieutenant Lillyman, the tenants of the nearest +lodging-house,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> and to request either to come to him forthwith on a +matter of life or death.</p> + +<p>Lillyman was at home, and came.</p> + +<p>'Puddock's drowned, my dear Lillyman, and I'm little better. The ferry +boat broke away with us. Do go down to the adjutant—they ought to raise +the salmon nets—I'm very ill myself—very ill, indeed—else I'd have +assisted; but you know <i>me</i>, Lillyman. Poor Puddock—'tis a sad +business—but lose no time.'</p> + +<p>'And can't he swim?' asked Lillyman, aghast.</p> + +<p>'Swim?—ay, like a stone, poor fellow! If he had only thrown himself +out, and held by me, hang it, I'd have brought him to shore; but poor +Puddock, he lost his head. And I—you see me here—don't forget to tell +them the condition you found me in, and—and—now don't lose a moment.'</p> + +<p>So off went Lillyman to give the alarm at the barrack.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> + +<h4>TREATING OF SOME CONFUSION, IN CONSEQUENCE, IN THE CLUB-ROOM OF THE +PHŒNIX AND ELSEWHERE, AND OF A HAT THAT WAS PICKED UP.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>hen Cluffe sprang out of the boat, he was very near capsizing it and +finishing Puddock off-hand, but she righted and shot away swiftly +towards the very centre of the weir, over which, in a sheet of white +foam, she swept, and continued her route toward Dublin—bottom upward, +leaving little Puddock, however, safe and sound, clinging to a post, at +top, and standing upon a rough sort of plank, which afforded a very +unpleasant footing, by which the nets were visited from time to time.</p> + +<p>'Hallo! are you safe, Cluffe?' cried the little lieutenant, quite firm, +though a little dizzy, on his narrow stand, with the sheets of foam +whizzing under his feet; what had become of his musical companion he had +not the faintest notion, and when he saw the boat hurled over near the +sluice, and drive along the stream upside down, he nearly despaired.</p> + +<p>But when the captain's military cloak, which he took for Cluffe himself, +followed in the track of the boat, whisking, sprawling, and tumbling, in +what Puddock supposed to be the agonies of drowning, and went over the +weir and disappeared from view, returning no answer to his screams of +'Strike out, Cluffe! to your right, Cluffe. Hollo! to your right,' he +quite gave the captain over.</p> + +<p>'Surrendhur, you thievin' villain, or I'll put the contints iv this gun +into yir carcass,' shouted an awful voice from the right bank,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> and +Puddock saw the outline of a gigantic marksman, preparing to fire into +his corresponding flank.</p> + +<p>'What do you mean, Sir?' shouted Puddock, in extreme wrath and +discomfort.</p> + +<p>'Robbin' the nets, you spalpeen; if you throw them salmon you're hidin' +undher your coat into the wather, be the tare-o-war—'</p> + +<p>'What salmon, Sir?' interrupted the lieutenant. 'Why, salmon's not in +season, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'None iv yer flummery, you schamin' scoundrel; but jest come here and +give yourself up, for so sure as you don't, or dar to stir an inch from +that spot, I'll blow you to smithereens!'</p> + +<p>'Captain Cluffe is drowned, Sir; and I'm Lieutenant Puddock,' rejoined +the officer.</p> + +<p>'Tare-an-ouns, an' is it yerself, Captain Puddock, that's in it?' cried +the man. 'I ax yer pardon; but I tuk you for one of thim vagabonds +that's always plundherin' the fish. And who in the wide world, captain +jewel, id expeck to see you there, meditatin' in the middle of the +river, this time o' night; an' I dunna how in the world you got there, +at all, at all, for the planking is carried away behind you since +yistherday.'</p> + +<p>'Give an alarm, if you please, Sir, this moment,' urged Puddock. +'Captain Cluffe has gone over this horrid weir, not a minute since, and +is I fear drowned.'</p> + +<p>'Dhrownded! och! bloody wars.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir, send some one this moment down the stream with a rope—'</p> + +<p>'Hollo, Jemmy?' cried the man, and whistled through his crooked finger.</p> + +<p>'Jemmy,' said he to the boy who presented himself, 'run down to Tom +Garret, at the Millbridge, and tell him Captain Cluffe's dhrownded over +the weir, and to take the boat-hook and rope—he's past the bridge by +this time—ay is he at the King's House—an' if he brings home the +corpse alive or dead, before an hour, Captain Puddock here will give him +twenty guineas reward.' So away went the boy.</p> + +<p>''Tis an unaisy way you're situated yourself, I'm afeard,' observed the +man.</p> + +<p>'Have the goodness to say, Sir, by what meanth, if any, I can reach +either bank of the river,' lisped Puddock, with dignity.</p> + +<p>''Tis thrue for you, captain, <i>that's</i> the chat—how the divil to get +you alive out o' the position you're in. Can you swim?'</p> + +<p>'No, Thir.'</p> + +<p>'An' how the dickens did you get there?'</p> + +<p>'I'd rather hear, Sir, how I'm to get away, if you please,' replied +Puddock, loftily.</p> + +<p>'Are you bare-legged?' shouted the man.</p> + +<p>'No, Sir,' answered the little officer, rather shocked.</p> + +<p>'An' you're there wid shoes on your feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Of course, Sir,' answered Puddock.</p> + +<p>'Chuck them into the water this instant minute,' roared the man.</p> + +<p>'Why, there are valuable buckles, Sir,' remonstrated Puddock.</p> + +<p>'Do you mane to say you'd rather be dhrownded in yer buckles than alive +in yer stockin' feet?' he replied.</p> + +<p>There were some cross expostulations, but eventually the fellow came out +to Puddock. Perhaps the feat was not quite so perilous as he +represented; but it certainly was not a pleasant one. Puddock had a rude +and crazy sort of banister to cling to, and a rugged and slippery +footing; but slowly and painfully, from one post to another, he made his +way, and at last jumped on the solid, though not dry land, his life and +his buckles safe.</p> + +<p>'I'll give you a guinea in the morning, if you come to my quarterth, Mr. +---- Thir,' and, without waiting a second, away he ran by the footpath, +and across the bridge, right into the Phœnix, and burst into the +club-room. There were assembled old Arthur Slowe, Tom Trimmer, from +Lucan, old Trumble, Jack Collop, Colonel Stafford, and half-a-dozen more +members, including some of the officers—O'Flaherty among the number, a +little 'flashy with liquor' as the phrase then was.</p> + +<p>Puddock stood in the wide opened door, with the handle in his hand. He +was dishevelled, soused with water, bespattered with mud, his round face +very pale, and he fixed a wild stare on the company. The clatter of old +Trimmer's backgammon, Slowe's disputations over the draftboard with +Colonel Stafford, Collop's dissertation on the points of that screw of a +horse he wanted to sell, and the general buzz of talk, were all almost +instantaneously suspended on the appearance of this phantom, and Puddock +exclaimed—</p> + +<p>'Gentlemen, I'm thorry to tell you, Captain Cluffe ith, I fear, +drowned!'</p> + +<p>'Cluffe?' 'Drowned?' 'By Jupiter!' 'You don't say so? and a round of +such ejaculations followed this announcement.</p> + +<p>Allow me here to mention that I permit my people to swear by all the +persons of the Roman mythology. There was a horrible profanity in the +matter of oaths in those days, and I found that without changing the +form of sentences, and sacrificing idioms, at times, I could not manage +the matter satisfactorily otherwise.</p> + +<p>'He went over the salmon weir—I saw him—Coyle's—weir—headlong, poor +fellow! I shouted after him, but he could not anthwer, so pray let's be +off, and—'</p> + +<p>Here he recognised the colonel with a low bow and paused. The commanding +officer instantaneously despatched Lieutenant Brady, who was there, to +order out Sergeant Blakeney and his guard, and any six good swimmers in +the regiment who might volunteer, with a reward of twenty guineas for +whoever should bring in Cluffe alive, or ten guineas for his body; and +the fat fellow all the time in his bed sipping sack posset!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>So away ran Brady and a couple more of the young fellows at their best +pace—no one spared himself on this errand—and little Puddock and +another down to the bridge. It was preposterous.</p> + +<p>By this time Lillyman was running like mad from Cluffe's lodgings along +Martin's Row to the rescue of Puddock, who, at that moment with his +friends and the aid of a long pole, was poking into a little floating +tanglement of withered leaves, turf, and rubbish, under the near arch of +the bridge, in the belief that he was dealing with the mortal remains of +Cluffe.</p> + +<p>Lillyman overtook Toole at the corner of the street just in time to hear +the scamper of the men, at double-quick, running down the sweep of the +road to the bridge, and to hear the shouting that arose from the +parade-ground by the river bank, from the men within the barrack +precincts.</p> + +<p>Toole joined Lillyman running.</p> + +<p>'What the plague's this hubbub and hullo?' he cried.</p> + +<p>'Puddock's drowned,' panted Lillyman.</p> + +<p>'Puddock! bless us! where?' puffed Toole.</p> + +<p>'Hollo! you, Sir—have they heard it—is he <i>drowned?</i>' cried Lillyman +to the sentry outside the gate.</p> + +<p>'Dhrownded? yes, Sir,' replied the man saluting.</p> + +<p>'Is help gone?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir, Lieutenant Brady, and Sergeant Blakeney, and nine men.'</p> + +<p>'Come along,' cried Lillyman to Toole, and they started afresh. They +heard the shouting by the river bank, and followed it by the path round +the King's House, passing the Phœnix; and old Colonel Stafford, who +was gouty, and no runner, standing with a stern and anxious visage at +the door, along with old Trumble, Slowe, and Trimmer, and some of the +maids and drawers in the rear, all in consternation.</p> + +<p>'Bring me the news,' screamed the colonel, as they passed.</p> + +<p>Lillyman was the better runner. Toole a good deal blown, but full of +pluck, was labouring in the rear; Lillyman jumped over the stile, at the +river path; and Toole saw an officer who resembled 'poor Puddock,' he +thought, a good deal, cross the road, and follow in Lillyman's wake. The +doctor crossed the stile next, and made his best gallop in rear of the +plump officer, excited by the distant shouting, and full of horrible +curiosity and good-nature.</p> + +<p>Nearly opposite Inchicore they fished up an immense dead pig; and Toole +said, to his amazement, he found Puddock crying over it, and calling it +'my brother!' And this little scene added another very popular novelty +to the doctor's stock of convivial monologues.</p> + +<p>Toole, who loved Puddock, hugged him heartily, and when he could get +breath, shouted triumphantly after the more advanced party, 'He's found, +he's found!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, thank Heaven!' cried little Puddock, with upturned eyes; 'but is he +really found?'</p> + +<p>The doctor almost thought that his perils had affected his intellect.</p> + +<p>'Is he found—are <i>you</i> found?' cried the doctor, resuming that great +shake by both hands, which in his momentary puzzle he had suspended.</p> + +<p>'I—a—oh, dear!—I don't quite understand—is he lost? for mercy's sake +is Cluffe lost?' implored Puddock.</p> + +<p>'Lost in his bed clothes, maybe,' cried Lillyman, who had joined them.</p> + +<p>'But he's not—he's <i>not</i> drowned?'</p> + +<p>'Pish! drowned, indeed! unless he's drowned in the crock of hot water +he's clapt his legs into.'</p> + +<p>'Where is he—where's Cluffe?'</p> + +<p>'Hang it!—he's in bed, in his lodging, drinking hot punch this +half-hour.'</p> + +<p>'But are you certain?'</p> + +<p>'Why, I saw him there myself,' answered Lillyman, with an oath.</p> + +<p>Poor little Puddock actually clasped his hands, looked up, and poured +forth a hearty, almost hysterical, thanksgiving; for he had charged +Cluffe's death altogether upon his own soul, and his relief was beyond +expression.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, the old gentlemen of the club were in a thrilling +suspense, and that not altogether disagreeable state of horror in which +men chew the cud of bitter fancy over other men's catastrophes. After +about ten minutes in came young Spaight.</p> + +<p>'Well,' said the colonel, 'is Cluffe safe or—eh?'</p> + +<p>'Cluffe's safe—only half drowned; but poor Puddock's lost.'</p> + +<p>'What!'</p> + +<p>'Drowned, I'm afraid.'</p> + +<p>'Drowned! who says so?' repeated the colonel.</p> + +<p>'Cluffe—everybody.'</p> + +<p>'Why, there it is!' replied the colonel, with a great oath, breaking +through all his customary reserve and stiffness, and flinging his +cocked-hat on the middle of the table, piteously, 'A fellow that can't +swim a yard <i>will</i> go by way of saving a great—a large gentleman, like +Captain Cluffe, from drowning, and he's pulled in himself; and so—bless +my soul! what's to be done?'</p> + +<p>So the colonel broke into a lamentation, and a fury, and a wonder. +'Cluffe and Puddock, the two steadiest officers in the corps! He had a +devilish good mind to put Cluffe under arrest—the idiots—Puddock—he +was devilish sorry. There wasn't a more honourable'—<i>et cetera</i>. In +fact, a very angry and pathetic funeral oration, during which, +accompanied by Doctor Toole, Lieutenant Puddock, in person, entered; and +the colonel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> stopped short with his eyes and mouth very wide open, and +said the colonel very sternly.</p> + +<p>'I—I'm glad to see, Sir, you're safe: and—and—I suppose, I shall hear +now that <i>Cluffe's</i> drowned?' and he stamped the emphasis on the floor.</p> + +<p>While all this was going on, some of the soldiers had actually got into +Dublin. The tide was in, and the water very high at 'Bloody Bridge.' A +hat, near the corner, was whisking round and round, always trying to get +under the arch, and always, when on the point, twirled round again into +the corner—an image of the 'Flying Dutchman' and hope deferred. A +watchman's crozier hooked the giddy thing. It was not a military hat; +but they brought it back, and the captive was laid in the +guard-room—mentioned by me because we've seen that identical hat +before.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LI.</h2> + +<h4>HOW CHARLES NUTTER'S TEA, PIPE, AND TOBACCO-BOX WERE ALL SET OUT FOR HIM +IN THE SMALL PARLOUR AT THE MILLS; AND HOW THAT NIGHT WAS PASSED IN THE +HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img048.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" /></div><p>rs. Nutter and Mrs. Sturk, the wives of the two men who most hated one +another within the vicinage of Chapelizod—natural enemies, holding +aloof one from another, and each regarding the other in a puzzled way, +with a sort of apprehension and horror, as the familiar of that worst +and most formidable of men—her husband—were this night stricken with a +common fear and sorrow.</p> + +<p>Darkness descended on the Mills and the river—a darkness deepened by +the umbrageous trees that grouped about the old gray house in which poor +Mrs. Nutter lay so ill at ease. Moggy carried the jingling tray of +tea-things into Nutter's little study, and lighted his candles, and set +the silver snuffers in the dish, and thought she heard him coming, and +ran back again, and returned with the singing 'tea-kitchen,' and then +away again, for the thin buttered toast under its china cover, which our +ancestors loved.</p> + +<p>Then she listened—but 'twas a mistake—it was the Widow Macan's step, +who carried the ten pailfuls of water up from the river to fill the butt +in the backyard every Tuesday and Friday, for a shilling a week, and 'a +cup o' tay with the girls in the kitchen.'</p> + +<p>Then Moggy lighted the fire with the stump of a candle, for the night +was a little chill, and she set the small round table be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>side it, and +laid her master's pipe and tobacco-box on it, and listened, and began to +wonder what detained him.</p> + +<p>So she went out into the sharp still air, and stood on the hall-door +step, and listened again. Presently she heard the Widow Macan walking up +from the garden with the last pail on her head, who stopped when she saw +her, and set down the vessel upon the corner of the clumsy little +balustrade by the door-step. So Moggy declared her uneasiness, which +waxed greater when Mrs. Macan told her that 'the masther, God bless him, +wasn't in the garden.'</p> + +<p>She had seen him standing at the river's edge, while she passed and +repassed. He did not move a finger, or seem to notice her, and was +looking down into the water. When she came back the third or fourth +time, he was gone.</p> + +<p>At Moggy's command she went back into the garden, though she assured +her, solemnly—''twas nansince lookin' there'—and called Mr. Nutter, at +first in a deferential and hesitating way; but, emboldened and excited +by the silence, for she began to feel unaccountably queer, in a louder +and louder a key, till she was certain that he was neither in the garden +nor in the orchard, nor anywhere near the house. And when she stopped, +the silence seemed awful, and the darkness under the trees closed round +her with a supernatural darkness, and the river at the foot of the walk +seemed snorting some inarticulate story of horror. So she locked the +garden door quickly, looking over her shoulder for she knew not what, +and ran faster than she often did along the sombre walk up to the hall +door, and told her tale to Moggy, and begged to carry the pail in by the +hall-door.</p> + +<p>In they came, and Moggy shut the hall-door, and turned the key in it. +Perhaps 'twas the state in which the poor lady lay up stairs that helped +to make them excited and frightened. Betty was sitting by her bedside, +and Toole had been there, and given her some opiate, I suppose, for she +had dropped into a flushed snoring sleep, a horrid counterfeit of +repose. But she had first had two or three frightful fits, and all sorts +of wild, screaming talk between. Perhaps it was the apparition of Mary +Matchwell, whose evil influence was so horribly attested by the dismal +spectacle she had left behind her, that predisposed them to panic; but +assuredly each anticipated no good from the master's absence, and had a +foreboding of something bad, of which they did not speak; but only +disclosed it by looks, and listening, and long silences. The lights +burning in Nutter's study invited them, and there the ladies seated +themselves, and made their tea in the kitchen tea-pot, and clapped it on +the hob, and listened for sounds from Mrs. Nutter's chamber, and for the +step of her husband crossing the little court-yard; and they grew only +more nervous from listening, and there came every now and then a little +tapping on the window-pane. It was only, I think, a little sprig of the +climbing-rose that was nailed by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> wall, nodding at every breath, and +rapping like unseen finger-tops, on the glass. But, as small things +will, with such folk, under such circumstances, it frightened them +confoundedly.</p> + +<p>Then, on a sudden, there came a great yell from poor Mrs. Nutter's +chamber, and they both stood up very pale. The Widow Macan, with the cup +in her hand that she was 'tossing' at the moment, and Moggy, all aghast, +invoked a blessing under her breath, and they heard loud cries and +sudden volleys of talk, and Biddy's voice, soothing the patient.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Nutter had started up, all on a sudden, from her narcotic +doze, with a hideous scream that had frightened the women down stairs. +Then she cried—</p> + +<p>'Where am I?' and 'Oh, the witch—the witch!'</p> + +<p>'Oh! no, Ma'am, dear,' replied Betty; 'now, aisy, Ma'am, darling.'</p> + +<p>'I'm going mad.'</p> + +<p>'No, Ma'am, dear?—there now—sure 'tis poor Betty that's in it—don't +be afear'd, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Betty, hold me—don't go—I'm mad—am I mad?'</p> + +<p>Then in the midst of Betty's consolations, she broke into a flood of +tears, and seemed in some sort relieved; and Betty gave her her drops +again, and she began to mumble to herself, and so to doze.</p> + +<p>At the end of another ten minutes, with a scream, she started up again.</p> + +<p>'That's her step—where are you, Betty?' she shrieked, and when Betty +ran to the bedside, she held her so hard that the maid was ready to cry +out, leering all the time over her shoulder—'Where's Charles Nutter?—I +saw him speaking to you.'</p> + +<p>Then the poor little woman grew quieter, and by her looks and moans, and +the clasping of her hands, and her upturned eyes, seemed to be praying; +and when Betty stealthily opened the press to take out another candle, +her poor mistress uttered another terrible scream, crying—</p> + +<p>'You wretch! her head won't fit—you can't hide her;' and the poor woman +jumped out of her bed, shrieking 'Charles, Charles, Charles!'</p> + +<p>Betty grew so nervous and frightened, that she fairly bawled to her +colleague, Moggy, and told her she would not stay in the room unless she +sat up all night with her. So, together they kept watch and ward, and as +the night wore on, Mrs. Nutter's slumbers grew more natural and less +brief, and her paroxysms of waking terror less maniacal. Still she would +waken, with a cry that thrilled them, from some frightful vision, and +seem to hear or see nothing aright for a good while after, and muttering +to the frightened maids—</p> + +<p>'Listen to the knocking—oh!—breathing outside the door—bolt it, +Betty—girls, say your prayers—'tis he,' or sometimes, ''tis she.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>And thus this heavy night wore over; and the wind, which began to rise +as the hours passed, made sounds full of sad untranslatable meaning in +the ears of the watchers.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Sturk meanwhile, in the House by the Church-yard, sat +listening and wondering, and plying her knitting-needles in the +drawing-room. When the hour of her Barney's expected return had passed +some time, she sent down to the barrack, and then to the club, and then +on to the King's House, with her service to Mrs. Stafford, to enquire, +after her spouse. But her first and her second round of enquiries, +despatched at the latest minute at which she was likely to find any body +out of bed to answer them, were altogether fruitless. And the lights +went out in one house after another, and the Phœnix shut its doors, +and her own servants were for hours gone to bed; and the little town of +Chapelizod was buried in the silence of universal slumber. And poor Mrs. +Sturk still sat in her drawing-room, more and more agitated and +frightened.</p> + +<p>But her missing soldier did not turn up, and Leonora sat and listened +hour after hour. No sound of return, not even the solemn clank and fiery +snort of the fiend-horse under her window, or the 'ho-lo, ho-la—my +life, my love!' of the phantom rider, cheated her with a momentary hope.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Sturk! She raised the window a few inches, that she might the +better hear the first distant ring of his coming on the road. She forgot +he had not his horse that night, and was but a pedestrian. But somehow +the night-breeze through the aperture made a wolfish howling and +sobbing, that sounded faint and far away, and had a hateful character of +mingled despair and banter in it.</p> + +<p>She said every now and then aloud, to reassure herself—'What a noise +the wind makes to be sure!' and after a while she opened the window +wider. But her candle flared, and the flame tossed wildly about, and the +perplexed lady feared it might go out absolutely. So she shut down the +window altogether; for she could not bear the ill-omened baying any +longer.</p> + +<p>So it grew to be past two o'clock, and she was afraid that Barney would +be very angry with her for sitting up, should he return.</p> + +<p>She went to bed, therefore, where she lay only more +feverish—conjecturing, and painting frightful pictures, till she heard +the crow of the early village cock, and the caw of the jackdaw wheeling +close to the eaves as he took wing in the gray of the morning to show +her that the business of a new day had commenced; and yet Barney had not +returned.</p> + +<p>Not long after seven o'clock, Dr. Toole, with Juno, Cæsar, Dido, and +Sneak at his heels, paid his half-friendly, half-professional visit at +the Mills.</p> + +<p>Poor little Mrs. Nutter was much better—quiet for her was everything, +packed up, of course, with a little physic; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> having comforted her, +as well as he was able, he had a talk with Moggy in the hall, and all +about Nutter's disappearance, and how Mrs. Macan saw him standing by the +river's brink, and that was the last anyone near the house had seen of +him; and a thought flashed upon Toole, and he was very near coming out +with it, but checked himself, and only said—</p> + +<p>'What hat had he on?'</p> + +<p>So she told him.</p> + +<p>'And was his name writ in it, or how was it marked?'</p> + +<p>'Two big letters—a C and an N.'</p> + +<p>'I see; and do you remember any other mark you'd know it by?'</p> + +<p>'Well, yes; I stitched the lining only last month, with red silk, and +that's how I remember the letters.'</p> + +<p>'I know; and are you sure it was that hat he had on?'</p> + +<p>'Certain sure—why, there's all the rest;' and she conned them over, as +they hung on their pegs on the rack before them.</p> + +<p>'Now, don't let the mistress be downhearted—keep her up, Moggy, do you +mind. I told her the master was with Lord Castlemallard since yesterday +evening, on business, and don't you say anything else; keep her quiet, +do ye mind, and humour her.'</p> + +<p>And away went Toole, at a swift pace, to the town again, and entered the +barrack, and asked to see the adjutant, and then to look at the hat the +corporal had fished up by 'Bloody Bridge;' and, by Jupiter! his heart +gave a couple of great bounces, and he felt himself grow pale—they were +the identical capitals, C N, and the clumsy red silk stitching in the +lining.</p> + +<p>Toole was off forthwith, and had a fellow dragging the river before +three-quarters of an hour.</p> + +<p>Dr. Walsingham, returning from an early ride to Island Bridge, saw this +artist at work, with his ropes and great hooks, at the other side of the +river; and being a man of enquiring mind, and never having witnessed the +process before, he cried out to him, after some moments lost in +conjecture—</p> + +<p>'My good man, what are you fishing for?'</p> + +<p>'A land-agent,' answered Isaac Walton.</p> + +<p>'A land-agent?' repeated the rector, misdoubting his ears.</p> + +<p>The saturnine angler made no answer.</p> + +<p>'And has a gentleman been drowned here?' he persisted.</p> + +<p>The man only looked at him across the stream, and nodded.</p> + +<p>'Eh! and his name, pray?'</p> + +<p>'Old Nutter, of the Mills,' he replied.</p> + +<p>The rector made a woeful ejaculation, and stared at the careless +operator, who had a pipe in his mouth the while, which made him averse +from conversation. He would have liked to ask him more questions, but he +was near the village, and refrained himself; and he met Toole at the +corner of the bridge who, leaning on the shoulder of the rector's horse, +gave him the sad story in full.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING A ROULEAU OF GUINEAS AND THE CRACK OF A PISTOL.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>angerfield went up the river that morning with his rod and net, and his +piscatory fidus Achates, Irons, at his elbow. It was a nice gray sky, +but the clerk was unusually silent even for him; and the sardonic +piscator appeared inscrutably amused as he looked steadily upon the +running waters. Once or twice the spectacles turned full upon the clerk, +over Dangerfield's shoulder, with a cynical light, as if he were on the +point of making one of his ironical jokes; but he turned back again with +a little whisk, the jest untold, whatever it was, to the ripple and the +fly, and the coy gray troutlings.</p> + +<p>At last, Dangerfield said over his shoulder, with the same amused look, +'Do you remember Charles Archer?'</p> + +<p>Irons turned pale, and looked down embarrassed as it seemed, and began +plucking at a tangled piece of tackle, without making any answer.</p> + +<p>'Hey? Irons,' persisted Dangerfield, who was not going to let him off.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I do,' answered the man surlily; 'I remember him right well; but +I'd rather not, <i>and</i> I won't speak of him, that's all.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Charles Archer's <i>here</i>, we've seen him, haven't we? and just the +devil he always was,' said Dangerfield with a deliberate chuckle of +infinite relish, and evidently enjoying the clerk's embarrassment as he +eyed him through his spectacles obliquely.</p> + +<p>'He has seen <i>you</i>, too, he says; and thinks <i>you</i> have seen <i>him</i>, +hey?' and Dangerfield chuckled more and more knowingly, and watched his +shiftings and sulkings with a pleasant grin, as he teased and quizzed +him in his own enigmatical way.</p> + +<p>'Well, supposing I <i>did</i> see him,' said Irons, looking up, returning +Dangerfield's comic glance with a bold and lowering stare; 'and +supposing <i>he</i> saw <i>me</i>, so long as we've no business one of another, +and never talks like, nor seems to remember—I think 'tisnt, no ways, no +one's business—that's what I say.'</p> + +<p>'True, Irons, very true; you, I, and Sturk—the doctor I mean—are cool +fellows, and don't want for nerve; but I think, don't you? we're afraid +of Charles Archer, for all that.'</p> + +<p>'Fear or no fear, I don't want to talk <i>to</i> him nor <i>of</i> him, no ways,' +replied the clerk, grimly, and looking as black as a thunder-cloud.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Nor I neither, but you know he's here, and what a devil he is; and we +can't help it,' replied Dangerfield, very much tickled.</p> + +<p>The clerk only looked through his nearly closed eyes, and with the same +pale and surly aspect toward the point to which Dangerfield's casting +line had floated, and observed—</p> + +<p>'You'll lose them flies, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Hey?' said Dangerfield, and made another cast further into the stream.</p> + +<p>'Whatever he may seem, and I think I know him pretty well,' he continued +in the same sprightly way, 'Charles Archer would dispose of each of +us—you understand—without a scruple, precisely when and how best +suited his convenience. Now doctor Sturk has sent him a message which I +know will provoke him, for it sounds like a threat. If he reads it so, +rely on't, he'll lay Sturk on his back, one way or another, and I'm +sorry for him, for I wished him well; but if he will play at brag with +the <i>devil I</i> can't help him.'</p> + +<p>'I'm a man that holds his tongue; I never talks none, even in my liquor. +I'm a peaceable man, and no bully, and only wants to live quiet,' said +Irons in a hurry.</p> + +<p>'A disciple of <i>my</i> school, you're right, Irons, that's my way; <i>I</i> +never <i>name</i> Charles except to the two or three who meet him, and then +only when I can't help it, just as you do; fellows of that kidney I +always take quietly, and I've prospered. Sturk would do well to +reconsider his message. Were <i>I</i> in his shoes, I would not eat an egg or +a gooseberry, or drink a glass of fair water from that stream, while he +was in the country, for fear of <i>poison</i>! curse him! and to think of +Sturk expecting to meet him, and walk with him, after such a message, +together, as you and I do here. Do you see that tree?'</p> + +<p>It was a stout poplar, just a yard away from Irons's shoulder; and as +Dangerfield pronounced the word 'tree,' his hand rose, and the sharp +report of a pocket-pistol half-deafened Irons's ear.</p> + +<p>'I say,' said Dangerfield, with a startling laugh, observing Irons +wince, and speaking as the puff of smoke crossed his face, 'he'd lodge a +bullet in the cur's heart, as suddenly as I've shot that tree;' the +bullet had hit the stem right in the centre, 'and swear he was going to +rob him.'</p> + +<p>Irons eyed him with a livid squint, but answered nothing. I think he +acquiesced in Dangerfield's dreadful estimate of Charles Archer's +character.</p> + +<p>'But we must give the devil his due; Charles can do a handsome thing +sometimes. You shall judge. It seems he saw you, and you him—here, in +this town, some months ago, and each knew the other, and you've seen him +since, and done likewise; but you said nothing, and he liked your +philosophy, and hopes you'll accept of this, which from its weight I +take to be a little rouleau of guineas.'</p> + +<p>During this speech Irons seemed both angry and frightened,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> and looked +darkly enough before him on the water; and his lips were moving, as if +in a running commentary upon it all the while.</p> + +<p>When Dangerfield put the little roll in his hand, Irons looked +suspicious and frightened, and balanced it in his palm, as if he had +thoughts of chucking it from him, as though it were literally a satanic +douceur. But it is hard to part with money, and Irons, though he still +looked cowed and unhappy, put the money into his breeches' pocket, and +he made a queer bow, and he said—</p> + +<p>'You know, Sir, I never asked a farthing.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, so he says,' answered Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'And,' with an imprecation, Irons added, 'I never expected to be a +shilling the better of him.'</p> + +<p>'He knows it; and now you have the reason why I mentioned Charles +Archer; and having placed that gold in your hand, I've done with him, +and we sha'n't have occasion, I hope, to name his name for a good while +to come,' said Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>Then came a long refreshing silence, while Dangerfield whipt the stream +with his flies. He was not successful; but he did not change his flies. +It did not seem to trouble him; indeed, mayhap he did not perceive it. +And after fully twenty minutes thus unprofitably employed, he suddenly +said, as if in continuation of his last sentence—</p> + +<p>'And, respecting that money you'll use caution; a hundred guineas is not +always so honestly come by. Your wife drinks—suppose a relative in +England had left you that gold, by will, 'twould be best not to let +<i>her</i> know; but give it to Dr. Walsingham, secretly, to keep for you, +telling him the reason. He'll undertake the trust and tell no +one—<i>that's</i> your plan—mind ye.'</p> + +<p>Then came another long silence, and Dangerfield applied himself in +earnest to catch some trout, and when he had accomplished half-a-dozen, +he tired altogether of the sport, and followed by Irons, he sauntered +homewards, where astounding news awaited him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LIII.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING AFTER WHAT FASHION DR. STURK CAME HOME.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>s Dangerfield, having parted company with Irons at the corner of the +bridge, was walking through the town, with his rod over his shoulder and +his basket of troutlings by his side, his attention was arrested by a +little knot of persons in close and earnest talk at the barrack-gate, +nearly opposite Sturk's house.</p> + +<p>He distinguished at a glance the tall grim figure of Oliver Lowe, of +Lucan, the sternest and shrewdest magistrate who held the commission for +the county of Dublin in those days, mounted on his iron-gray hunter, and +holding the crupper with his right hand, as he leaned toward a ragged, +shaggy little urchin, with naked shins, whom he was questioning, as it +seemed closely. Half-a-dozen gaping villagers stood round.</p> + +<p>There was an indescribable something about the group which indicated +horror and excitement. Dangerfield quickened his pace, and arrived just +as the adjutant rode out.</p> + +<p>Saluting both as he advanced, Dangerfield asked—</p> + +<p>'Nothing amiss, I hope, gentlemen?'</p> + +<p>'The surgeon here's been found murdered in the park!' answered Lowe.</p> + +<p>'Hey—<i>Sturk</i>?' said Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said the adjutant: 'this boy here says he's found him in the +Butcher's Wood.'</p> + +<p>'The Butcher's Wood!—why, what the plague brought him <i>there</i>?' +exclaimed Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>''Tis his straight road from Dublin across the park,' observed the +magistrate.</p> + +<p>'Oh!—I thought 'twas the wood by Lord Mountjoy's,' said Dangerfield; +'and when did it happen?'</p> + +<p>'Pooh!—some time between yesterday afternoon and half an hour ago,' +answered Mr. Lowe.</p> + +<p>'Nothing known?' said Dangerfield. ''Twill be a sad hearing over the +way;' and he glared grimly with a little side-nod at the doctor's house.</p> + +<p>Then he fell, like the others, to questioning the boy. He could tell +them but little—only the same story over and over. Coming out of town, +with tea and tobacco, a pair of shoes, and a bottle of whisky, for old +Mrs. Tresham—in the thick of the wood, among brambles, all at once he +lighted on the body. He could not mistake Dr. Sturk; he wore his +regimentals; there was blood about him; he did not touch him, nor go +nearer than a musket's length to him, and being frightened at the sight +in that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> lonely place he ran away and right down to the barrack, where +he made his report.</p> + +<p>Just then out came Sergeant Bligh, with his men—two of them carrying a +bier with a mattress and cloaks thereupon. They formed, and accompanied +by the adjutant, at quick step marched through the town for the park. +Mr. Lowe accompanied them, and in the park-lane they picked up the +ubiquitous Doctor Toole, who joined the party.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield walked a while beside the adjutant's horse; and, said he—</p> + +<p>'I've had as much walking as I can well manage this morning, and you +don't want for hands, so I'll turn back when I've said just a word in +your ear. You know, Sir, funerals are expensive, and I happen to know +that poor Sturk was rather pressed for money—in fact, 'twas only the +day before yesterday I myself lent him a trifle. So will you, through +whatever channel you think best, let poor Mrs. Sturk know that she may +draw upon me for a hundred pounds, if she requires it?'</p> + +<p>'Thank you, Mr. Dangerfield; I certainly shall.'</p> + +<p>And so Dangerfield lifted his hat to the party and fell behind, and came +to a stand still, watching them till they disappeared over the brow of +the hill.</p> + +<p>When he reached his little parlour in the Brass Castle, luncheon was +upon the table. But he had not much of an appetite, and stood at the +window, looking upon the river with his hands in his pockets, and a +strange pallid smile over his face, mingling with the light of the +silver spectacles.</p> + +<p>'When Irons hears of this,' he said, 'he'll come to my estimate of +Charles Archer, and conclude he has had a finger in that pretty pie; +'twill frighten him.'</p> + +<p>And somehow Dangerfield looked a little bit queer himself, and he drank +off two small glasses, such as folks then used in Ireland—of Nantz; and +setting down the glass, he mused—</p> + +<p>'A queer battle life is; ha, ha! Sturk laid low—the wretched fool! +Widow—yes; children—ay. Charles! Charles! if there be a reckoning +after death, your score's an ugly one. I'm tired of playing my part in +this weary game of defence. Irons and I remain with the secret between +us. Glasscock had his fourth of it, and tasted death. Then we three had +it; and Sturk goes next; and now I and Irons—Irons and I—which goes +first?' And he fell to whistling slowly and dismally, with his hands in +his breeches' pockets, looking vacantly through his spectacles on the +ever-running water, an emblem of the eternal change and monotony of +life.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the party, with Tim Brian, the bare-shanked urchin, +still in a pale perspiration, for guide, marched on, all looking ahead, +in suspense, and talking little.</p> + +<p>On they marched, till they got into the bosky shadow of the close old +whitethorn and brambles, and there, in a lonely nook,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> the small birds +hopping on the twigs above, sure enough, on his back, in his +regimentals, lay the clay-coloured image of Sturk, some blood, nearly +black now, at the corners of his mouth, and under his stern brows a +streak of white eye-ball turned up to the sky.</p> + +<p>There was a pool of blood under his pomatumed, powdered, and curled +head, more under his right arm, which was slightly extended, with the +open hand thrown palm upwards, as if appealing to heaven.</p> + +<p>Toole examined him.</p> + +<p>'No pulse, by Jove! Quiet there! don't stir!' Then he clapped his ear on +Sturk's white Marseilles vest.</p> + +<p>'Hush!' and a long pause. Then Toole rose erect, but still on his knees, +'<i>Will</i> you be quiet there? I think there's some little action still; +only don't talk, or shift your feet; and just—just, do be quiet!'</p> + +<p>Then Toole rose to his knees again, with a side glance fixed on the face +of Sturk, with a puzzled and alarmed look. He evidently did not well +know what to make of it. Then he slipped his hand within his vest, and +between his shirt and his skin.</p> + +<p>'If he's dead, he's not long so. There's warmth here. And see, get me a +pinch or two of that thistle-down, d'ye see?'</p> + +<p>And with the help of this improvised test he proceeded to try whether he +was still breathing. But there was a little air stirring, and they could +not manage it.</p> + +<p>'Well!' said Toole, standing this time quite erect, 'I—I think there's +life there still. And now, boys, d'ye see? lift him very carefully, d'ye +mind? Gently, very gently, for I tell you, if this hæmorrhage begins +again, he'll not last twenty seconds.'</p> + +<p>So on a cloak they lifted him softly and deftly to the bier, and laid +covering over him; and having received Toole's last injunctions, and +especially a direction to Mrs. Sturk to place him in a well-warmed bed, +and introduce a few spoonfuls of warm port wine negus into his mouth, +and if he swallowed, to continue to administer it from time to time, +Sergeant Bligh and his men commenced their funereal march toward Sturk's +house.</p> + +<p>'And now, Mr. Adjutant,' said Lowe, 'had not we best examine the ground, +and make a search for anything that may lead to a conviction?'</p> + +<p>Well, a ticket was found trod into the bloody mud, scarcely legible, and +Sturk's cocked hat, the leaf and crown cut through with a blow of some +blunt instrument. His sword they had found by his side not drawn.</p> + +<p>'See! here's a foot-print, too,' said Lowe; 'don't move!'</p> + +<p>It was remarkable. They pinned together the backs of two letters, and +Toole, with his surgical scissors, cut the pattern to fit exactly into +the impression; and he and Lowe, with great care, pencilled in the +well-defined marks of the great hob-nails, and a sort of seam or scar +across the heel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright"><img src="images/img231.jpg" alt="FOOTPRINT" title="FOOTPRINT" /></div> + +<p>'Twas pretty much after this fashion. It was in a slight dip in the +ground where the soil continued soft. They found it in two other places +coming up to the fatal spot, from the direction of the Magazine. And it +was traceable on for some twenty yards more faintly; then, again, very +distinctly, where—a sort of ditch interposing—a jump had been made, +and here it turned down towards the park wall and the Chapelizod road, +still, however, slanting in the Dublin direction.</p> + +<p>In the hollow by the park wall it appeared again, distinctly; and here +it was plain the transit of the wall had been made, for the traces of +the mud were evident enough upon its surface, and the mortar at top was +displaced, and a little tuft of grass in the mud, left by the clodded +shoesole. Here the fellow had got over.</p> + +<p>They followed, and, despairing of finding it upon the road, they +diverged into the narrow slip of ground by the river bank, and just +within the park-gate, in a slight hollow, the clay of which was still +impressible, they found the track again. It led close up to the river +bank, and there the villain seemed to have come to a stand still; for +the sod just for so much as a good sized sheet of letter-paper might +cover, was trod and broken, as if at the water's edge he had stood for a +while, and turned about and shifted his feet, like a fellow that is +uneasy while he is stationary.</p> + +<p>From this stand-point they failed to discover any receding foot-print; +but close by it came a little horse track, covered with shingle, by +which, in those days, the troops used to ride their horses to water. He +might have stepped upon this, and following it, taken to the streets; or +he might—and this was Lowe's theory—have swam the river at this point, +and got into some of those ruffian haunts in the rear of Watling and St. +James's streets. So Lowe, who, with a thief or a murderer in the wind, +had the soul of a Nimrod, rode round to the opposite bank, first telling +Toole, who did not care to press his services at Sturk's house, +uninvited, that he would send out the great Doctor Pell to examine the +patient, or the body, as the case might turn out.</p> + +<p>By this time they were carrying Doctor Sturk—that gaudy and dismal +image—up his own staircase—his pale wife sobbing and shivering on the +landing, among whispered ejaculations from the maids, and the speechless +wonder of the awe-stricken children, staring through the banisters—to +lay him in the bed where at last he is to lie without dreaming.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LIV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MISS MAGNOLIA MACNAMARA AND DR. TOOLE, IN DIFFERENT SCENES, +PROVE THEMSELVES GOOD SAMARITANS; AND THE GREAT DOCTOR PELL MOUNTS THE +STAIRS OF THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div><p>o pulse or no pulse, dead or alive, they got Sturk into his bed.</p> + +<p>Poor, cowed, quiet little Mrs. Sturk, went quite wild at the bedside.</p> + +<p>'Oh! my Barney—my Barney—my noble Barney,' she kept crying. 'He's +gone—he'll never speak again. Do you think he hears? Oh, Barney, my +darling—Barney, it's your own poor little Letty—oh—Barney, darling, +don't you hear. It's your own poor, foolish Letty.'</p> + +<p>But it was the same stern face, and ears of stone. There was no answer +and no sign.</p> + +<p>And she sent a pitiful entreaty to Doctor Toole, who came very +good-naturedly—and indeed he was prowling about the doorway of his +domicile in expectation of the summons. And he shook her very cordially +by the hand, and quite 'filled-up,' at her woebegone appeal, and told +her she must not despair yet.</p> + +<p>And this time he pronounced most positively that Sturk was still living.</p> + +<p>'Yes, my dear Madam, so sure as you and I are. There's no mistaking.'</p> + +<p>And as the warmth of the bed began to tell, the signs of life showed +themselves more and more unequivocally. But Toole knew that his patient +was in a state of coma, from which he had no hope of his emerging.</p> + +<p>So poor little Mrs. Sturk—as white as the plaster on the wall—who kept +her imploring eyes fixed on the doctor's ruddy countenance, during his +moments of deliberation, burst out into a flood of tears, and +thanksgivings, and benedictions.</p> + +<p>'He'll recover—something tells me he'll recover. Oh! my +Barney—darling—you will—you will.'</p> + +<p>'While there's life—you know—my dear Ma'am,', said Toole, doing his +best. 'But then—you see—he's been very badly abused about the head; +and the brain you know—is the great centre—the—the—but, as I said, +while there's life, there's hope.'</p> + +<p>'And he's so strong—he shakes off an illness so easily; he has such +courage.'</p> + +<p>'So much the better, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'And I can't but think, as he did not die outright, and has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> shown such +wonderful endurance. Oh! my darling, he'll get on.'</p> + +<p>'Well, well, Ma'am, there certainly have been wonderful recoveries.'</p> + +<p>'And he's so much better already, you see, and I know so well how he +gets through an illness, 'tis wonderful, and he certainly is mightily +improved since we got him to bed. Why, I can <i>see</i> him breathe now, and +you know it <i>must</i> be a good sign; and then there's a merciful God over +us—and all the poor little children—what would become of us?' And then +she wiped her eyes quickly. 'The promise, you know, of length of +days—it often comforted me before—to those that honour father and +mother; and I believe there never was so good a son. Oh! my noble +Barney, never; 'tis my want of reliance and trust in the Almighty's +goodness.'</p> + +<p>And so, holding Toole by the cuff of his coat, and looking piteously +into his face as they stood together in the doorway, the poor little +woman argued thus with inexorable death.</p> + +<p>Fools, and blind; when amidst our agonies of supplication the blow +descends, our faith in prayer is staggered, as if it reached not the ear +of the Allwise, and moved not His sublime compassion. Are we quite sure +that we comprehend the awful and far-sighted game that is being played +for us and others so well that we can sit by and safely dictate its +moves?</p> + +<p>How will Messrs. Morphy or Staunton, on whose calculations, I will +suppose, you have staked £100, brook your insane solicitations to spare +this pawn or withdraw that knight from prise, on the board which is but +the toy type of that dread field where all the powers of eternal +intellect, the wisdom from above and the wisdom from beneath—the +stupendous intelligence that made, and the stupendous sagacity that +would undo us, are pitted one against the other in a death-combat, which +admits of no reconciliation and no compromise?</p> + +<p>About poor Mrs. Nutter's illness, and the causes of it, various stories +were current in Chapelizod. Some had heard it was a Blackamoor witch who +had evoked the foul fiend in bodily shape from the parlour cupboard, and +that he had with his cloven foot kicked her and Sally Nutter round the +apartment until then screams brought in Charles Nutter, who was smoking +in the garden; and that on entering, he would have fared as badly as the +rest, had he not had presence of mind to pounce at once upon the great +family Bible that lay on the window-sill, with which he belaboured the +infernal intruder to a purpose. Others reported 'twas the ghost of old +Philip Nutter, who rose through the floor, and talked I know not what +awful rhodomontade. These were the confabulations of the tap-room and +the kitchen; but the speculations and rumours current over the +card-table and claret glasses were hardly more congruous or +intelligible. In fact, nobody knew well what to make of it. Nutter +certainly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> had disappeared, and there was an uneasy feeling about him. +The sinister terms on which he and Sturk had stood were quite well +known, and though nobody spoke out, every one knew pretty well what his +neighbour was thinking of.</p> + +<p>Our blooming friend, the handsome and stalworth Magnolia, having got a +confidential hint from agitated Mrs. Mack, trudged up to the mills, in a +fine frenzy, vowing vengeance on Mary Matchwell, for she liked poor +Sally Nutter well. And when, with all her roses in her cheeks, and her +saucy black eyes flashing vain lightnings across the room in pursuit of +the vanished woman in sable, the Amazon with black hair and slender +waist comforted and pitied poor Sally, and anathematised her cowardly +foe, it must be confessed she looked plaguy handsome, wicked, and +good-natured.</p> + +<p>'Mary Matchwell, indeed! <i>I'll</i> match her well, wait a while, you'll see +if I don't. I'll pay her off yet, never mind, Sally, darling. Arrah! +Don't be crying, child, do you hear me. <i>What's</i> that? <i>Charles?</i> Why, +then, is it about Charles you're crying? Charles Nutter? Phiat! woman +dear! don't you think he's come to an age to take care of himself? I'll +hold you a crown he's in Dublin with the sheriff, going to cart that +jade to Bridewell. And why in the world didn't you send for <i>me</i>, when +you wanted to discourse with Mary Matchwell? Where was the good of my +poor dear mother? Why, she's as soft as butter. 'Twas a devil like me +you wanted, you poor little darling. Do you think I'd a let her frighten +you this way—the vixen—I'd a knocked her through the window as soon as +look at her. She saw with half an eye she could frighten you both, you +poor things. Oh! ho! how I wish I was here. I'd a put her across my knee +and—<i>no</i>—do you say? Pooh! you don't know me, you poor innocent little +creature; and, do ye mind now, you must not be moping here. Sally +Nutter, all alone, you'll just come down to us, and drink a cup of tea +and play a round game and hear the news; and look up now and give me a +kiss, for I like you, Sally, you kind old girl.'</p> + +<p>And she gave her a hug, and a shake, and half-a-dozen kisses on each +cheek, and laughed merrily, and scolded and kissed her again.</p> + +<p>Little more than an hour after, up comes a little <i>billet</i> from the +good-natured Magnolia, just to help poor little Sally Nutter out of the +vapours, and vowing that no excuse should stand good, and that come she +must to tea and cards. 'And, oh! what do you think?' it went on. 'Such a +bit a newse, I'm going to tell you, so prepare for a chock;' at this +part poor Sally felt quite sick, but went on. 'Doctor Sturk, that droav +into town Yesterday, as grand as you Please, in Mrs. Strafford's coach, +all smiles and Polightness—whood a bleeved! Well He's just come back, +with two great Fractions of his skull, riding on a Bear, insensible into +The town—there's for you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> Only Think of poor Mrs. Sturk, and the Chock +she's got on sight of Him: and how thankful and Pleasant you should be +that Charles Nutter is not a Corpes in the Buchar's wood, and jiggin +Home to you like Sturk did. But well in health, what I'm certain shure +he is, taken the law of Mary Matchwell—bless the Mark—to get her +emprisind and Publickly wiped by the commin hangman.' All which rhapsody +conjured up a confused and dyspeptic dream, full of absurd and terrific +images, which she could not well comprehend, except in so far as it +seemed clear that some signal disaster had befallen Sturk.</p> + +<p>That night, at nine o'clock, the great Doctor Pell arrived in his coach, +with steaming horses, at Sturk's hall-door, where the footman thundered +a tattoo that might have roused the dead; for it was the family's +business, if they did not want a noise, to muffle the knocker. And the +doctor strode up, directed by the whispering awestruck maid, to Sturk's +bed-chamber, with his hands in his muff, after the manner of doctors in +his day, without asking questions, or hesitating on lobbies, for the +sands of his minutes ran out in gold-dust. So, with a sort of awe and +suppressed bustle preceding and following him, he glided up stairs and +straight to the patient's bedside, serene, saturnine, and rapid.</p> + +<p>In a twinkling the maid was running down the street for Toole, who had +kept at home, in state costume, expecting the consultation with the +great man, which he liked. And up came Toole, with his brows knit, and +his chin high, marching over the pavement in a mighty fuss, for he knew +that the oracle's time and temper were not to be trifled with.</p> + +<p>In the club, Larry the drawer, as he set a pint of mulled claret by old +Arthur Slowe's elbow, whispered something in his ear, with a solemn +wink.</p> + +<p>'Ho!—by Jove, gentlemen, the doctor's come—Doctor Pell. His coach +stands at Sturk's door, Larry says, and we'll soon hear how he fares.' +And up got Major O'Neill with a 'hey! ho—ho!' and out he went, followed +by old Slowe, with his little tankard in his fist, to the inn-door, +where the major looked on the carriage, lighted up by the footman's +flambeau, beneath the old village elm—up the street—smoking his pipe +still to keep it burning, and communicating with Slowe, two words at a +time. And Slowe stood gazing at the same object with his little faded +blue eyes, his disengaged hand in his breeches' pocket, and ever and +anon wetting his lips with his hot cordial, and assenting agreeably to +the major's conclusions.</p> + +<p>'Seize ace! curse it!' cried Cluffe, who, I'm happy to say, had taken no +harm by his last night's wetting; 'another gammon, I'll lay you fifty.'</p> + +<p>'Toole, I dare thay, will look in and tell us how poor Sturk goes on,' +said Puddock, playing his throw.</p> + +<p>'Hang it, Puddock, mind your game—to be sure, he will.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> Cinque ace! +well, <i>curse</i> it! the same throw over again! 'Tis too bad. I missed +taking you last time, with that stupid blot you've covered—and now, by +Jove, it ruins me. There's no playing when fellows are getting up every +minute to gape after doctors' coaches, and leaving the door open—hang +it, I've lost the game by it—gammoned twice already. 'Tis very +pleasant. I only wish when gentlemen interrupt play, they'd be good +enough to pay the bets.'</p> + +<p>It was not much, about five shillings altogether, and little Puddock had +not often a run of luck.</p> + +<p>'If you'd like to win it back, Captain Cluffe, I'll give you a chance,' +said O'Flaherty, who was tolerably sober. 'I'll lay you an even guinea +Sturk's dead before nine to-morrow morning; and two to one he's dead +before this time to-morrow night.'</p> + +<p>'I thank you—no, Sir—two doctors over him, and his head in two +pieces—you're very obliging, lieutenant, but I'll choose a likelier +wager,' said Cluffe.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield, who was overlooking the party, with his back to the fire, +appeared displeased at their levity—shook his head, and was on the +point of speaking one of those polite but cynical reproofs, whose irony, +cold and intangible, intimidated the less potent spirits of the +club-room. But he dismissed it with a little shrug. And a minute after, +Major O'Neill and Arthur Slowe became aware that Dangerfield had glided +behind them, and was looking serenely, like themselves, at the Dublin +doctor's carriage and smoking team. The light from Sturk's bed-room +window, and the red glare of the footman's torch, made two little +trembling reflections in the silver spectacles as he stood in the shade, +peering movelessly over their shoulders.</p> + +<p>''Tis a sorry business, gentlemen,' he said in a stern, subdued tone. +'Seven children and a widow. He's not dead yet, though: whatever Toole +might do, the Dublin doctor would not stay with a dead man; time's +precious. I can't describe how I pity that poor soul, his wife—what's +to become of her and her helpless brood I know not.'</p> + +<p>Slowe grunted a dismal assent, and the major, with a dolorous gaze, blew +a thin stream of tobacco-smoke into the night air, which floated off +like the ghost of a sigh towards the glimmering window of Sturk's +bed-room. So they all grew silent. It seemed they had no more to say, +and that, in their minds, the dark curtain had come down upon the drama +of which the 'noble Barney,' as poor Mrs. Sturk called him, was hero.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH DR. TOOLE, IN FULL COSTUME, STANDS UPON THE HEARTH-STONE OF THE +CLUB, AND ILLUMINATES THE COMPANY WITH HIS BACK TO THE FIRE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>wo or three minutes later, the hall-door of Sturk's mansion opened +wide, and the figure of the renowned doctor from Dublin, lighted up with +a candle from behind, and with the link from before, glided swiftly down +the steps, and disappeared into the coach with a sharp clang of the +door. Up jumps the footman, and gives his link a great whirl about his +head. The maid stands on the step with her hand before the flaring +candle. 'The Turk's Head, in Werburgh Street,' shouts the footman, and +smack goes the coachman's whip, and the clang and rattle begin.</p> + +<p>'That's Alderman Blunkett—he's dying,' said the major, by way of gloss +on the footman's text; and away went the carriage with thundering +wheels, and trailing sparks behind it, as if the wild huntsman had +furnished its fleet and shadowy team.</p> + +<p>'He has ten guineas in his pocket for that—a guinea a minute, by Jove, +coining, no less,' said the major, whose pipe was out, and he thinking +of going in to replenish it. 'We'll have Toole here presently, depend +upon it.'</p> + +<p>He had hardly spoken when Toole, in a halo of candle-light, emerged from +Sturk's hall-door. With one foot on the steps, the doctor paused to give +a parting direction about chicken-broth and white-wine whey.</p> + +<p>These last injunctions on the door-steps had begun, perhaps in a +willingness to let folk see and even hear that the visit was +professional; and along with the lowering and awfully serious +countenance with which they were delivered, had grown into a habit, so +that, as now, he practised them even in solitude and darkness.</p> + +<p>Then Toole was seen to approach the Phœnix, in full blow, his cane +under his arm. With his full-dressed wig on, he was always grand and +Æsculapian, and reserved withal, and walked with a measured tread, and a +sad and important countenance, which somehow made him look more chubby; +and he was a good deal more formal with his friends at the inn-door, and +took snuff before he answered them. But this only lasted some eight or +ten minutes after a consultation or momentous visit, and would melt away +insensibly in the glow of the club-parlour, sometimes reviving for a +minute, when the little mirror that sloped forward from the wall, showed +him a passing portrait of his grand wig and toggery. And it was pleasant +to observe how the old fellows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> unconsciously deferred to this temporary +self-assertion, and would call him, not Tom, nor Toole, but 'doctor,' or +'Doctor Toole,' when the fit was upon him.</p> + +<p>And Devereux, in his day, won two or three wagers by naming the doctor +with whom Toole had been closeted, reading the secret in the countenance +and by-play of their crony. When it had been with tall, cold, stately +Dr. Pell, Toole was ceremonious and deliberate, and oppressively polite. +On the other hand, when he had been shut up with brusque, half-savage, +energetic Doctor Rogerson, Tom was laconic, decisive, and insupportably +ill-bred, till, as we have said, the mirage melted away, and he +gradually acquiesced in his identity. Then, little by little, the +irrepressible gossip, jocularity, and ballad minstrelsy were heard +again, his little eyes danced, and his waggish smiles glowed once more, +ruddy as a setting sun, through the nectarian vapours of the punch-bowl. +The ghosts of Pell and Rogerson fled to their cold dismal shades, and +little Tom Toole was his old self again for a month to come.</p> + +<p>'Your most obedient, gentlemen—your most obedient,' said Toole, bowing +and taking their hands graciously in the hall—'a darkish evening, +gentlemen.'</p> + +<p>'And how does your patient, doctor?' enquired Major O'Neil.</p> + +<p>The doctor closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly, with a gentle +shrug.</p> + +<p>'He's in a bad case, major. There's little to be said, and that little, +Sir, not told in a moment,' answered Toole, and took snuff.</p> + +<p>'How's Sturk, Sir?' repeated the silver spectacles, a little sternly.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, he's not <i>dead</i>; but, by your leave, had we not better go +into the parlour, eh?—'tis a little chill, and, as I said, 'tis not all +told in a moment—he's not dead, though, that's the sum of it—<i>you</i> +first, pray proceed, gentlemen.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield grimly took him at his word; but the polite major got up a +little ceremonious tussle with Toole in the hall. However, it was no +more than a matter of half-a-dozen bows and waves of the hand, and +'after you, Sir;' and Toole entered, and after a general salutation in +the style of Doctor Pell, he established himself upon the hearth-stone, +with his back to the fire, as a legitimate oracle.</p> + +<p>Toole was learned, as he loved to be among the laity on such occasions, +and was in no undue haste to bring his narrative to a close. But the +gist of the matter was this—Sturk was labouring under concussion of the +brain, and two terrific fractures of the skull—so long, and lying so +near together, that he and Doctor Pell instantly saw 'twould be +impracticable to apply the trepan, in fact that 'twould be certain and +instantaneous death. He was absolutely insensible, but his throat was +not yet palsied, and he could swallow a spoonful of broth or sack whey +from time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> time. But he was a dead man to all intents and purposes. +Inflammation might set in at any moment; at best he would soon begin to +sink, and neither he nor Doctor Pell thought he had the smallest chance +of awaking from his lethargy for one moment. He might last two or three +days, or even a week—what did it signify?—what was he better than a +corpse already? He could never hear, see, speak, or think again; and for +any difference it could possibly make to poor Sturk, they might clap him +in his grave and cover him up to-night.</p> + +<p>Then the talk turned upon Nutter. Every man had his theory or his +conjecture but Dangerfield, who maintained a discreet reserve, much to +the chagrin of the others, who thought, not without reason, that he knew +more about the state of his affairs, and especially of his relations +with Lord Castlemallard, than perhaps all the world beside.</p> + +<p>'Possibly, poor fellow, he was not in a condition to have his accounts +overhauled, and on changing an agency things sometimes come out that +otherwise might have kept quiet. He was the sort of fellow who would go +through with a thing; and if he thought the best way on going out of the +agency was to go out of the world also, out he'd go. They were always a +resolute family—Nutter's great uncle, you know, drowned himself in that +little lake—what do you call it?—in the county of Cavan, and 'twas +mighty coolly and resolutely done too.'</p> + +<p>But there was a haunting undivulged suspicion in the minds of each. +Every man knew what his neighbour was thinking of, though he did not +care to ask about his ugly dreams, or to relate his own. They all knew +what sort of terms Sturk and Nutter had been on. They tried to put the +thought away, for though Nutter was not a joker, nor a songster, nor a +story-teller, yet they liked him. Besides, Nutter might possibly turn up +in a day or two, and in that case 'twould go best with those who had not +risked an atrocious conjecture about him in public. So every man waited, +and held his tongue upon that point till his neighbour should begin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LVI.</h2> + +<h4>DOCTOR WALSINGHAM AND THE CHAPELIZOD CHRISTIANS MEET TO THE SOUND OF THE +HOLY BELL, AND A VAMPIRE SITS IN THE CHURCH.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he next day the Sabbath bell from the ivied tower of Chapelizod Church +called all good church-folk round to their pews and seats. Sturk's place +was empty—already it knew him no more—and Mrs. Sturk was absent; but +the little file of children, on whom the neighbours looked with an awful +and a tender curiosity, was there. Lord Townshend, too, was in the +viceregal seat, with gentlemen of his household behind, splendid in star +and peruke, and eyed over their prayer-books by many inquisitive +Christians. Nutter's little pew, under the gallery, was void like +Sturk's. These sudden blanks were eloquent, and many, as from time to +time the dismal gap opened silent before their eyes, felt their thoughts +wander and lead them away in a strange and dismal dance, among the +nodding hawthorns in the Butcher's Wood, amidst the damps of night, +where Sturk lay in his leggings, and powder and blood, and the beetle +droned by unheeding, and no one saw him save the guilty eyes that +gleamed back as the shadowy shape stole swiftly away among the trees.</p> + +<p>Dr. Walsingham's sermon had reference to the two-fold tragedy of the +week, Nutter's supposed death by drowning, and the murder of Sturk. In +his discourses he sometimes came out with a queer bit of erudition. Such +as, while it edified one portion of his congregation, filled the other +with unfeigned amazement.</p> + +<p>'We may pray for rain,' said he on one occasion, when the collect had +been read; 'and for other elemental influence with humble confidence. +For if it be true, as the Roman annalists relate, that their augurs +could, by certain rites and imprecations, produce thunder-storms—if it +be certain that thunder and lightning were successfully invoked by King +Porsenna, and as Lucius Piso, whom Pliny calls a very respectable +author, avers that the same thing had frequently been done before his +time by King Numa Pompilius, surely it is not presumption in a Christian +congregation,' and so forth.</p> + +<p>On this occasion he warned his parishioners against assuming that sudden +death is a judgment. 'On the contrary, the ancients held it a blessing; +and Pliny declares it to be the greatest happiness of life—how much +more should we? Many of the Roman worthies, as you are aware, perished +thus suddenly, Quintius Æmilius Lepidus, going out of his house, struck +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> great toe against the threshold and expired; Cneius Babius +Pamphilus, a man of prætorian rank, died while asking a boy what o'clock +it was; Aulus Manlius Torquatus, a gentleman of consular rank, died in +the act of taking a cheese-cake at dinner; Lucius Tuscius Valla, the +physician, deceased while taking a draught of mulsum; Appius Saufeius, +while swallowing an egg: and Cornelius Gallus, the prætor, and Titus +Haterius, a knight, each died while kissing the hand of his wife. And I +might add many more names with which, no doubt, you are equally +familiar.'</p> + +<p>The gentlemen of the household opened their eyes; the officers of the +Royal Irish Artillery, who understood their man, winked pleasantly +behind their cocked hats at one another; and his excellency coughed, +with his perfumed pocket-handkerchief to his nose, a good deal; and +Master Dicky Sturk, a grave boy, who had a side view of his excellency, +told his nurse that the lord lieutenant laughed in church! and was +rebuked for that scandalum magnatum with proper horror.</p> + +<p>Then the good doctor told them that the blood of the murdered man cried +to heaven. That they might comfort themselves with the assurance that +the man of blood would come to judgment. He reminded them of St. +Augustan's awful words, 'God hath woollen feet, but iron hands;' and he +told them an edifying story of Mempricius, the son of Madan, the fourth +king of England, then called Britaine, after Brute, who murdered his +brother Manlius, and mark ye this, after twenty years he was devoured by +wild beasts; and another of one Bessus—'tis related by Plutarch—who +having killed his father, was brought to punishment by means of +swallows, which birds, his guilty conscience persuaded him, in their +chattering language did say to one another, that Bessus had killed his +father, whereupon he bewrayed his horrible crime, and was worthily put +to death. 'The great Martin Luther,' he continued, 'reports such another +story of a certain Almaigne, who, when thieves were in the act of +murdering him, espying a flight of crows, cried aloud, "Oh crows, I take +you for witnesses and revengers of my death." And so it fell out, some +days afterwards, as these same thieves were drinking in an inn, a flight +of crows came and lighted on the top of the house; whereupon the +thieves, jesting, said to one another, "See, yonder are those who are to +avenge the death of him we despatched t'other day," which the tapster +overhearing, told forthwith to the magistrate, who arrested them +presently, and thereupon they confessed, and were put to death.' And so +he went on, sustaining his position with strange narratives culled here +and there from the wilderness of his reading.</p> + +<p>Among the congregation that heard this sermon, at the eccentricities of +which I have hinted, but which had, beside, much that was striking, +simply pathetic, and even awful in it, there glided—shall I say—a +phantom, with the light of death, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> shadows of hell, and the +taint of the grave upon him, and sat among these respectable persons of +flesh and blood—impenetrable—secure—for he knew there were but two in +the church for whom clever disguises were idle and transparent as the +air. The blue-chinned sly clerk, who read the responses, and quavered +the Psalms so demurely, and the white-headed, silver-spectacled, upright +man, in my Lord Castlemallard's pew, who turned over the leaves of his +prayer-book so diligently, saw him as he was, and knew him to be Charles +Archer, and one of these at least, as this dreadful spirit walked, with +his light burning in the noon-day, dogged by inexorable shadows through +a desolate world, in search of peace, he knew to be the slave of his +lamp.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LVII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH DR. TOOLE AND MR. LOWE MAKE A VISIT AT THE MILLS, AND RECOGNISE +SOMETHING REMARKABLE WHILE THERE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>fter church, Dr. Toole walking up to the Mills, to pay an afternoon +visit to poor little Mrs. Nutter, was overtaken by Mr. Lowe, the +magistrate who brought his tall, iron-gray hunter to a walk as he +reached him.</p> + +<p>'Any tidings of Nutter?' asked he, after they had, in the old world +phrase, given one another the time of day.</p> + +<p>'Not a word,' said the doctor; 'I don't know what to make of it; but you +know what's thought. The last place he was seen in was his own garden. +The river was plaguy swollen Friday night, and just where he stood it's +deep enough, I can tell you; often I bathed there when I was a boy. He +was consumedly in the dumps, poor fellow; and between ourselves, he was +a resolute dog, and atrabilious, and just the fellow to make the jump +into kingdom-come if the maggot bit: and you know his hat was fished out +of the river a long way down. They dragged next morning, +but—pish!—'twas all nonsense and moonshine; why, there was water +enough to carry him to Ringsend in an hour. He was a good deal out of +sorts, as I said, latterly—a shabby design, Sir, to thrust him out of +my Lord Castlemallard's agency; but that's past and gone; and, besides, +I have reason to know there was some kind of an excitement—a quarrel it +could not be—poor Sally Nutter's too mild and quiet for that; but +a—a—<i>something</i>—a—an—agitation—or a bad news—or something—just +before he went out; and so, poor Nutter, you see, it looks very like as +if he had done something rash.'</p> + +<p>Talking thus, they reached the Mills by the river side, not far from +Knockmaroon.</p> + +<p>On learning that Toole was about making a call there, Lowe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> gave his +bridle to a little Chapelizod ragamuffin, and, dismounting, accompanied +the doctor. Mrs. Nutter was in her bed.</p> + +<p>'Make my service to your mistress,' said Toole, 'and say I'll look in on +her in five minutes, if she'll admit me.' And Lowe and the doctor walked +on to the garden, and so side by side down to the river's bank.</p> + +<p>'Hey!—look at that,' said Toole, with a start, in a hard whisper; and +he squeezed Lowe's arm very hard, and looked as if he saw a snake.</p> + +<p>It was the impression in the mud of the same peculiar foot-print they +had tracked so far in the park. There was a considerable pause, during +which Lowe stooped down to examine the details of the footmark.</p> + +<p>'Hang it—you know—poor Mrs. Nutter—eh?' said Toole, and hesitated.</p> + +<p>'We must make a note of that—the thing's important,' said Mr. Lowe, +sternly fixing his gray eye upon Toole.</p> + +<p>'Certainly, Sir,' said the doctor, bridling; 'I should not like to be +the man to hit him—you know; but it <i>is</i> remarkable—and, curse it, +Sir, if called on, I'll speak the truth as straight as <i>you</i>, Sir—every +bit, Sir.'</p> + +<p>And he added an oath, and looked very red and heated.</p> + +<p>The magistrate opened his pocket-book, took forth the pattern sole, +carefully superimposed it, called Toole's attention, and said—</p> + +<p>'<i>You see</i>.'</p> + +<p>Toole nodded hurriedly; and just then the maid came out to ask him to +see her mistress.</p> + +<p>'I say, my good woman,' said Lowe; 'just look here. Whose foot-print is +that—do you know it?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, why, to be sure I do. Isn't it the master's brogues?' she replied, +frightened, she knew not why, after the custom of her kind.</p> + +<p>'You observe that?' and he pointed specially to the transverse line +across the heel. 'Do you know that?'</p> + +<p>The woman assented.</p> + +<p>'Who made or mended these shoes?'</p> + +<p>'Bill Heaney, the shoemaker, down in Martin's-row, there—'twas he made +them, and mended them, too, Sir.'</p> + +<p>So he came to a perfect identification, and then an authentication of +his paper pattern; then she could say they were certainly the shoes he +wore on Friday night—in fact, every other pair he had were then on the +shoe-stand on the lobby. So Lowe entered the house, and got pen and ink, +and continued to question the maid and make little notes; and the other +maid knocked at the parlour door with a message to Toole.</p> + +<p>Lowe urged his going; and somehow Toole thought the magistrate suspected +him of making signs to his witness, and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> departed ill at ease; and at +the foot of the stairs he said to the woman—</p> + +<p>'You had better go in there—that stupid Lynn is doing her best to hang +your master, by Jove!'</p> + +<p>And the woman cried—</p> + +<p>'Oh, dear, bless us!'</p> + +<p>Toole was stunned and agitated, and so with his hand on the clumsy +banister he strode up the dark staircase, and round the little corner in +the lobby, to Mrs. Nutter's door.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Madam, 'twill all come right, be sure,' said Toole, uncomfortably, +responding to a vehement and rambling appeal of poor Mrs. Nutter's.</p> + +<p>'And do you <i>really</i> think it will? Oh, doctor, doctor, <i>do</i> you think +it will? The last two or three nights and days—how many is it?—oh, my +poor head—it seems like a month since he went away.'</p> + +<p>'And where do you think he is? Do you think it's business?'</p> + +<p>'Of course 'tis business, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'And—and—oh, doctor!—you really think he's safe?'</p> + +<p>'Of <i>course</i>, Madam, he's safe—what's to ail him?'</p> + +<p>And Toole rummaged amongst the old medicine phials on the chimneypiece, +turning their labels round and round, but neither seeing them nor +thinking about them, and only muttering to himself with, I'm sorry to +say, a curse here and there.</p> + +<p>'You see, my dear Ma'am, you must keep yourself as quiet as you can, or +physic's thrown away upon you; you really must,' said Toole.</p> + +<p>'But doctor,' pleaded the poor lady, 'you don't know—I—I'm +terrified—I—I—I'll never be the same again,' and she burst into +hysterical crying.</p> + +<p>'Now, really, Madam—confound it—my dear, good lady—you see—this will +never do'—he was uncorking and smelling at the bottles in search of +'the drops'—'and—and—here they are—and isn't it better, Ma'am, you +should be well and hearty—here drink this—when—when he comes +back—don't you see—than—a—a—'</p> + +<p>'But—oh, I wish I could tell you. She said—she said—the—the—oh, you +don't know—'</p> + +<p>'<i>She</i>—who? <i>Who</i> said <i>what</i>?' cried Toole, lending his ear, for he +never refused a story.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Doctor, he's gone—I'll never—never—I know I'll never see him +again. Tell me he's not gone—tell me I'll see him again.'</p> + +<p>'Hang it, can't she stick to one thing at a time—the poor woman's half +out of her wits,' said Toole, provoked; 'I'll wager a dozen of claret +there's more on her mind than she's told to anyone.'</p> + +<p>Before he could bring her round to the subject again, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> doctor was +called down to Lowe; so he took his leave for the present; and after his +talk with the magistrate, he did not care to go up again to poor little +Mrs. Nutter; and Moggy was as white as ashes standing by, for Mr. Lowe +had just made her swear to her little story about the shoes; and Toole +walked home to the village with a heavy heart, and a good deal out of +humour.</p> + +<p>Toole knew that a warrant would be issued next day against Nutter. The +case against him was black enough. Still, even supposing he had struck +those trenchant blows over Sturk's head, it did not follow that it was +without provocation or in cold blood. It looked, however, altogether so +unpromising, that he would have been almost relieved to hear that +Nutter's body had been found drowned in the river.</p> + +<p>Still there was a chance that he made good his retreat. If he had not +paid his fare in Charon's packet-boat, he might, at least, have crossed +the channel in the <i>Trevor</i> or <i>Hillsborough</i> to Holyhead. Then, deuce +was in it, if he did not make a fair run for it, and earth himself +snugly somewhere. 'Twas lighter work then than now. 'The old saying at +London, among servants,' writes that good-natured theatrical wag, Tate +Wilkinson, 'was, "I wish you were at York!" which the wronged cook has +now changed for, "I wish you were at Jamaica." Scotland was then +imagined by the cockney as a dreary place, distant almost as the West +Indies; <i>now</i>'(reader, pray note the marvel) 'an agreeable party may, +with the utmost ease, dine early in the week in Grosvenor Square, and +without discomposure set down at table on Saturday or Sunday in the new +town of Edinburgh!' From which we learn that miracles of celerity were +already accomplishing themselves, and that the existing generation +contemplated their triumphs complacently. But even upon these we have +improved, and nowadays, our whole social organisation is subservient to +detection. Cut your telegraph wires, substitute sail boats for steam, +and your old fair and easy forty-miles-a-day stage-coaches for the train +and the rail, disband your City police and detective organisation, and +make the transit of a letter between London and Dublin a matter of from +five days to nearly as many weeks, and compute how much easier it was +then than now for an adventurous highwayman, an absconding debtor, or a +pair of fugitive lovers, to make good their retreat. Slow, undoubtedly, +was the flight—they did not run, they walked away; but so was pursuit, +and altogether, without authentic lights and official helps—a matter of +post-chaises and perplexity, cross-roads and rumour, foundering in a +wild waste of conjecture, or swallowed in the quag of some country +inn-yard, where nothing was to be heard, and out of which there would be +no relay of posters to pull you until nine o'clock next morning.</p> + +<p>As Toole debouched from Martin's-row, on his return, into the +comparative amplitude of the main street of Chapelizod, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> glanced +curiously up to Sturk's bed-room windows. There were none of the white +signals of death there. So he ascended the door step, and paid a +visit—of curiosity, I must say—and looked on the snorting image of his +old foe, and the bandaged head, spell-bound and dreamless, that had +machinated so much busy mischief against his own medical sovereignty and +the rural administration of Nutter.</p> + +<p>As Toole touched his pulse, and saw him swallow a spoonful of chicken +broth, and parried poor Mrs. Sturk's eager quivering pleadings for his +life with kind though cautious evasions, he rightly judged that the +figure that lay there was more than half in the land of ghosts +already—that the enchanter who met him in the Butcher's Wood, and whose +wand had traced those parallel indentures in his skull, had not only +exorcised for ever the unquiet spirit of intrigue, but wound up the tale +of his days. It was true that he was never more to step from that bed, +and that his little children would, ere many days, be brought there by +kindly, horror-loving maids, to look their last on 'the poor master,' +and kiss awfully his cold stern mouth before the coffin lid was screwed +down, and the white-robed image of their father hidden away for ever +from their sight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH ONE OF LITTLE BOPEEP'S SHEEP COMES HOME AGAIN, AND VARIOUS +THEORIES ARE ENTERTAINED RESPECTING CHARLES NUTTER AND LIEUTENANT +PUDDOCK.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>nd just on Monday morning, in the midst of this hurly-burly of +conjecture, who should arrive, of all the people in the world, and +re-establish himself in his old quarters, but Dick Devereux. The gallant +captain was more splendid and handsome than ever. But both his spirits +and his habits had suffered. He had quarrelled with his aunt, and she +was his bread and butter—ay, buttered on both sides. How lightly these +young fellows quarrel with the foolish old worshippers who lay their +gold, frankincense, and myrrh, at the feet of the handsome thankless +idols. They think it all independence and high spirit, whereas we know +it is nothing but a little egotistical tyranny, that unconsciously +calculates even in the heyday of its indulgence upon the punctual return +of the penitent old worshipper, with his or her votive offerings.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the gipsy had thought better of it, and was already sorry he had +not kept the peace. At all events, though his toilet and wardrobe were +splendid—for fine fellows in his plight deny themselves nothing—yet +morally he was seedy, and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> temper soured. His duns had found him out, +and pursued him in wrath and alarm to England, and pestered him very +seriously indeed. He owed money beside to several of his brother +officers, and it was not pleasant to face them without a guinea. An evil +propensity, at which, as you remember, General Chattesworth hinted, had +grown amid his distresses, and the sting of self-reproach exasperated +him. Then there was his old love for Lilias Walsingham, and the pang of +rejection, and the hope of a strong passion sometimes leaping high and +bright, and sometimes nickering into ghastly shadows and darkness.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he was by no means so companionable just now as in happier +times, and was sometimes confoundedly morose and snappish—for, as you +perceive, things had not gone well with him latterly. Still he was now +and then tolerably like his old self.</p> + +<p>Toole, passing by, saw him in the window. Devereux smiled and nodded, +and the doctor stopped short at the railings, and grinned up in return, +and threw out his arms to express surprise, and then snapped his +fingers, and cut a little caper, as though he would say—'Now, you're +come back—we'll have fun and fiddling again.' And forthwith he began to +bawl his enquiries and salutations. But Devereux called him up +peremptorily, for he wanted to hear the news—especially all about the +Walsinghams. And up came Toole, and they had a great shaking of hands, +and the doctor opened his budget and rattled away.</p> + +<p>Of Sturk's tragedy and Nutter's disappearance he had already heard. And +he now heard some of the club gossip, and all about Dangerfield's +proposal for Gertrude Chattesworth, and how the old people were +favourable, and the young lady averse—and how Dangerfield was content +to leave the question in abeyance, and did not seem to care a jackstraw +what the townspeople said or thought—and then he came to the +Walsinghams, and Devereux for the first time really listened. The doctor +was very well—just as usual; and wondering what had become of his old +crony, Dan Loftus, from whom he had not heard for several months; and +Miss Lily was not very well—a delicacy here (and he tapped his +capacious chest), like her poor mother. 'Pell and I consulted about her, +and agreed she was to keep within doors.' And then he went on, for he +had a suspicion of the real state of relations between him and Lily, and +narrated the occurrence rather with a view to collect evidence from his +looks and manner, than from any simpler motive; and, said he, 'Only +think, that confounded wench, Nan—you know—Nan Glynn,' And he related +her and her mother's visit to Miss Lily, and a subsequent call made upon +the rector himself—all, it must be confessed, very much as it really +happened. And Devereux first grew so pale as almost to frighten Toole, +and then broke into a savage fury—and did not spare hard words, oaths, +or maledictions. Then off went Toole, when things grew quieter, upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +some other theme, giggling and punning, spouting scandal and all sorts +of news—and Devereux was looking full at him with large stern eyes, not +hearing a word more. His soul was cursing old Mrs. Glynn, of +Palmerstown—that mother of lies and what not—and remonstrating with +old Dr. Walsingham—and protesting wildly against everything.</p> + +<p>General Chattesworth, who returned two or three weeks after, was not +half pleased to see Devereux. He had heard a good deal about him and his +doings over the water, and did not like them. He had always had a +misgiving that if Devereux remained in the corps, sooner or later he +would be obliged to come to a hard reckoning with him. And the handsome +captain had not been three weeks in Chapelizod, when more than the +general suspected that he was in nowise improved. So General +Chattesworth did not often see or talk with him; and when he did, was +rather reserved and lofty with him. His appointment on the staff was in +abeyance—in fact, the vacancy on which it was expectant had not +definitely occurred—and all things were at sixes and sevens with poor +Dick Devereux.</p> + +<p>That evening, strange to say, Sturk was still living; and Toole reported +him exactly in the same condition. But what did that signify? 'Twas all +one. The man was dead—as dead to all intents and purposes that moment +as he would be that day twelvemonths, or that day hundred years.</p> + +<p>Dr. Walsingham, who had just been to see poor Mrs. Sturk—now grown into +the habit of hoping, and sustained by the intense quiet fuss of the sick +room—stopped for a moment at the door of the Phœnix, to answer the +cronies there assembled, who had seen him emerge from the murdered man's +house.</p> + +<p>'He is in a profound lethargy,' said the worthy divine. ''Tis a +subsidence—his life, Sir, stealing away like the fluid from the +clepsydra—less and less left every hour—a little time will measure all +out.'</p> + +<p>'What the plague's a clepsydra?' asked Cluffe of Toole, as they walked +side by side into the club-room.</p> + +<p>'Ho! pooh! one of those fabulous tumours of the epidermis mentioned by +Pliny, you know, exploded ten centuries ago—ha, ha, ha!' and he winked +and laughed derisively, and said, 'Sure you know Doctor Walsingham.'</p> + +<p>And the gentlemen began spouting their theories about the murder and +Nutter, in a desultory way; for they all knew the warrant was out +against him.</p> + +<p>'My opinion,' said Toole, knocking out the ashes of his pipe upon the +hob; for he held his tongue while smoking, and very little at any other +time; 'and I'll lay a guinea 'twill turn out as I say—the poor fellow's +drowned himself. Few knew Nutter—I doubt if <i>any</i> one knew him as I +did. Why he did not seem to feel anything, and you'd ha' swore nothing +affected him, more than that hob, Sir; and all the time, there wasn't a +more thin-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>skinned, atrabilious poor dog in all Ireland—but honest, +Sir—thorough steel, Sir. All I say is, if he had a finger in that ugly +pie, you know, as some will insist, I'll stake my head to a china +orange, 'twas a fair front to front fight. By Jupiter, Sir, there wasn't +one drop of cur's blood in poor Nutter. No, poor fellow; neither sneak +nor assassin <i>there</i>—'</p> + +<p>'They thought he drowned himself from his own garden—poor Nutter,' said +Major O'Neill.</p> + +<p>'Well, that he did <i>not</i>,' said Toole. 'That unlucky shoe, you know, +tells a tale; but for all that, I'm clear of the opinion that drowned he +is. We tracked the step, Lowe and I, to the bank, near the horse-track, +in Barrack Street, just where the water deepens—there's usually five +feet of water there, and that night there was little short of ten. Now, +take it, that Nutter and Sturk had a tussle—and the thing happened, you +know—and Sturk got the worst of it, and was, in fact, despatched, why, +you know the kind of panic—and—and—the panic—you know—a poor dog, +finding himself so situated, would be in—with the bitter, old quarrel +between them—d'ye see? And this at the back of his vapours and +blue-devils, for he was dumpish enough before, and would send a man like +Nutter into a resolution of making away with himself; and that's how it +happened, you may safely swear.'</p> + +<p>'And what do <i>you</i> think, Mr. Dangerfield?' asked the major.</p> + +<p>'Upon my life,' said Dangerfield, briskly, lowering his newspaper to his +knee, with a sharp rustle, 'these are questions I don't like to meddle +in. Certainly, he had considerable provocation, as I happen to know; and +there was no love lost—that I know too. But I quite agree with Doctor +Toole—if he was the man, I venture to say 'twas a fair fight. Suppose, +first, an altercation, then a hasty blow—Sturk had his cane, and a +deuced heavy one—he wasn't a fellow to go down without knowing the +reason why; and if they find Nutter, dead or alive, I venture to say +he'll show some marks of it about him.'</p> + +<p>Cluffe wished the whole company, except himself, at the bottom of the +Red Sea; for he was taking his revenge of Puddock, and had already lost +a gammon and two hits. Little Puddock won by the force of the dice. He +was not much of a player; and the sight of Dangerfield—that repulsive, +impenetrable, moneyed man, who had 'overcome him like a summer cloud,' +when the sky of his fortunes looked clearest and sunniest, always led +him to Belmont, and the side of his lady-love.</p> + +<p>If Cluffe's mind wandered in that direction, his reveries were rather +comfortable. He had his own opinion about his progress with Aunt +Rebecca, who had come to like his conversation, and talked with him a +great deal about Puddock, and always with acerbity; Cluffe, who was a +sort of patron of Puddock's, always, to do him justice, defended him +respectfully. And Aunt Rebecca would listen very attentively, and then +shake her head, and say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> 'You're a great deal too good-natured, +captain; and he'll never thank you for your pains, <i>never</i>—<i>I</i> can tell +you.'</p> + +<p>Well, Cluffe knew that the higher powers favoured Dangerfield; and that, +beside his absurd sentiment, not to say passion, which could not but be +provoking, Puddock's complicity in the abortive hostilities of poor +Nutter and the gallant O'Flaherty rankled in Aunt Becky's heart. She +was, indeed, usually appeasable and forgiving enough; but in this case +her dislike seemed inveterate and vindictive; and she would say—</p> + +<p>'Well, let's talk no more of him; 'tis easy finding a more agreeable +subject: but you can't deny, captain, that 'twas an unworthy hypocrisy +his pretending to sentiments against duelling to me, and then engaging +as second in one on the very first opportunity that presented.'</p> + +<p>Then Cluffe would argue his case, and plead his excuses, and fumbled +over it a good while; not that he'd have cried a great deal if Puddock +had been hanged; but, I'm afraid, chiefly because, being a fellow of +more gaiety and accomplishment than quickness of invention, it was +rather convenient, than otherwise, to have a topic, no matter what, +supplied to him, and one that put him in an amiable point of view, and +in a kind of graceful, intercessorial relation to the object of his +highly prudent passion. And Cluffe thought how patiently she heard him, +though he was conscious 'twas rather tedious, and one time very like +another. But then, 'twasn't the talk, but the talker; and he was glad, +at all risks, to help poor Puddock out of his disgrace, like a generous +soul, as he was.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LIX.</h2> + +<h4>TELLING HOW A COACH DREW UP AT THE ELMS, AND TWO FINE LADIES, DRESSED +FOR THE BALL, STEPPED IN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was now more than a fortnight since Sturk's mishap in the Butcher's +Wood, and he was still alive, but still under the spell of coma. He was +sinking, but very slowly; yet it was enough to indicate the finality of +that 'life in death.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield once or twice attacked Toole rather tartly about Sturk's +case.</p> + +<p>'Can nothing be done to make him speak? Five minutes' consciousness +would unravel the mystery.'</p> + +<p>Then Toole would shrug, and say, 'Pooh—pooh! my dear Sir, you know +nothing.'</p> + +<p>'Why, there's <i>life</i>!'</p> + +<p>'Ay, the mechanical functions of life, but the brain's over-powered,' +replied Toole, with a wise frown.</p> + +<p>'Well, relieve it.'</p> + +<p>'By Jupiter, Sir, you make me laugh,' cried Toole with a grin, throwing +up his eyebrows. 'I take it, you think we doctors can work miracles.'</p> + +<p>'Quite the reverse, Sir,' retorted Dangerfield, with a cold scoff. 'But +you say he may possibly live six weeks more; and all that time the wick +is smouldering, though the candle's short—can't you blow it in, and +give us even one minute's light?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, a smouldering wick and a candle if you please; but enclosed in a +glass bottle, how the deuce <i>are</i> you to blow it?'</p> + +<p>'Pish!' said the silver spectacles, with an icy flash from his glasses.</p> + +<p>'Why, Sir, you'll excuse me—but you don't understand,' said Toole, a +little loftily. 'There are two contused wounds along the scalp as long +as that pencil—the whole line of each partially depressed, the +depression all along being deep enough to lay your finger in. You can +ask Irons, who dresses them when I'm out of the way.'</p> + +<p>'I'd rather ask you, Sir,' replied Dangerfield, in turn a little high.</p> + +<p>'Well, you can't apply the trepan, the surface is too extended, and all +unsound, and won't bear it—'twould be simply killing him on the +spot—don't you see? and there's no way else to relieve him.'</p> + +<p>General Chattesworth had not yet returned. On his way home he had +wandered aside, and visited the fashionable wells of Buxton, intending a +three days' sojourn, to complete his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> bracing up for the winter. But the +Pool of Siloam did not work pleasantly in the case of the robust +general, who was attacked after his second dip with a smart fit of the +gout in his left great-toe, where it went on charmingly, without any +flickering upward, quite stationary and natural for three weeks.</p> + +<p>About the end of which time the period of the annual ball given by the +officers of the Royal Irish Artillery arrived. It was a great event in +the town. To poor Mrs. Sturk, watching by her noble Barney, it seemed, +of course, a marvellous insensibility and an outrage. But the world must +follow its instinct and vocation, and attend to its business and amuse +itself too, though noble Barneys lie a-dying here and there.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky and Gertrude drew up at the Elms, the rector's house, with +everything very handsome about them, and two laced footmen, with +flambeaux, and went in to see little Lily, on their way to the ball, and +to show their dresses, which were very fine, indeed, and to promise to +come next day and tell her all the news; for Lily, as I mentioned, was +an invalid, and balls and flicflacs were not for her.</p> + +<p>Little Lily smiled her bright girlish smile, and threw both her arms +round grand Aunt Becky's neck.</p> + +<p>'You good dear Aunt Becky, 'twas so kind and like you to come—you and +Gertie. And oh, Geminie! what a grand pair of ladies!' and she made a +little rustic courtesy, like Nell in the farce. 'And I never saw this +before (a near peep at Gertrude's necklace), and Aunt Becky, what +beautiful lace. And does not she look handsome, Gertie? I <i>never</i> saw +her look <i>so</i> handsome. She'll be the finest figure there. There's no +such delicate waist anywhere.' And she set her two slender little +forefingers and thumbs together, as if spanning it. 'You've no chance +beside her, Gertie; she'll set all the young fellows a-sighing and +simpering.'</p> + +<p>'You wicked little rogue! I'll beat you black and blue, for making fun +of old Aunt Becky,' cried Miss Rebecca, and ran a little race at her, +about two inches to a step; her fan raised in her finger and thumb, and +a jolly smile twinkling in her face, for she knew it was true about her +waist, and she liked to be quizzed by the daring little girl. Her +diamonds were on too, and her last look in her mirror had given her a +satisfactory assurance, and she always played with little Lily, when +they met; everyone grew gay and girlish with her.</p> + +<p>So they stayed a full quarter of an hour, and the footman coughing +laboriously outside the window reminded Aunt Rebecca at last how time +flew; and Lily was for sitting down and playing a minuet and a country +dance, and making them rehearse their steps, and calling in old Sally to +witness the spectacle before they went; and so she and Aunt Becky had +another little sportive battle—they never met, and seldom parted, +without one. How was it that when gay little Lily provoked these little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +mimic skirmishes Aunt Becky would look for a second or two an +inexpressibly soft and loving look upon her, and become quite girlish +and tender? I think there is a way to every heart, and some few have the +gift to reach it unconsciously and always.</p> + +<p>So away rustled the great ladies, leaving Lily excited, and she stood at +the window, with flushed cheek, and her fingers on the sash, looking +after them, and she came back with a little smile and tears in her eyes. +She sat down, with a bright colour in her cheeks, and did play a country +dance, and then a merry old Irish air, full of frolic and spirit, on the +harpsichord; and gentle old Sally's face peeped in with a wistful smile, +at the unwonted sounds.</p> + +<p>'Come, sober old Sally, my sweetheart! I've taken a whim in my head, and +you shall dress me, for to the ball I'll go.'</p> + +<p>'Tut, tut, Miss Lily, darling,' said old Sally, with a smile and a shake +of the head. 'What would the doctors say?'</p> + +<p>'What they please, my darling.'</p> + +<p>And up stood little Lily, with her bright colour and lustrous eyes.</p> + +<p>'Angel bright!' said the old woman, looking in that beloved and lovely +young face, and quite 'filling up,' as the saying is, 'there is not your +peer on earth—no—not one among them all to compare with our Miss +Lilias,' and she paused, smiling, and then she said—'But, my darling, +sure you know you weren't outside the door this five weeks.'</p> + +<p>'And is not that long enough, and too long, to shut me up, you cruel old +woman? Come, come, Sally, girl, I'm resolved, and to the ball I'll go; +don't be frightened. I'll cover my head, and send in for Aunt Becky, and +only just peep in, muffled up, for ten minutes; and I'll go and come in +the chair, and what harm can I take by it?'</p> + +<p>Was it spirit? Did she want to show the folk that she did not shrink +from meeting somebody; or that, though really ill, she ventured to peep +in, through sheer liking for the scrape of the fiddle, and the fun, to +show them that at least she was not heart-sick? Or was it the mysterious +attraction, the wish to see him once more, just through her hood, far +away, with an unseen side glance, and to build endless speculations, and +weave the filmy web of hope, for who knows how long, out of these airy +tints, a strange, sad smile, or deep, wild glance, just seen and fixed +for ever in memory? She had given him up in words, but her heart had not +given him up. Poor little Lily! She hoped all that was so bad in him +would one day mend. He was a hero still—and, oh! she hoped, would be +true to her. So Lily's love, she scarce knew how, lived on this +hope—the wildest of all wild hopes—waiting on the reformation of a +rake.</p> + +<p>'But, darling Miss Lily, don't you know the poor master<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> would break his +heart if he thought you could do such a wild thing as to go out again +'the doctors' orders, at this time o' night, and into that hot place, +and out again among the cold draughts.'</p> + +<p>Little Lily paused.</p> + +<p>''Tis only a step, Sally; do you honestly think it would vex him?'</p> + +<p>'Vex him, darling? no, but break his heart. Why, he's never done asking +about you, and—oh! its only joking you are, my darling, that's all.'</p> + +<p>'No, Sally, dear love, I meant it,' said little Lily, sadly; 'but I +suppose it was a wild thought, and I'm better at home.'</p> + +<p>And she played a march that had somehow a dash of the pathetic in it, in +a sort of reverie, and she said:</p> + +<p>'Sally, do you know that?'</p> + +<p>And Sally's gentle face grew reflective, and she said:</p> + +<p>'Sure, Miss Lily, that's the tune—isn't it—the Artillery plays when +they march out to the park?'</p> + +<p>Lily nodded and smiled, and the tune moved on, conjuring up its pictured +reverie. Those review days were grand things when little Lily was a +child—magnanimous expenditure of hair and gunpowder was there. There +sat General Chattesworth, behind his guns, which were now blazing away +like fun, wearing his full uniform, point cravat and ruffles, and that +dignified and somewhat stern aspect which he put on with the rest of his +review-day costume, bestriding his cream-coloured charger, Bombardier, +and his plume and powdered <i>ails de pigeon</i>, hardly distinguishable from +the smoke which enveloped him, as a cloud does a demigod in an +allegorical picture.</p> + +<p>Chord after chord brought up all this moving pageant, unseen by Sally's +dim old eyes, before the saddened gaze of little Lily, whose life was +growing to a retrospect. She stood in the sunny street, again a little +child, holding old Sally by the hand, on a soft summer day. The sentries +presented arms, and the corps marched out resplendent. Old General +Chattesworth, as proud as Lucifer, on Bombardier, who nods and champs, +prancing and curvetting, to the admiration of the women; but at heart +the mildest of quadrupeds, though passing, like an impostor as he was, +for a devil incarnate; the band thundering melodiously that dashing +plaintive march, and exhilarating and firing the souls of all +Chapelizod. Up went the windows all along the street, the rabble-rout of +boys yelled and huzzaed like mad. The maids popped their mob-caps out of +the attics, and giggled, and hung out at the risk of their necks. The +serving men ran out on the hall-door steps. The village roués emerged in +haste from their public houses. The whole scene round and along from top +to bottom, was grinning and agape. Nature seemed to brighten up at sight +of them; and the sun himself came out all in his best, with an +unparalleled effulgence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, the town was proud of its corps, and well it might. As gun after +gun, with its complement of men and its lieutenant fireworkers, with a +'right wheel,' rolled out of the gate upon the broad street, not a soul +could look upon the lengthening pageant of blue and scarlet, with its +symmetrical diagonals of snowy belt and long-flapped white cartouche +boxes, moving together with measured swing; its laced cocked-hats, +leggings, and courtly white shorts and vests, and ruffles, and all its +buttons and brasses flashing up to the sun, without allowing it was a +fine spirited sight.</p> + +<p>And Lily, beholding the phantom regiment, with mournful eyes, played +their grand sad march proudly as they passed.</p> + +<p>They looked so dashing and so grand; they were the tallest, shapeliest +fellows. Faith, I can tell you, it was no such trifle, pulling along all +those six and four pounders; and they needed to be athletic lads; and +the officers were, with hardly an exception, martial, high-bred +gentlemen, with aristocratic bearing, and some of them, without +question, confoundedly handsome.</p> + +<p>And always there was one light, tall shape; one dark handsome face, with +darker, stranger eyes, and a nameless grace and interest, moving with +the march of the gay pageant, before her mind's eye, to this harmonious +and regretful music, which, as she played on, and her reverie deepened, +grew slower and more sad, till old Sally's voice awoke the dreamer. The +chords ceased, the vision melted, and poor little Lily smiled sadly and +kindly on old Sally, and took her candle, and went up with her to her +bed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LX.</h2> + +<h4>BEING A CHAPTER OF HOOPS, FEATHERS, AND BRILLIANTS, AND BUCKS AND +FIDDLERS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was a mighty grand affair, this ball of the Royal Irish Artillery. +General Chattesworth had arrived that morning, just in time to preside +over the hospitalities—he could not contribute much to the dancing—and +his advent, still a little lame, but looking, as his friends told him, +ten years younger for his snug little fit of the gout at Buxton, +reinstated Aunt Becky in her place of power, to the secret +disappointment of Madame Strafford, who had set her heart on doing the +honours, and rehearsed for weeks, over her toilet, and even in bed, her +little speeches, airs, and graces.</p> + +<p>Lord Castlemallard was there, of course—and the gay and splendid Lady +Moira—whom I mention because General Chattesworth opened the ball in a +minuet with her ladyship—hobbling with wonderful grace, and beaming +with great ceremonious smiles through his honourable martyrdom. But +there were more than a score of peers there beside, with their peeresses +in tall feathers, diamonds, and monstrous hoops. And the lord lieutenant +was very near coming—and a lord lieutenant in those days, with a +parliament to open, and all the regalia of his office about him, was a +far greater personage than, in our democratic age, the sovereign in +person.</p> + +<p>Captain Cluffe had gone down in a chair to Puddock's lodgings, to borrow +a pair of magnificent knee-buckles. Puddock had a second pair, and +Cluffe's own had not, he thought, quite recovered their good looks since +that confounded ducking on the night of the serenade. The gallant +captain, learning that Puddock and Devereux intended walking—it was +only a step across to the barrack-yard—and finding that Puddock could +not at the moment lay his hand upon the buckles, and not wishing to keep +the chair longer—for he knew delay would inflame the fare, and did not +like dispensing his shillings—</p> + +<p>'Hey! walk? I like the fancy,' cried the gay captain, sending +half-a-crown down stairs to his 'two-legged ponies,' as people +pleasantly called them. 'I'd rather walk with you than jog along in a +chair by myself, my gay fellows, any day.'</p> + +<p>Most young fellows of spirit, at the eve of a ball, have their heads +pretty full. There is always some one bright particular star to whom, +even as they look on their own handsome features in the mirror, their +adoration is paid.</p> + +<p>Puddock's shoe-buckles flashed for Gertrude Chattesworth, as he turned +out his toes. For her his cravat received its last care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>less touch—his +ruffles shook themselves, and fell in rich elegance about his plump +little hands. For her his diamond ring gleamed like a burning star from +his white little finger; and for her the last fragrance was thrown over +his pocket-handkerchief, and the last ogle thrown upon his +looking-glass. All the interest of his elaborate toilet—the whole +solemn process and detail—was but a worship of his divinity, at which +he officiated. Much in the same way was Cluffe affected over his +bedizenment in relation to his own lady-love; but in a calmer and more +long-headed fashion. Devereux's toilet most of the young fellows held to +be perfection; yet it seemed to trouble him less than all the rest. I +believe it was the elegant and slender shape that would have set off +anything, and that gave to his handsome costume and 'properties' an +undefinable grace not their own. Indeed, as he leaned his elbow upon the +window sash, looking carelessly across the river, he did not seem much +to care what became of the labours of his toilet.</p> + +<p>'I have not seen her since I came; and now I'm going to this stupid ball +on the chance of meeting her there. And she'll not come—she avoids +me—the chance of meeting her—and she'll not come. Well! if she be not +kind to me, what care I for whom she be? And what great matter, after +all, if she were there. She'd be, I suppose, on her high horse—and—and +'tis not a feather to me. Let her take her own way. What care I? If +she's happy, why shouldn't I—why shouldn't I?'</p> + +<p>Five minutes after:—</p> + +<p>'Who the plague are these fellows in the Phœnix? How the brutes howl +over their liquor!' said Devereux, as he and Puddock, at the door-steps, +awaited Cluffe, who was fixing his buckles in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>'The Corporation of Tailors,' answered Puddock, a little loftily, for he +was not inwardly pleased that the precincts of the 'Phœnix' should be +profaned by their mechanical orgies.</p> + +<p>Through the open bow window of the great oak parlour of the inn was +heard the mighty voice of the president, who was now in the thick of his +political toasts.</p> + +<p>'Odds bud!' lisped little Puddock, 'what a stentorian voice!'</p> + +<p>'Considering it issues from a tailor!' acquiesced Devereux, who thought +he recognised the accents, and hated tailors, who plagued him with long +bills and dangerous menaces.</p> + +<p>'May the friends of the Marquis of Kildare be ever blessed with the +tailor's thimble,' declaimed the portentous toast master. 'May the +needle of distress be ever pointed at all mock patriots; and a hot +needle and a burning thread to all sewers of sedition!' and then came an +applauding roar.</p> + +<p>'And may you ride into town on your own goose, with a hot needle behind +you, you roaring pigmy!' added Devereux.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>'The Irish cooks that can't relish French sauce!' enunciated the same +grand voice, that floated, mellowed, over the field.</p> + +<p>'Sauce, indeed!' said Puddock, with an indignant lisp, as Cluffe, having +joined them, they set forward together; 'I saw some of them going in, +Sir, and to look at their vulgar, unthinking countenances, you'd say +they had not capacity to distinguish between the taste of a quail and a +goose; but, by Jove! Sir, they have a dinner. <i>You're</i> a politician, +Cluffe, and read the papers. You remember the bill of fare—don't +you?—at the Lord Mayor's entertainment in London.'</p> + +<p>Cluffe, whose mind was full of other matters, nodded his head with a +grunt.</p> + +<p>'Well, I'll take my oath,' pursued Puddock, 'you couldn't have made a +better dinner at the Prince of Travendahl's table. Spanish olea, if you +please—ragou royal, cardoons, tendrons, shellfish in marinade, ruffs +and rees, wheat-ears, green morels, fat livers, combs and notts. 'Tis +rather odd, Sir, to us who employ them, to learn that our tailors, while +we're eating the dinners we do—our <i>tailors</i>, Sir, are absolutely +gorging themselves with such things—with <i>our</i> money, by Jove!'</p> + +<p>'<i>Yours</i>, Puddock, not mine,' said Devereux. 'I haven't paid a tailor +these six years. But, hang it, let's get on.'</p> + +<p>So, in they walked by the barrack-yard, lighted up now with a splendid +red blaze of torches, and with different emotions, entered the already +crowded ball-room.</p> + +<p>Devereux looked round the room, among nodding plumes and flashing +brilliants, and smirking old bucks, and simpering young ones, amidst the +buzz of two or three hundred voices, and the thunder and braying of the +band. There were scores of pretty faces there—blondes and +brunettes—blue eyes and brown—and more spirit and animation, and, I +think, more grace too, in dance and talk, than the phlegmatic +affectation of modern days allows; and there were some bright eyes that, +not seeming to look, yet recognised, with a little thrill at the heart, +and a brighter flush, the brilliant, proud Devereux—so handsome, so +impulsive, so unfathomable—with his gipsy tint, and great enthusiastic +eyes, and strange melancholy, sub-acid smile. But to him the room was +lifeless, and the hour was dull, and the music but a noise and a jingle.</p> + +<p>'I knew quite well she wasn't here, and she never cared for me, and +I—why should I trouble my head about her? She makes her cold an excuse. +Well, maybe yet she'll wish to see Dick Devereux, and I far away. No +matter. They've heard slanders of me, and believe them. Amen, say I. If +they're so light of faith, and false in friendship to cast me off for a +foul word or an idle story—curse it—I'm well rid of that false and +foolish friendship, and can repay their coldness and aversion with a +light heart, a bow, and a smile. One slander I'll refute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>—yes—and that +done, I'll close this idle episode in <i>my</i> cursed epic, and never, +<i>never</i> think of her again.'</p> + +<p>But fancy will not be controlled by resolutions, though ne'er so wise +and strong, and precisely as the captain vowed 'never'—away glided that +wild, sad sprite across the moonlit river, and among the old black elms, +and stood unbidden beside Lilias. Little Lily, as they used to call her +five years ago; and Devereux, who seemed to look so intently and so +strangely on the flash and whirl of the dancers, saw but an old +fashioned drawing-room, with roses clustering by the windows, and heard +the sweet rich voice, to him the music of Ariel, like a far-off dirge—a +farewell—sometimes a forgiveness—and sometimes the old pleasant talk +and merry little laugh, all old remembrances or vain dreams now.</p> + +<p>But Devereux had business on his hands that night, and about eleven +o'clock he had disappeared. 'Twas easy to go and come in such a crowd, +and no one perceive it.</p> + +<p>But Puddock was very happy and excited. Mervyn, whom he had once feared, +was there, a mere spectator, however, to witness that night's signal +triumph. He had never danced so much with Miss Gertrude before, that is +to say, at a great ball like this at which there was a plenty of bucks +with good blood and lots of money; and indeed, it seemed to favour the +idea of his success that Aunt Rebecca acknowledged him only with a +silent and by no means gracious courtesy.</p> + +<p>She was talking to Toole about Lilias, and saying how much better she +had looked that evening.</p> + +<p>'She's not better, Ma'am; I'd rather she hadn't the bright flush you +speak of, there's something, you see, not quite right in that left lung, +and that bright tint, Madam, is hectic—she's not better, Madam, not +that we don't hope to see her so—Heaven forbid—but 'tis an anxious +case;' and Toole shook his head gravely.</p> + +<p>When Aunt Becky was getting on her hood and mantle, she invariably fell +into talk with some crony who had a story to tell, or a point to +discuss. So as she stood listening to old Colonel Bligh's hard, reedy +gabble, and popping in her decisive word now and then, Gertrude, +equipped for the night air, and with little Puddock for her escort, +glided out and took her place in the great state coach of the +Chattesworths, and the door being shut, she made a little nod and a +faint smile to her true knight, and said with the slightest possible +shrug—</p> + +<p>'How cold it is to-night; my aunt, I think, will be obliged for your +assistance, Lieutenant Puddock; as for me, I must shut up my window and +wish you good-night.'</p> + +<p>And with another smile she accordingly shut up the window, and when his +best bow was accomplished, she leaned back with a pale and stricken +countenance, and a great sigh—such a one as caused Lady Macbeth's +physician, long ago, to whisper,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> 'What a sigh is there! the heart is +sorely charged.' The footmen were standing by the open door, through +which Aunt Becky was to come, and there were half a dozen carriages +crowded side by side, the lackeys being congregated, with links lighted, +about the same place of exit; and things being so, there came a small +sharp tapping at the far window of the carriage, and with a start +Gertrude saw the identical mantle, and the three-cocked-hat with the +peculiar corners, which had caused certain observers so much speculation +on another night, and drawing close to the window, whereat this +apparition presented itself, she let it down.</p> + +<p>'I know, beloved Gertrude, what you would say,' he softly said; 'but be +it frenzy or no, I cannot forbear; I am unalterable—be you the same.'</p> + +<p>A white, slender hand glided in and seized hers, not resisting.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Mordaunt, the same; but, oh! how miserable!' said Gertrude, and +with just the slightest movement in the fingers of her small hand, +hardly perceptible, and yet how fond a caress!</p> + +<p>'I'm like a man who has lost his way among the catacombs—among the +dead,' whispered this muffled figure, close to the window, still +fervently holding her hand, 'and sees at last the distant gleam that +shows him that his wanderings are to end. Yes, Gertrude, my +beloved—yes, Gertrude, idol of my solitary love—the mystery is about +to end—I'll end it. Be I what I may you know the worst, and have given +me your love and troth—you are my affianced bride; rather than lose +you, I would die; and I think, or I am walking in a dream, I've but to +point my finger against two men, and all will be peace and light—light +and peace—to me long strangers!'</p> + +<p>At this moment Aunt Becky's voice was heard at the door, and the flash +of the flambeaux glared on the window. He kissed the hand of the pale +girl hurriedly, and the French cocked-hat and mantle vanished.</p> + +<p>In came Aunt Rebecca in a fuss, and it must be said in no very gracious +mood, and rather taciturn and sarcastic; and so away they rumbled over +the old bridge towards Belmont.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXI.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE GHOSTS OF A BY-GONE SIN KEEP TRYST.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>evereux, wrapped in his cloak, strode into the park, through +Parson's-gate, up the steep hill, and turned towards Castleknock and the +furze and hawthorn wood that interposes. The wide plain spread before +him in solitude, with the thin vapours of night, lying over it like a +film in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>Two or three thorn trees stood out from the rest, a pale and solitary +group, stooping eastward with the prevailing sweep of a hundred years or +more of westerly winds. To this the gipsy captain glided, in a straight +military line, his eye searching the distance; and, after a while, from +the skirts of the wood, there moved to meet him a lonely female figure, +with her light clothing fluttering in the cold air. At first she came +hurriedly, but as they drew near, she came more slowly.</p> + +<p>Devereux was angry, and, like an angry man, he broke out first with—</p> + +<p>'So, your servant, Mistress Nan! Pretty lies you've been telling of +me—you and your shrew of a mother. You thought you might go to the +rector and say what you pleased, and I hear nothing.'</p> + +<p>Nan Glynn was undefinably aware that he was very angry, and had +hesitated and stood still before he began, and now she said +imploringly—</p> + +<p>'Sure, Masther Richard, it wasn't me.'</p> + +<p>'Come, my lady, don't tell me. You and your mother—curse her!—went to +the Elms in my absence—<i>you</i> and she—and said I had promised to +<i>marry</i> you! There—yes or no. Didn't you? And could you or could she +have uttered a more utterly damnable lie?'</p> + +<p>''Twas <i>she</i>, Master Richard—troth an' faith. I never knew she was +going to say the like—no more I didn't.'</p> + +<p>'A likely story, truly, Miss Nan!' said the young rake, bitterly.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Masther Richard! by this cross!—you won't believe me—'tis as true +as you're standin' there—until she said it to Miss Lily—'</p> + +<p>'Hold your tongue!' cried Devereux, so fiercely, that she thought him +half wild; 'do you think 'tis a pin's point to me which of you first +coined or uttered the lie? Listen to me; I'm a desperate man, and I'll +take a course with you both you'll not like, unless you go to-morrow and +see Dr. Walsingham yourself, and tell him the whole truth—yes, the +truth—what the devil do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> I care?—speak that, and make the most of it. +But tell him plainly that your story about my having promised to marry +you—do you hear—was a lie, from first to last—a lie—a lie—without +so much as a grain of truth mixed up in it. All a cursed—devil's—woman's +invention. Now, mind ye, Miss Nan, if you don't, I'll bring you and your +mother into court, or I'll have the truth out of you.'</p> + +<p>'But there's no need to threaten, sure, you know, Masther Richard, I'd +do anything for you—I would. I'd beg, or I'd rob, or I'd die for you, +Masther Richard; and whatever you bid me, your poor wild Nan 'ill do.'</p> + +<p>Devereux was touched, the tears were streaming down her pale cheeks, and +she was shivering.</p> + +<p>'You're cold, Nan; where's your cloak and riding hood?' he said, gently.</p> + +<p>'I had to part them, Masther Richard.'</p> + +<p>'You want money, Nan,' he said, and his heart smote him.</p> + +<p>'I'm not cold when I'm near you, Masther Richard. I'd wait the whole +night long for a chance of seeing you; but oh! ho—(she was crying as if +her heart would break, looking in his face, and with her hands just a +little stretched towards him), oh, Masther Richard, I'm nothing to you +now—your poor wild Nan!'</p> + +<p>Poor thing! Her mother had not given her the best education. I believe +she was a bit of a thief, and she could tell fibs with fluency and +precision. The woman was a sinner; but her wild, strong affections were +true, and her heart was not in pelf.</p> + +<p>'Now, don't cry—where's the good of crying—listen to me,' said +Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Sure I heerd you were sick, last week, Masther Richard,' she went on, +not heeding, and with her cold fingers just touching his arm +timidly—and the moon glittered on the tears that streamed down her poor +imploring cheeks—'an' I'd like to be caring you; an' I think you look +bad, Masther Richard.'</p> + +<p>'No, Nan—I tell you, no—I'm very well, only poor, just now, Nan, or +<i>you</i> should not want.'</p> + +<p>'Sure I know, Masther Richard: it is not that. I know you'd be good to +me if you had it: and it does not trouble me.'</p> + +<p>'But see, Nan, you must speak to your friends, and say—'</p> + +<p>'Sorra a friend I have—sorra a friend, Masther Richard; and I did not +spake to the priest this year or more, and I darn't go near him,' said +the poor Palmerstown lass that was once so merry.</p> + +<p>'Why won't you listen to me, child? I won't have you this way. You must +have your cloak and hood. 'Tis very cold; and, by Heavens, Nan, you +shall never want while I have a guinea. But you see I'm poor now, curse +it—I'm poor—I'm sorry, Nan, and I have only this one about me.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, Masther Richard, keep it—maybe you'd want it yourself.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>'No, child, don't vex me—there—I'll have money in a week or two, and +I'll send you some more, Nan—I'll not forget you.' He said this in a +sadder tone; 'and, Nan, I'm a changed man. All's over, you know, and +we'll see one another no more. You'll be happier, Nan, for the parting, +so here, and now, Nan, we'll say good-bye.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! no—no—no—not good-bye; you couldn't—couldn't—couldn't—your +poor wild Nan.'</p> + +<p>And she clung to his cloak, sobbing in wild supplication.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Nan, good-bye, it must be—no other word.'</p> + +<p>'An' oh, Masther Richard, is it in airnest? You wouldn't, oh! sure you +wouldn't.'</p> + +<p>'Now, Nan, there's a good girl; I must go. Remember your promise, and +I'll not forget you, Nan—on my soul, I won't.'</p> + +<p>'Well, well, mayn't I chance to see you, maybe? mayn't I look at you +marching, Masther Richard, at a distance only? I wouldn't care so much, +I think, if I could see you sometimes.'</p> + +<p>'Now, there, Nan, you must not cry; you know 'tis all past and gone more +than a year ago. 'Twas all d——d folly—all my fault; I'm sorry, +Nan—I'm sorry; and I'm a changed man, and I'll lead a better life, and +so do you, my poor girl.'</p> + +<p>'But mayn't I see you? Not to spake to you, Masther Richard. Only +sometimes to see you, far off, maybe.' Poor Nan was crying all the time +she spoke.—'Well, well, I'll go, I will, indeed, Masther Richard; only +let me kiss your hand—an' oh! no, no, don't say good-bye, an' I'll +go—I'm gone now, an' maybe—just maybe, you might some time chance to +wish to see your poor, wild Nan again—only to see her, an' I'll be +thinking o' that.'</p> + +<p>The old feeling—if anything so coarse deserved the name—was gone; but +he pitied her with all his heart; and that heart, such as it was—though +she did not know it—was bleeding for her.</p> + +<p>He saw her, poor creature, hurrying away in her light clothing, through +the sharp, moonlight chill, which, even in the wrapping of his thick +cloak, he felt keenly enough. She looked over her shoulder—then +stopped; perhaps, poor thing, she thought he was relenting, and then she +began to hurry back again. They cling so desperately to the last chance. +But that, you know, would never do. Another pleading—another +parting—So he turned sharply and strode into the thickets of the close +brushwood, among which the white mists of night were hanging. He +thought, as he stepped resolutely and quickly on, with a stern face, and +heavy heart, that he heard a wild sobbing cry in the distance, and that +was poor Nan's farewell.</p> + +<p>So Devereux glided on like a ghost, through the noiseless thicket, and +scarcely knowing or caring where he went, emerged upon the broad open +plateau, and skirting the Fifteen Acres, came, at last, to a halt upon +the high ground overlooking the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> river—which ran, partly in long trains +of silver sparkles, and partly in deep shadow beneath him. Here he +stopped; and looked towards the village where he had passed many a +pleasant hour—with a profound and remorseful foreboding that there were +no more such pleasant hours for him; and his eye wandered among the +scattered lights that still twinkled from the distant windows; and he +fancied he knew, among them all, that which gleamed pale and dim through +the distant elms—the star of his destiny; and he looked at it across +the water—a greater gulf severed them—so near, and yet a star in +distance—with a strange mixture of sadness and defiance, tenderness and +fury.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXII.</h2> + +<h4>OF A SOLEMN RESOLUTION WHICH CAPTAIN DEVEREUX REGISTERED AMONG HIS +HOUSEHOLD GODS, WITH A LIBATION.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>hen Devereux entered his drawing-room, and lighted his candles, he was +in a black and bitter mood. He stood at the window for a while, and +drummed on the pane, looking in the direction of the barrack, where all +the fun was going on, but thinking, in a chaotic way, of things very +different, and all toned with that strange sense of self-reproach and +foreboding which, of late, had grown habitual with him—and not without +just cause.</p> + +<p>'This shall be the last. 'Twas dreadful, seeing that poor Nan; and I +want it—I can swear, I really and honestly want it—only one glass to +stay my heart. Everyone may drink in moderation—especially if he's +heart-sick, and has no other comfort—one glass and no more—curse it.'</p> + +<p>So one glass of brandy—I'm sorry to say, unmixed with water—the +handsome misanthropist sipped and sipped, to the last drop; and then sat +down before his fire, and struck, and poked, and stabbed at it in a +bitter, personal sort of way, until here and there some blazes leaped +up, and gave his eyes a dreamy sort of occupation; and he sat back, with +his hands in his pockets, and his feet on the fender, gazing among the +Plutonic peaks and caverns between the bars.</p> + +<p>'I've had my allowance for to-night; to-morrow night, none at all. 'Tis +an accursed habit: and I'll not allow it to creep upon me. No, I've +never fought it fairly, as I mean to do now—'tis quite easy, if one has +but the will to do it.'</p> + +<p>So he sat before his fire, chewing the cud of bitter fancy only; and he +recollected he had not quite filled his glass, and up he got with a +swagger, and says he—</p> + +<p>'We'll drink fair, if you please—one glass—one only—but that, hang +it—a bumper.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + +<p>So he made a rough calculation.</p> + +<p>'We'll say so much—here or there, 'tis no great matter. A thimble full +won't drown me. Pshaw! that's too much. What am I to do with it?—hang +it. Well, we can't help it—'tis the last.'</p> + +<p>So whatever the quantity may have been, he drank it too, and grew more +moody; and was suddenly called up from the black abyss by the entrance +of little Puddock, rosy and triumphant, from the ball.</p> + +<p>'Ha! Puddock! Then, the fun's over. I'm glad to see you. I've been +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with my shadow—cursed bad company, Puddock. Where's +Cluffe?'</p> + +<p>'Gone home, I believe.'</p> + +<p>'So much the better. You know Cluffe better than I, and there's a secret +about him I never could find out. <i>You</i> have, maybe?'</p> + +<p>'What's that?' lisped Puddock.</p> + +<p>'What the deuce Cluffe's good for.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! tut! We all know Cluffe's a very good fellow.'</p> + +<p>Devereux looked from under his finely pencilled brows with a sad sort of +smile at good little Puddock.</p> + +<p>'Puddock,' says he, 'I'd like to have you write my epitaph.</p> + +<p>Puddock looked at him with his round eyes a little puzzled, and then he +said—</p> + +<p>'You think, maybe, I've a turn for making verses; and you think also I +like you, and there you're quite right.'</p> + +<p>Devereux laughed, but kindly, and shook the fat little hand he +proffered.</p> + +<p>'I wish I were like you, Puddock. We've the knowledge of good and evil +between us. The knowledge of good is all yours: you see nothing but the +good that men have; you see it—and, I dare say, truly—where I can't. +The darker knowledge is mine.'</p> + +<p>Puddock, who thought he thoroughly understood <i>King John, Shylock</i>, and +<i>Richard III.</i>, was a good deal taken aback by Devereux's estimate of +his penetration.</p> + +<p>'Well, I don't think you know me, Devereux,' resumed he with a +thoughtful lisp. 'I'm much mistaken, or I could sound the depths of a +villain's soul as well as most men.'</p> + +<p>'And if you did you'd find it full of noble qualities,' said Dick +Devereux. 'What book is that?'</p> + +<p>'The tragical history of Doctor Faustus,' answered Puddock. 'I left it +here more than a week ago. Have you read it?'</p> + +<p>'Faith, Puddock, I forgot it! Let's see what 'tis like,' said Devereux. +'Hey day!' And he read—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Now, Faustus, let thine eyes with horror stare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into that vast perpetual torture-house;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are the furies tossing damned souls</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">On burning forks; their bodies boil in lead;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are live quarters broiling on the coals</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ne'er can die; this ever-burning chair</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is for o'er-tortured souls to rest them in;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These that are fed with sops of flaming fire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were gluttons, and loved only delicates,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laughed to see the poor starve at their gates.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>'Tailors! by Jupiter! Serve'em right, the rogues. Tailors lining upon +ragou royal, Spanish olea, Puddock—fat livers, and green morels in the +Phœnix, the scoundrels, and laughing to see poor gentlemen of the +Royal Irish Artillery starving at their gates—hang 'em.'</p> + +<p>'Well! well! Listen to the <i>Good Angel</i>,' said Puddock, taking up the +book and declaiming his best—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'O thou hast lost celestial happiness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleasures unspeakable, bliss without end.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hadst thou affected sweet divinity,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hell or the devil had no power on thee—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hadst thou kept on that way. Faustus, behold</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In what resplendent glory thou hadst sat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On yonder throne, like those bright shining spirits,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And triumphed over hell! That hast thou lost;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now, poor soul, must thy good angel leave thee;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The jaws of hell are open to receive thee.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>'Stop that; 'tis all cursed rant,' said Devereux. 'That is, the thing +itself; you make the most it.'</p> + +<p>'Why, truly,' said Puddock, 'there are better speeches in it. But 'tis +very late; and parade, you know—I shall go to bed. And you—'</p> + +<p>'No. I shall stay where I am.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I wish you good-night, dear Devereux.'</p> + +<p>'Good-night, Puddock'</p> + +<p>And the plump little fellow was heard skipping down stairs, and the +hall-door shut behind him. Devereux took the play that Puddock had just +laid down, and read for a while with a dreary kind of interest. Then he +got up, and, I'm sorry to say, drank another glass of the same strong +waters.</p> + +<p>'To-morrow I turn over a new leaf;' and he caught himself repeating +Puddock's snatch of Macbeth, 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Devereux looked out, leaning on the window-sash. All was quiet now, as +if the rattle of a carriage had never disturbed the serene cold night. +The town had gone to bed, and you could hear the sigh of the river +across the field. A sadder face the moon did not shine upon.</p> + +<p>'That's a fine play, Faustus—Marlowe,' he said. Some of the lines he +had read were booming funereally in his ear like a far-off bell. 'I +wonder whether Marlowe had run a wild course,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> like some of us +here—myself—and could not retrieve. That honest little mountebank, +Puddock, does not understand a word of it. I wish I were like Puddock. +Poor little fellow!'</p> + +<p>So, after awhile, Devereux returned to his chair before the fire, and on +his way again drank of the waters of Lethe, and sat down, not +forgetting, but remorseful, over the fire.</p> + +<p>'I'll drink no more to-night—there—curse me if I do.'</p> + +<p>The fire was waxing low in the grate. 'To-morrow's a new day. Why, I +never made a resolution about it before. I can keep it. 'Tis easily +kept. To-morrow I begin.'</p> + +<p>And with fists clenched in his pockets, he vowed his vow, with an oath +into the fire; and ten minutes were not past and over when his eye +wandered thirstily again to the flask on the middle of the table, and +with a sardonic, flushed smile, he quoted the 'Good Angel's' words:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'O, Faustus, lay that damned book aside,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gaze not on it lest it tempt thy soul.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And then pouring out a dram, he looked on it, and said, with the 'Evil +Angel'—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherein all Nature's treasure is contained:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord and commander of the elements.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And then, with a solitary sneer, he sipped it. And after awhile he drank +one glass more—they were the small glasses then in vogue—and shoved it +back, with—</p> + +<p>'There; that's the last.'</p> + +<p>And then, perhaps, there was one other 'last;' and after that 'the +<i>very</i> last.' Hang it! it <i>must</i> be the last, and so on, I suppose. And +Devereux was pale, and looked wild and sulky on parade next morning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH A LIBERTY IS TAKEN WITH MR. NUTTER'S NAME, AND MR. DANGERFIELD +STANDS AT THE ALTAR.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img050.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'P'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'P'" /></div><p>oor Mrs. Nutter continued in a state of distracted and flighty +tribulation, not knowing what to make of it, nor, indeed, knowing the +worst; for the neighbours did not tell her half they might, nor drop a +hint of the dreadful suspicion that dogged her absent helpmate.</p> + +<p>She was sometimes up rummaging among the drawers, and fidgeting about +the house, without any clear purpose, but oftener lying on her bed, with +her clothes on, crying. When she got hold of a friend, she disburthened +her soul, and called on him or her for endless consolations and +assurances, which, for the most part, she herself prescribed. There +were, of course, fits of despair as well as starts of hope; and bright +ideas, accounting for everything, and then clouds of blackness, and +tornadoes of lamentation.</p> + +<p>Father Roach, a good-natured apostle, whose digestion suffered when +anyone he liked was in trouble, paid her a visit; and being somehow +confounded with Dr. Toole, was shown up to her bed-room, where the poor +little woman lay crying under the coverlet. On discovering where he was, +the good father was disposed to flinch, and get down stairs, in +tenderness to his 'character,' and thinking what a story 'them villians +o' the world'id make iv it down at the club there.' But on second +thoughts, poor little Sally being neither young nor comely, he ventured, +and sat down by the bed, veiled behind a strip of curtain, and poured +his mellifluous consolations into her open ears.</p> + +<p>And poor Sally became eloquent in return. And Father Roach dried his +eyes, although she could not see him behind the curtain, and called her +'my daughter,' and 'dear lady,' and tendered such comforts as his +housekeeping afforded. 'Had she bacon in the house?' or 'maybe she'd +like a fat fowl?' 'She could not eat?' 'Why then she could make elegant +broth of it, and dhrink it, an' he'd keep another fattenin' until Nutter +himself come back.'</p> + +<p>'And then, my honey, you an' himself'll come down and dine wid ould +Father Austin; an' we'll have a grand evenin' of it entirely, laughin' +over the remimbrance iv these blackguard troubles, acuishla! Or maybe +you'd accept iv a couple o' bottles of claret or canaries? I see—you +don't want for wine.'</p> + +<p>So there was just one more offer the honest fellow had to make, and he +opened with assurances 'twas only between himself an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> her—an' not a +sowl on airth 'id ever hear a word about it—and he asked her pardon, +but he thought she might chance to want a guinea or two, just till +Nutter came back, and he brought a couple in his waistcoat pocket.</p> + +<p>Poor Father Roach was hard-up just then. Indeed, the being hard-up was a +chronic affection with him. Two horses were not to be kept for nothing. +Nor for the same moderate figure was it possible to maintain an asylum +for unfortunates and outlaws—pleasant fellows enough, but endowed with +great appetites and an unquenchable taste for consolation in fluid +forms.</p> + +<p>A clerical provision in Father Roach's day, and church, was not by any +means what we have seen it since. At all events he was not often +troubled with the possession of money, and when half-a-dozen good +weddings brought him in fifty or a hundred pounds, the holy man was +constrained forthwith to make distribution of his assets among a score +of sour, and sometimes dangerous tradespeople. I mention this in no +disparagement of Father Roach, quite the contrary. In making the tender +of his two guineas—which, however, Sally declined—the worthy cleric +was offering the widow's mite; not like some lucky dogs who might throw +away a thousand or two and be nothing the worse; and you may be sure the +poor fellow was very glad to find she did not want it.</p> + +<p>'Rather hard measure, it strikes me,' said Dangerfield, in the club, 'to +put him in the <i>Hue-and-Cry</i>.'</p> + +<p>But there he was, sure enough, 'Charles Nutter, Esq., formerly of the +Mills, near Knockmaroon, in the county of Dublin;' and a full +description of the dress he wore, as well as of his height, complexion, +features—and all this his poor little wife, still inhabiting the Mills, +and quite unconscious that any man, woman, or child, who could prosecute +him to conviction, for a murderous assault on Dr. Sturk, should have £50 +reward.</p> + +<p>'News in to-day, by Jove,' said Toole, bustling solemnly into the club; +'by the packet that arrived at one o'clock, a man taken, answering +Nutter's description exactly, just going aboard of a Jamaica brig at +Gravesend, and giving no account of himself. He's to be sent over to +Dublin for identification.'</p> + +<p>And when that was thoroughly discussed two or three times over, they +fell to talking of other subjects, and among the rest of Devereux, and +wondered what his plans were; and, there being no brother officers by, +whether he meant to keep his commission, and various speculations as to +the exact cause of the coldness shown him by General Chattesworth. Dick +Spaight thought it might be that he had not asked Miss Gertrude in +marriage.</p> + +<p>But this was pooh-poohed. 'Besides, they knew at Belmont,' said Toole, +who was an authority upon the domestic politics of that family, and +rather proud of being so, 'just as well as I did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> that Gipsy Dick was in +love with Miss Lilias; and I lay you fifty he'd marry her to-morrow if +she'd have him.'</p> + +<p>Toole was always a little bit more intimate with people behind their +backs, so he called Devereux 'Gipsy Dick.'</p> + +<p>'She's ailing, I hear,' said old Slowe.</p> + +<p>'She is, indeed, Sir,' answered the doctor, with a grave shake of the +head.</p> + +<p>'Nothing of moment, I hope?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Why, you see it may be; she had a bad cough last winter, and this year +she took it earlier, and it has fallen very much on her lungs; and you +see, we can't say, Sir, what turn it may take, and I'm very sorry she +should be so sick and ailing—she's the prettiest creature, and the best +little soul; and I don't know, on my conscience, what the poor old +parson would do if anything happened her, you know. But I trust, Sir, +with care, you know, 'twill turn out well.'</p> + +<p>The season for trout-fishing was long past and gone, and there were no +more pleasant rambles for Dangerfield and Irons along the flowery banks +of the devious Liffey. Their rods and nets hung up, awaiting the return +of genial spring; and the churlish stream, abandoned to its wintry mood, +darkled and roared savagely under the windows of the Brass Castle.</p> + +<p>One dismal morning, as Dangerfield's energetic step carried him briskly +through the town, the iron gate of the church-yard, and the door of the +church itself standing open, he turned in, glancing upward as he passed +at Sturk's bed-room windows, as all the neighbours did, to see whether +General Death's white banners were floating there, and his tedious siege +ended—as end it must—and the garrison borne silently away in his +custody to the prison house.</p> + +<p>Up the aisle marched Dangerfield, not abating his pace, but with a swift +and bracing clatter, like a man taking a frosty constitutional walk.</p> + +<p>Irons was moping softly about in the neighbourhood of the reading-desk, +and about to mark the places of psalms and chapters in the great church +Bible and Prayer-book, and sidelong he beheld his crony of the angle +marching, with a grim confidence and swiftness, up the aisle.</p> + +<p>'I say, where's Martin?' said Dangerfield, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>'He's gone away, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Hey! then you've no one with you?'</p> + +<p>'No, Sir.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield walked straight on, up the step of the communion-table, and +shoving open the little balustraded door, he made a gay stride or two +across the holy precinct, and with a quick right-about face, came to a +halt, the white, scoffing face, for exercise never flushed it, and the +cold, broad sheen of the spectacles, looked odd in the clerk's eyes, +facing the church-door, from beside the table of the sacrament, +displayed, as it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> were, in the very frame—foreground, background, and +all—in which he was wont to behold the thoughtful, simple, holy face of +the rector.</p> + +<p>'Alone among the dead; and not afraid?' croaked the white face +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>The clerk seemed always to writhe and sweat silently under the banter of +his comrade of the landing-net, and he answered, without lifting his +head, in a constrained and dogged sort of way, like a man who expects +something unpleasant—</p> + +<p>'Alone? yes, Sir, there's none here but ourselves.'</p> + +<p>And his face flushed, and the veins on his forehead stood out, as will +happen with a man who tugs at a weight that is too much for him.</p> + +<p>'I saw you steal a glance at Charles when he came into the church here, +and it strikes me I was at the moment thinking of the same thing as you, +to wit, will he require any special service at our hands? Well, he does! +and you or I must do it. He'll give a thousand pounds, mind ye; and +that's something in the way of fellows like you and me; and whatever +else he may have done, Charles has never broke his word in a money +matter. And, hark'ee, can't you thumb over that Bible and Prayer-book on +the table here as well as <i>there? Do</i> so. Well—'</p> + +<p>And he went on in a lower key, still looking full front at the +church-door, and a quick glance now and then upon Irons, across the +communion-table.</p> + +<p>''Tis nothing at all—don't you see—what are you afraid of? It can't +change events—'tis only a question of to-day or to-morrow—a whim—a +maggot—hey? You can manage it this way, mark ye.'</p> + +<p>He had his pocket-handkerchief by the two corners before him, like an +apron, and he folded it neatly and quickly into four.</p> + +<p>'Don't you see—and a little water. You're a neat hand, you know; and if +you're interrupted, 'tis only to blow your nose in't—ha, ha, ha!—and +clap it in your pocket; and <i>you</i> may as well have the money—hey? +Good-morning.'</p> + +<p>And when he had got half-way down the aisle, he called back to Irons, in +a loud, frank voice—</p> + +<p>'And Martin's not here—could you say where he is?'</p> + +<p>But he did not await the answer, and glided with quick steps from the +porch, with a side leer over the wavy green mounds and tombstones. He +had not been three minutes in the church, and across the street he went, +to the shop over the way, and asked briskly where Martin, the sexton, +was. Well, they did not know.</p> + +<p>'Ho! Martin,' he cried across the street, seeing that functionary just +about to turn the corner by Sturk's hall-door steps; 'a word with you. +I've been looking for you. See, you must take a foot-rule, and make all +the measurements of that pew, you know; don't mistake a hair's breadth, +d'ye mind, for you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> must be ready to swear to it; and bring a note of it +to me, at home, to-day, at one o'clock, and you shall have a +crown-piece.'</p> + +<p>From which the reader will perceive—as all the world might, if they had +happened to see him enter the church just now—that his object in the +visit was to see and speak with Martin; and that the little bit of +banter with Irons, the clerk, was all by-play, and parenthesis, and +beside the main business, and, of course, of no sort of consequence.</p> + +<p>Mr. Irons, like most men of his rank in life, was not much in the habit +of exact thinking. His ruminations, therefore, were rather confused, +but, perhaps, they might be translated in substance, into something like +this—</p> + +<p>'Why the —— can't he let them alone that's willing to let him alone? I +wish he was in his own fiery home, and better people at rest. I <i>can't</i> +mark them places—I don't know whether I'm on my head or heels.'</p> + +<p>And he smacked the quarto Prayer-book down upon the folio Bible with a +sonorous bang, and glided out, furious, frightened, and taciturn, to the +Salmon House.</p> + +<p>He came upon Dangerfield again only half-a-dozen steps from the turn +into the street. He had just dismissed Martin, and was looking into a +note in his pocket-book, and either did not see, or pretended not to +see, the clerk. But some one else saw and recognised Mr. Irons; and, as +he passed, directed upon him a quick, searching glance. It was Mr. +Mervyn, who happened to pass that way. Irons and Dangerfield, and the +church-yard—there was a flash of association in the group and the +background which accorded with an old suspicion. Dangerfield, indeed, +was innocently reading a leaf in his red and gilt leather pocket-book, +as I have said. But Irons's eyes met the glance of Mervyn, and +contracted oddly, and altogether there gleamed out something indefinable +in his look. It was only for a second—a glance and an intuition; and +from that moment it was one of Mervyn's immovable convictions, that Mr. +Dangerfield knew something of Irons's secret. It was a sort of +intermittent suspicion before—now it was a monstrous, but fixed belief.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Irons glided swiftly on to the Salmon House, where, in a dark +corner, he drank something comfortable; and stalked back again to the +holy pile, with his head aching, and the world round him like a wild and +evil dream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIV.</h2> + +<h4>BEING A NIGHT SCENE, IN WHICH MISS GERTRUDE CHATTESWORTH, BEING ADJURED +BY AUNT BECKY, MAKES ANSWER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>n Aunt Becky's mind, the time could not be far off when the odd sort of +relations existing between the Belmont family and Mr. Dangerfield must +be defined. The Croesus himself, indeed, was very indulgent. He was +assiduous and respectful; but he wisely abstained from pressing for an +immediate decision, and trusted to reflection and to Aunt Becky's good +offices; and knew that his gold would operate by its own slow, but sure, +gravitation.</p> + +<p>At one time he had made up his mind to be peremptory—and politely to +demand an unequivocal 'yes,' or 'no.' But a letter reached him from +London; it was from a great physician there. Whatever was in it, the +effect was to relieve his mind of an anxiety. He never, indeed, looked +anxious, or moped like an ordinary man in blue-devils. But his servants +knew when anything weighed upon his spirits, by his fierce, short, +maniacal temper. But with the seal of that letter the spell broke, the +evil spirit departed for a while, and the old jocose, laconic irony came +back, and glittered whitely in the tall chair by the fire, and sipped +its claret after dinner, and sometimes smoked its long pipe and grinned +into the embers of the grate. At Belmont, there had been a skirmish over +the broiled drum-sticks at supper, and the ladies had withdrawn in +towering passions to their nightly devotions and repose.</p> + +<p>Gertrude had of late grown more like herself, but was quite resolute +against the Dangerfield alliance, which Aunt Becky fought for, the more +desperately that in their private confidences under the poplar trees she +had given the rich cynic of the silver spectacles good assurance of +success.</p> + +<p>Puddock drank tea at Belmont—nectar in Olympus—that evening. Was ever +lieutenant so devoutly romantic? He had grown more fanatical and abject +in his worship. He spoke less, and lisped in very low tones. He sighed +often, and sometimes mightily; and ogled unhappily, and smiled +lackadaisically. The beautiful damsel was, in her high, cold way, kind +to the guest, and employed him about the room on little commissions, and +listened to his speeches without hearing them, and rewarded them now and +then with the gleam of a smile, which made his gallant little heart +flutter up to his solitaire, and his honest powdered head giddy.</p> + +<p>'I marvel, brother,' ejaculated Aunt Becky, suddenly, appearing in the +parlour, where the general had made himself comfort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>able over his novel, +and opening her address with a smart stamp on the floor. The veteran's +heart made a little jump, and he looked up over his gold spectacles.</p> + +<p>'I marvel, brother, what you can mean, desire, or intend, by all this +ogling, sighing, and love-making; 'tis surely a strange way of +forwarding Mr. Dangerfield's affair.'</p> + +<p>He might have blustered a little, as he sometimes did, for she had +startled him, and her manner was irritating; but she had caught him in a +sentimental passage between Lovelace and Miss Harlowe, which always +moved him—and he showed no fight at all; but his innocent little light +blue eyes looked up wonderingly and quite gently at her.</p> + +<p>'Who—I? <i>What</i> ogling, Sister Becky?'</p> + +<p>'You! tut! That foolish, ungrateful person, Lieutenant Puddock; what can +you propose to yourself, brother, in bringing Lieutenant Puddock here? I +hate him.'</p> + +<p>'Why, what about Puddock—what has he done?' asked the general, with +round eyes still, and closing his book on his finger.</p> + +<p>'What has he done! Why, he's at your daughter's feet,' cried Aunt Becky, +with scarlet cheeks, and flashing eyes; 'and she—artful gipsy, has +brought him there by positively making love to him.'</p> + +<p>'Sweet upon Toodie (the general's old pet name for Gertrude); why, half +the young fellows are—you know—pooh, pooh,' and the general stood up +with his back to the fire—looking uneasy; for, like many other men, he +thought a woman's eyes saw further in such a case than his.</p> + +<p>'Do you wish the young hussy—do you—to marry Lieutenant Puddock? I +should not wonder! Why, of course, her fortune you and she may give away +to whom you like; but remember, she's young, and has been much admired, +brother; and may make a great match; and in our day, young ladies were +under direction, and did not marry without apprising their parents or +natural guardians. Here's Mr. Dangerfield, who proposes great +settlements. Why won't she have him? For my part, I think we're little +better than cheats; and I mean to write to-morrow morning and tell the +poor gentleman that you and I have been bamboozling him to a purpose, +and meant all along to marry the vixen to a poor lieutenant in your +corps. Speak truth, and shame the devil, brother; for my part, I'm sick +of the affair; I'm sick of deception, ingratitude, and odious fools.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky had vanished in a little whirlwind, leaving the general with +his back to the fire, looking blank and uncomfortable. And from his +little silver tankard he poured out a glassful of his mulled claret, not +thinking, and smelled to it deliberately, as he used to do when he was +tasting a new wine, and looked through it, and set the glass down, +forgetting he was to drink it, for his thoughts were elsewhere.</p> + +<p>On reaching her bed-room, which she did with impetuous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> haste, Aunt +Becky shut the door with a passionate slam, and said, with a sort of +choke and a sob, 'There's nought but ingratitude on earth—the odious, +odious, <i>odious</i> person!'</p> + +<p>And when, ten minutes after, her maid came in, she found Aunt Rebecca +but little advanced in her preparations for bed; and her summons at the +door was answered by a fierce and shrilly nose-trumpeting, and a stern +'Come in, hussy—are you deaf, child?' And when she came in, Aunt Becky +was grim, and fussy, and her eyes red.</p> + +<p>Miss Gertrude was that night arrived just on that dim and delicious +plateau—that debatable land upon which the last waking reverie and the +first dream of slumber mingle together in airy dance and shifting +colours—when, on a sudden, she was recalled to a consciousness of her +grave bed-posts, and damask curtains, by the voice of her aunt.</p> + +<p>Sitting up, she gazed on the redoubted Aunt Becky through the lace of +her <i>bonnet de nuit</i>, for some seconds, in a mystified and incredulous +way.</p> + +<p>Mistress Rebecca Chattesworth, on the other hand, had drawn the +curtains, and stood, candle in hand, arrayed in her night-dress, like a +ghost, only she had on a pink and green quilted dressing-gown loosely +over it.</p> + +<p>She was tall and erect, of course; but she looked softened and strange; +and when she spoke, it was in quite a gentle, humble sort of way, which +was perfectly strange to her niece.</p> + +<p>'Don't be frightened, sweetheart,' said she, and she leaned over and +with her arm round her neck, kissed her. 'I came to say a word, and just +to ask you a question. I wish, indeed I do—Heaven knows, to do my duty; +and, my dear child, will you tell me the whole truth—will you tell me +truly?—You will, when I ask it as a kindness.'</p> + +<p>There was a little pause, and Gertrude looked with a pale gaze upon her +aunt.</p> + +<p>'Are you,' said Aunt Becky—'do you, Gertrude—do you like Lieutenant +Puddock?'</p> + +<p>'Lieutenant Puddock!' repeated the girl, with the look and gesture of a +person in whose ear something strange has buzzed.</p> + +<p>'Because, if you really are in love with him, Gertie; and that he likes +you; and that, in short—' Aunt Becky was speaking very rapidly, but +stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>'In love with Lieutenant Puddock!' was all that Miss Gertrude said.</p> + +<p>'Now, do tell me, Gertrude, if it be so—tell <i>me</i>, dear love. I know +'tis a hard thing to say,' and Aunt Becky considerately began to fiddle +with the ribbon at the back of her niece's nightcap, so that she need +not look in her face; 'but, Gertie, tell me truly, do you like him; +and—and—why, if it be so, I will mention Mr. Dangerfield's suit no +more. There now—there's all I want to say.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Lieutenant Puddock!' repeated young Madam in the nightcap; and by this +time the film of slumber was gone; and the suspicion struck her somehow +in altogether so comical a way that she could not help laughing in her +aunt's sad, earnest face.</p> + +<p>'Fat, funny little Lieutenant Puddock!—was ever so diverting a +disgrace? Oh! dear aunt, what have I done to deserve so prodigious a +suspicion?'</p> + +<p>It was plain, from her heightened colour, that her aunt did not choose +to be laughed at.</p> + +<p>'What have you done?' said she, quite briskly; 'why—what have you +done?' and Aunt Becky had to consider just for a second or two, staring +straight at the young lady through the crimson damask curtains. 'You +have—you—you—why, what have you <i>done</i>? and she covered her confusion +by stooping down to adjust the heel of her slipper.</p> + +<p>'Oh! it's delightful—plump little Lieutenant Puddock!' and the graver +her aunt looked the more irrepressibly she laughed; till that lady, +evidently much offended, took the young gentlewoman pretty roundly to +task.</p> + +<p>'Well! I'll tell you what you have done,' said she, almost fiercely. 'As +absurd as he is, you have been twice as sweet upon him as he upon you; +and you have done your endeavour to fill his brain with the notion that +you are in love with him, young lady; and if you're not, you have acted, +I promise you, a most unscrupulous and unpardonable part by a most +honourable and well-bred gentleman—for that character I believe he +bears. Yes—you may laugh, Madam, how you please; but he's allowed, I +say, to be as honest, as true, as fine a gentleman as—as—'</p> + +<p>'As ever surprised a weaver,' said the young lady, laughing till she +almost cried. In fact, she was showing in a new light, and becoming +quite a funny character upon this theme. And, indeed, this sort of +convulsion of laughing seemed so unaccountable on natural grounds to +Aunt Rebecca, that her irritation subsided into perplexity, and she +began to suspect that her extravagant merriment might mean possibly +something which she did not quite understand.</p> + +<p>'Well, niece, when you have quite done laughing at nothing, you will, +perhaps, be so good as to hear me. I put it to you now, young lady, as +your relation and your friend, once for all, upon your sacred +honour—remember you're a Chattesworth—upon the honour of a +Chattesworth' (a favourite family form of adjuration on serious +occasions with Aunt Rebecca), 'do you like Lieutenant Puddock?'</p> + +<p>It was now Miss Gertrude's turn to be nettled, and to remind her +visitor, by a sudden flush in her cheek and a flash from her eyes, that +she was, indeed, a Chattesworth; and with more disdain than, perhaps, +was quite called for, she repelled the soft suspicion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I protest, Madam,' said Miss Gertrude, ''tis <i>too</i> bad. Truly, Madam, +it <i>is vastly</i> vexatious to have to answer so strange and affronting a +question. If you ever took the trouble, aunt, to listen to, or look at, +Lieutenant Puddock, you might—'</p> + +<p>'Well, niece,' quoth Aunt Becky, interrupting, with a little toss of her +head, 'young ladies weren't quite so hard to please in my time, and I +can't see or hear that he's so much worse than others.'</p> + +<p>'I'd sooner die than have him,' said Miss Gertie, peremptorily.</p> + +<p>'Then, I suppose, if ever, and whenever he asks you the question +himself, you'll have no hesitation in telling him so?' said Aunt Becky, +with becoming solemnity.</p> + +<p>'Laughable, ridiculous, comical, and absurd, as I always thought and +believed Lieutenant Puddock to be, I yet believe the asking such a +question of me to be a stretch of absurdity, from which his breeding, +for he is a gentleman, will restrain him. Besides, Madam, you can't +possibly be aware of the subjects on which he has invariably discoursed +whenever he happened to sit by me—plays and players, and candied fruit. +Really, Madam, it is too absurd to have to enter upon one's defence +against so incredible an imagination.'</p> + +<p>Aunt Rebecca looked steadily for a few seconds in her niece's face, then +drew a long breath, and leaning over, kissed her again on the forehead, +and with a grave little nod, and looking on her again for a short space, +without saying a word more, she turned suddenly and left the room.</p> + +<p>Miss Gertrude's vexation again gave way to merriment; and her aunt, as +she walked sad and stately up stairs, heard one peal of merry laughter +after another ring through her niece's bed-room. She had not laughed so +much for three years before; and this short visit cost her, I am sure, +two hours' good sleep at least.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXV.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING SOME AWFUL NEWS THAT REACHED THE VILLAGE, AND HOW DR. +WALSINGHAM VISITED CAPTAIN RICHARD DEVEREUX AT HIS LODGINGS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>nd now there was news all over the town, to keep all the tongues there +in motion.</p> + +<p>News—news—great news!—terrible news! Peter Fogarty, Mr. Tresham's +boy, had it that morning from his cousin, Jim Redmond, whose aunt lived +at Ringsend, and kept the little shop over against the 'Plume of +Feathers,' where you might have your pick and choice of all sorts of +nice and useful things—bacon, brass snuff-boxes, penny ballads, eggs, +candles, cheese, tobacco-pipes, pinchbeck buckles for knee and instep, +soap, sausages, and who knows what beside.</p> + +<p>No one quite believed it—it was a tradition at third hand, and Peter +Fogarty's cousin, Jim Redmond's aunt, was easy of faith;—Jim, it was +presumed, not very accurate in narration, and Peter, not much better. +Though, however, it was not actually 'intelligence,' it was a startling +thesis. And though some raised their brows and smiled darkly, and shook +their heads, the whole town certainly pricked their ears at it. And not +a man met another without 'Well! anything more? You've heard the report, +Sir—eh?'</p> + +<p>It was not till Doctor Toole came out of town, early that day, that the +sensation began in earnest.</p> + +<p>'There could be no doubt about it—'twas a wonderful strange thing +certainly. After so long a time—and so well preserved too.'</p> + +<p>'<i>What</i> was it—what <i>is</i> it?'</p> + +<p>'Why, Charles Nutter's corpse is found, Sir!'</p> + +<p>'Corpse—hey!'</p> + +<p>'So Toole says. Hollo! Toole—Doctor Toole—I say. Here's Mr. Slowe +hasn't heard about poor Nutter.'</p> + +<p>'Ho! neighbour Slowe—give you good-day, Sir—not heard it? By Jove, +Sir—poor Nutter!—'tis true—his body's found—picked up this morning, +just at sunrise, by two Dunleary fishermen, off Bullock. Justice Lowe +has seen it—and Spaight saw it too. I've just been speaking with him, +not an hour ago, in Thomas Street. It lies at Ringsend—and an inquest +in the morning.'</p> + +<p>And so on in Doctor Toole's manner, until he saw Dr. Walsingham, the +good rector, pausing in his leisurely walk just outside the row of +houses that fronted the turnpike, in one of which were the lodgings of +Dick Devereux.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>The good Doctor Toole wondered what brought his reverence there, for he +had an inkling of something going on. So he bustled off to him, and told +his story with the stern solemnity befitting such a theme, and that +pallid, half-suppressed smile with which an exciting horror is sometimes +related. And the good rector had many ejaculations of consternation and +sympathy, and not a few enquiries to utter. And at last, when the theme +was quite exhausted, he told Toole, who still lingered on, that he was +going to pay his respects to Captain Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Oh!' said cunning little Toole, 'you need not, for I told him the whole +matter.'</p> + +<p>'Very like, Sir,' answered the doctor; 'but 'tis on another matter I +wish to see him.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!—ho!—certainly—very good, Sir. I beg pardon—and—and—he's just +done his breakfast—a late dog, Sir—ha! ha! Your servant, Doctor +Walsingham.'</p> + +<p>Devereux puzzled his comrade Puddock more than ever. Sometimes he would +descend with his blue devils into the abyss, and sit there all the +evening in a dismal sulk. Sometimes he was gayer even than his old gay +self; and sometimes in a bitter vein, talking enigmatical ironies, with +his strange smile; and sometimes he was dangerous and furious, just as +the weather changes, without rhyme or reason. Maybe he was angry with +himself, and thought it was with others; and was proud, sorry, and +defiant, and let his moods, one after another, possess him as they came.</p> + +<p>They were his young days—beautiful and wicked—days of clear, rich +tints, and sanguine throbbings, and <i>gloria mundi</i>—when we fancy the +spirit perfect, and the body needs no redemption—when, fresh from the +fountains of life, death is but a dream, and we walk the earth like +heathen gods and goddesses, in celestial egotism and beauty. Oh, fair +youth!—gone for ever. The parting from thee was a sadness and a +violence—sadder, I think, than death itself. We look behind us, and +sigh after thee, as on the pensive glories of a sunset, and our march is +toward the darkness. It is twilight with us now, and will soon be +starlight, and the hour and place of slumber, till the reveille sounds, +and the day of wonder opens. Oh, grant us a good hour, and take us to +Thy mercy! But to the last those young days will be remembered and worth +remembering; for be we what else we may, young mortals we shall never be +again.</p> + +<p>Of course Dick Devereux was now no visitor at the Elms. All <i>that</i> for +the present was over. Neither did he see Lilias; for little Lily was now +a close prisoner with doctors, in full uniform, with shouldered canes, +mounting guard at the doors. 'Twas a hard winter, and she needed care +and nursing. And Devereux chafed and fretted; and, in truth, 'twas hard +to bear this spite of fortune—to be so near, and yet so far—quite out +of sight and hearing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p>A word or two from General Chattesworth in Doctor Walsingham's ear, as +they walked to and fro before the white front of Belmont, had decided +the rector on making this little call; for he had now mounted the stair +of Devereux's lodging, and standing on the carpet outside, knocked, with +a grave, sad face on his door panel, glancing absently through the lobby +window, and whistling inaudibly the while.</p> + +<p>The doctor was gentle and modest, and entirely kindly. He held good +Master Feltham's doctrine about reproofs. 'A man,' says he, 'had better +be convinced in private than be made guilty by a proclamation. Open +rebukes are for Magistrates, and Courts of Justice! for Stelled Chambers +and for Scarlets, in the thronged Hall Private are for friends; where +all the witnesses of the offender's blushes are blinde and deaf and +dumb. We should do by them as Joseph thought to have done by Mary, seeke +to cover blemishes with secrecy. Public reproofe is like striking of a +Deere in the Herd; it not only wounds him to the loss of enabling blood, +but betrays him to the Hound, his Enemy, and makes him by his fellows be +pusht out of company.'</p> + +<p>So on due invitation from within, the good parson entered, and the +handsome captain in all his splendours—when you saw him after a little +absence 'twas always with a sort of admiring surprise—you had forgot +how <i>very</i> handsome he was—this handsome slender fellow, with his dark +face and large, unfathomable violet eyes, so wild and wicked, and yet so +soft, stood up surprised, with a look of welcome quickly clouded and +crossed by a gleam of defiance.</p> + +<p>They bowed, and shook hands, however, and bowed again, and each was the +other's 'servant;' and being seated, they talked <i>de generalibus</i>; for +the good parson would not come like an executioner and take his prisoner +by the throat, but altogether in the spirit of the shepherd, content to +walk a long way about, and wait till he came up with the truant, and +entreating him kindly, not dragging or beating him back to the flock, +but leading and carrying by turns, and so awaiting his opportunity. But +Devereux was in one of his moods. He thought the doctor no friend to his +suit, and was bitter, and formal, and violent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVI.</h2> + +<h4>OF A CERTAIN TEMPEST THAT AROSE AND SHOOK THE CAPTAIN'S SPOONS AND +TEA-CUPS; AND HOW THE WIND SUDDENLY WENT DOWN.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>'m very glad, Sir, to have a few quiet minutes with you,' said the +doctor, making then a little pause; and Devereux thought he was going to +re-open the matter of his suit. 'For I've had no answer to my last +letter, and I want to know all you can tell me of that most promising +young man, Daniel Loftus, and his most curious works.'</p> + +<p>'Dan Loftus is dead and—' (I'm sorry to say he added something else); +'and his works have followed him, Sir,' said the strange captain, +savagely; for he could not conceive what business the doctor had to +think about <i>him</i>, when Captain Devereux's concerns were properly to be +discussed. So though he had reason to believe he was quite well, and in +Malaga with his 'honourable' and sickly cousin, he killed him off-hand, +and disposed summarily of his works.</p> + +<p>There was an absolute silence of some seconds after this scandalous +explosion; and Devereux said—'In truth, Sir, I don't know. They hold +him capable of taking charge of my wise cousin—hang him!—so I dare say +he can take care of himself; and I don't see what the plague ill's to +happen him.'</p> + +<p>The doctor's honest eyes opened, and his face flushed a little. But +reading makes a full man, not a quick one; and so while he was +fashioning his answer, the iron cooled. Indeed he never spoke in anger. +When on sudden provocation he carried his head higher and flushed a +little, they supposed he was angry; but if he was, this was all he +showed of the old Adam, and he held his peace.</p> + +<p>So now the doctor looked down upon the table-cloth, for Devereux's +breakfast china and silver were still upon the table, and he marshalled +some crumbs he found there, sadly, with his finger, in a row first, and +then in a circle, and then, goodness knows how; and he sighed profoundly +over his work.</p> + +<p>Devereux was in his mood. He was proud—he had no notion of apologising. +But looking another way, and with his head rather high, he hoped Miss +Lilias was better.</p> + +<p>Well, well, the spring was coming; and Parson Walsingham knew the spring +restored little Lily. 'She's like a bird—she's like a flower, and the +winter is nearly past,' (and the beautiful words of the 'Song of Songs,' +which little Lily so loved to read, mingled like a reverie in his +discourse, and he said), 'the flowers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> will soon appear in the earth, +the time of the singing birds will come, and the voice of the turtle be +heard in our land.'</p> + +<p>'Sir,' said Dick Devereux, in a voice that sounded strangely, 'I have a +request; may I make it?—a favour to beg. 'Tisn't, all things +remembered, very much. If I write a letter, and place it open in your +hand—a letter, Sir—to Miss Lily—will you read it to her, or else let +her read it? Or even a message—a spoken message—will you give it?'</p> + +<p>'Captain Devereux,' said the doctor, in a reserved but very sad sort of +way, 'I must tell you that my dear child is by no means well. She has +had a cold, and it has not gone away so soon as usual—something I think +of her dear mother's delicacy—and so she requires care, my little Lily, +a great deal of care. But, thank God, the spring is before us. Yes, yes; +the soft air and sunshine, and then she'll be out again. You know the +garden, and her visits, and her little walks. So I don't fret or +despair. Oh, no.' He spoke very gently, in a reverie, after his wont, +and he sighed heavily. 'You know 'tis growing late in life with me, +Captain Devereux,' he resumed, 'and I would fain see her united to a +kind and tender partner, for I think she's a fragile little flower. Poor +little Lily! Something, I often think, of her dear mother's delicacy, +and I have always nursed her, you know. She has been a great pet;' and +he stopped suddenly, and walked to the window. 'A great pet. Indeed, if +she could have been spoiled, I should have spoiled her long ago, but she +could not. Ah, no! Sweet little Lily!'</p> + +<p>Then quite firmly but gently Parson Walsingham went on:—</p> + +<p>'Now, the doctors say she mustn't be agitated, and I can't allow it, +Captain Devereux. I gave her your message—let me see—why 'tis four, +ay, five months ago. I gave it with a good will, for I thought well of +you.'</p> + +<p>'And you don't any longer—there, 'tis all out,' broke in Devereux, +fiercely.</p> + +<p>'Well, you know her answer; it was not lightly given, nor in haste, and +first and last 'twas quite decided, and I sent it to you under my own +hand.'</p> + +<p>'I thought you were a friend to me, Dr. Walsingham, and now I'm sure +you're none,' said the young fellow, in the same bitter tone.</p> + +<p>'Ah, Captain Devereux, he can be no friend to you who is a friend to +your faults; and you no friend to yourself if you be an enemy to him +that would tell you of them. Will you like him the worse that would have +you better?'</p> + +<p>'We've <i>all</i> faults, Sir; mine are not the worst, and I'll have neither +shrift nor absolution. There's some reason here you won't disclose.'</p> + +<p>He was proud, fierce, pale, and looked damnably handsome and wicked.</p> + +<p>'She gave <i>no</i> reason, Sir;' answered Dr. Walsingham. No,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> she gave +none; but, as I understood, she did not love you, and she prayed me to +mention it no more.'</p> + +<p>'She gave no reason; but you <i>know</i> the reason,' glared out Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Indeed, Sir, I do <i>not</i> know the reason,' answered the rector.</p> + +<p>'But you know—you <i>must</i>—you <i>meant</i>—<i>you</i>, at least had heard some +ill of me, and you no longer wish my suit to prosper.'</p> + +<p>'I have, indeed, of late, heard <i>much</i> ill of you, Captain Devereux,' +answered Dr. Walsingham, in a very deliberate but melancholy way, +'enough to make me hold you no meet husband for any wife who cared for a +faithful partner, or an honourable and a quiet home.'</p> + +<p>'You mean—I know you do—that Palmerstown girl, who has belied me?' +cried Devereux.</p> + +<p>'That unhappy young woman, Captain Devereux, her name is Glynn, whom you +have betrayed under a promise of marriage.'</p> + +<p>That moment Devereux was on his feet. It was the apparition of Devereux; +a blue fire gleaming in his eyes, not a word from his white lips, while +three seconds might have ticked from Mrs. Irons's prosy old clock on the +stair-head; his slender hand was outstretched in appeal and defiance, +and something half-celestial, half-infernal—the fallen angelic—in his +whole face and bearing.</p> + +<p>'May my merciful Creator strike me dead, here at your feet, Doctor +Walsingham, but 'tis a lie,' cried he. 'I never promised—she'll tell +you. I thought she told you long ago. 'Twas that devil incarnate, her +mother, who forged the lie, why or where-fore, except for her fiendish +love of mischief, I know not.'</p> + +<p>'I cannot tell, Sir, about your promise,' said the doctor gravely; 'with +or without it, the crime is heinous, the cruelty immeasurable.'</p> + +<p>'Dr. Walsingham,' cried Dick Devereux, a strange scorn ringing in his +accents, 'with all your learning you don't know the world; you don't +know human nature; you don't see what's passing in this very village +before your eyes every day you live. I'm not worse than others; I'm not +half so bad as fifty older fellows who ought to know better; but I'm +<i>sorry</i>, and 'tisn't easy to say that, for I'm as proud, proud as the +devil, proud as you; and if it were to my Maker, what more can I say? +I'm sorry, and if Heaven forgives us when we repent, I think our +wretched fellow-mortals may.'</p> + +<p>'Captain Devereux, I've nothing to forgive,' said the parson, kindly.</p> + +<p>'But I tell you, Sir, this cruel, unmeaning separation will be my +eternal ruin,' cried Devereux. 'Listen to me—by Heaven, you shall. I've +fought a hard battle, Sir! I've tried to forget her—to <i>hate</i> her—it +won't do. I tell you, Dr. Walsingham, 'tis not in your nature to +comprehend the intensity of my love—you can't. I don't blame you. But I +think, Sir—I think I <i>might</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> make her like me, Sir. They come at last, +sometimes, to like those that love them so—so <i>desperately: that</i> may +not be for me, 'tis true. I only ask to plead my own sad cause. I only +want to see her—gracious Heaven—but to see her—to show her how I was +wronged—to tell her she can make me what she will—an honourable, pure, +self-denying, devoted man, or leave me in the dark, alone, with nothing +for it but to wrap my cloak about my head, and leap over the precipice.'</p> + +<p>'Captain Devereux, why will you doubt me? I've spoken the truth. I have +already said I must not give your message; and you are not to suppose I +dislike you, because I would fain have your faults mended.'</p> + +<p>'Faults! have I? To be sure I have. So have <i>you, more,</i> Sir, and +<i>worse</i> than I, maybe,' cried Devereux, wild again; 'and you come here +in your spiritual pride to admonish and to lecture, and to <i>insult</i> a +miserable man, who's better, perhaps, than yourself. You've heard ill of +me? you hear I sometimes drink maybe a glass too much—who does not? you +can drink a glass yourself, Sir; drink more, and show it less than I +maybe; and you listen to every damned slander that any villain, to whose +vices and idleness you pander with what you call your alms, may be +pleased to invent, and you deem yourself charitable; save us from such +charity! <i>Charitable</i>, and you refuse to deliver my miserable message: +hard-hearted Pharisee!'</p> + +<p>It is plain poor Captain Devereux was not quite himself—bitter, fierce, +half-mad, and by no means so polite as he ought to have been. Alas! as +Job says, 'ye imagine to reprove words; and the speeches of one that is +desperate, which are as wind.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, hard-hearted, unrelenting Pharisee.' The torrent roared on, and +the wind was up; it was night and storm with poor Devereux. 'You who +pray every day—oh—damnable hypocrisy—lead us not into temptation—you +neither care nor ask to what courses your pride and obstinacy are +driving me—your fellow-creature.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, Captain Devereux, you are angry with me, and yet it's not my doing; +the man that is at variance with himself will hardly be at one with +others. You have said much to me that is unjust, and, perhaps, unseemly; +but I won't reproach you; your anger and trouble make wild work with +your words. When one of my people falls into sin, I ever find it is so +through lack of prayer. Ah! Captain Devereux, have you not of late been +remiss in the duty of private prayer?'</p> + +<p>The captain laughed, not pleasantly, into the ashes in the grate. But +the doctor did not mind, and only said, looking upward—.</p> + +<p>'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.'</p> + +<p>There was kindness, and even tenderness, in the tone in which simple Dr. +Walsingham spoke the appellative, brother; and it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> smote Devereux now, +as sometimes happens with wayward fellows, and his better nature was +suddenly moved.</p> + +<p>'I'm <i>sorry</i>, Sir—I am. You're too patient—I'm <i>very</i> sorry; 'tis like +an angel—you're noble, Sir, and I such an outcast. I—I wish you'd +strike me, Sir—you're too kind and patient, Sir, and so pure—and how +have I spoken to you? A <i>trial</i>, Sir, if you <i>can</i> forgive me—one +trial—my vice—you shall see me changed, a new man. Oh, Sir, let me +swear it. I <i>am</i>, Sir—I'm reformed; don't believe me till you see it. +Oh! good Samaritan,—don't forsake me—I'm all one wound.'</p> + +<p>Well! they talked some time longer, and parted kindly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH A CERTAIN TROUBLED SPIRIT WALKS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img048.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" /></div><p>r. Dangerfield was at the club that night, and was rather in spirits +than otherwise, except, indeed, when poor Charles Nutter was talked of. +Then he looked grave, and shrugged, and shook his head, and said—</p> + +<p>'A bad business, Sir; and where's his poor wife?'</p> + +<p>'Spending the night with us, poor soul,' said Major O'Neill, mildly, +'and hasn't an idaya, poor thing; and indeed, I hope, she mayn't hear +it.'</p> + +<p>'Pooh! Sir, she must hear it; but you know she might have heard worse, +Sir, eh?' rejoined Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'True for you, Sir,' said the major, suspending the filling of his pipe +to direct a quiet glance of significance at Dangerfield, and then +closing his eyes with a nod.</p> + +<p>And just at this point in came Spaight.</p> + +<p>'Well, Spaight!'</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'You saw the body, eh?' and a dozen other interrogatories followed, as, +cold and wet with melting snow, dishevelled, and storm-beaten—for it +was a plaguy rough night—the young fellow, with a general greeting to +the company, made his way to the fire.</p> + +<p>''Tis a tremendous night, gentlemen, so by your leave I'll stir the +fire—and, yes, I seen him, poor Nutter—and, paugh, an ugly sight he +is, I can tell you; here Larry, bring me a rummer-glass of punch—his +right ear's gone, and a'most all his right hand—and screeching hot, do +you mind—an', phiew—altogether 'tis sickening—them fishes, you +know—I'm a'most sorry I went in—you remember Dogherty's whiskey shop +in Ringsend—he lies in the back parlour, and wondherful little changed +in appearance.'</p> + +<p>And so Mr. Spaight, with a little round table at his elbow, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> his +heels over the fender, sipped his steaming punch, and thawed inwardly +and outwardly, as he answered their questions and mixed in their +speculations.</p> + +<p>Up at the Mills, which had heard the awful news, first from the Widow +Macan, and afterwards from Pat Moran, the maids sat over their tea in +the kitchen in high excitement and thrilling chat—'The poor master!' +'Oh, the poor man!' 'Oh, la, what's that?' with a start and a peep over +the shoulders. 'And oh, dear, and how in the world will the poor little +misthress ever live over the news?' And so forth, made a principal part +of their talk. There was a good accompaniment of wind outside, and a +soft pelting of snow on the window panes, 'and oh, my dear life, but +wasn't it dark!'</p> + +<p>Up went Moggy, with her thick-wicked kitchen candle, to seek repose; and +Betty, resolving not to be long behind, waited only 'to wash up her +plates' and slack down the fire, having made up her mind, for she grew +more nervous in solitude, to share Moggy's bed for that night.</p> + +<p>Moggy had not been twenty minutes gone, and her task was nearly ended, +when—'Oh, blessed saints!' murmured Betty, with staring eyes, and +dropping the sweeping-brush on the flags, she heard, or thought she +heard, her master's step, which was peculiar, crossing the floor +overhead.</p> + +<p>She listened, herself as pale as a corpse, and nearly as breathless; but +there was nothing now but the muffled gusts of the storm, and the close +soft beat of the snow, so she listened and listened, but nothing came of +it.</p> + +<p>''Tis only the vapours,' said Betty, drawing a long breath, and doing +her best to be cheerful; and so she finished her labours, stopping every +now and then to listen, and humming tunes very loud, in fits and starts. +Then it came to her turn to take her candle and go up stairs; she was a +good half-hour later than Moggy—all was quiet within the house—only +the sound of the storm—the creak and rattle of its strain, and the +hurly-burly of the gusts over the roof and chimneys.</p> + +<p>Over her shoulder she peered jealously this way and that, as with +flaring candle she climbed the stairs. How black the window looked on +the lobby, with its white patterns of snow flakes in perpetual +succession sliding down the panes. Who could tell what horrid face might +be looking in close to her as she passed, secure in the darkness and +that drifting white lace veil of snow? So nimbly and lightly up the +stairs climbed Betty, the cook.</p> + +<p>If listeners seldom hear good of themselves, it is also true that +peepers sometimes see more than they like; and Betty, the cook, as she +reached the landing, glancing askance with ominous curiosity, beheld a +spectacle, the sight of which nearly bereft her of her senses.</p> + +<p>Crouching in the deep doorway on the right of the lobby, the cook, I +say, saw something—a figure—or a deep shadow—only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> a deep shadow—or +maybe a dog. She lifted the candle—she peeped under the candlestick: +'twas no shadow, as I live, 'twas a well-defined figure!</p> + +<p>He was draped in black, cowering low, with the face turned up. It was +Charles Nutter's face, fixed and stealthy. It was only while the +fascination lasted—while you might count one, two, three, +deliberately—that the horrid gaze met mutually. But there was no +mistake there. She saw the stern dark picture as plainly as ever she +did. The light glimmered on his white eye-balls.</p> + +<p>Starting up, he struck at the candle with his hat. She uttered a loud +scream, and flinging stick and all at the figure, with a great clang +against the door behind, all was swallowed in instantaneous darkness; +she whirled into the opposite bed-room she knew not how, and locked the +door within, and plunged head-foremost under the bed-clothes, half mad +with terror.</p> + +<p>The squall was heard of course. Moggy heard it, but she heeded not; for +Betty was known to scream at mice, and even moths. And as her door was +heard to slam, as was usual in panics of the sort, and as she returned +no answer, Moggy was quite sure there was nothing in it.</p> + +<p>But Moggy's turn was to come. When spirits 'walk,' I've heard they make +the most of their time, and sometimes pay a little round of visits on +the same evening.</p> + +<p>This is certain; Moggy was by no means so great a fool as Betty in +respect of hobgoblins, witches, banshees, pookas, and the world of +spirits in general. She eat heartily, and slept soundly, and as yet had +never seen the devil. Therefore such terrors as she that night +experienced were new to her, and I can't reasonably doubt the truth of +her narrative. Awaking suddenly in the night, she saw a light in the +room, and heard a quiet rustling going on in the corner, where the old +white-painted press showed its front from the wall. So Moggy popped her +head through her thin curtains at the side, and—blessed hour!—there +she saw the shape of a man looking into the press, the doors being wide +open, and the appearance of a key in the lock.</p> + +<p>The shape was very like her master. The saints between us and harm! The +glow was reflected back from the interior of the press, and showed the +front part of the figure in profile with a sharp line of light. She said +he had some sort of thick slippers over his boots, a dark coat, with the +cape buttoned, and a hat flapping over his face; coat and hat and all, +sprinkled over with snow.</p> + +<p>As if he heard the rustle of the curtain, he turned toward the bed, and +with an awful ejaculation she cried, ''Tis you, Sir!'</p> + +<p>'Don't stir, and you'll meet no harm,' he said, and over he posts to the +bedside, and he laid his cold hand on her wrist, and told her again to +be quiet, and for her life to tell no one what she had seen, and with +that she supposed she swooned away; for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> next thing she remembered +was listening in mortal fear, the room being all dark, and she heard a +sound at the press again, and then steps crossing the floor, and she +gave herself up for lost; but he did not come to the bedside any more, +and the tread passed out at the door, and so, as she thought, went down +stairs.</p> + +<p>In the morning the press was locked and the door shut, and the hall-door +and back-door locked, and the keys on the hall-table, where they had +left them the night before.</p> + +<p>You may be sure these two ladies were thankful to behold the gray light, +and hear the cheerful sounds of returning day; and it would be no easy +matter to describe which of the two looked most pallid, scared, and +jaded that morning, as they drank a hysterical dish of tea together in +the kitchen, close up to the window, and with the door shut, +discoursing, and crying, and praying over their tea-pot in miserable +companionship.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVIII.</h2> + +<h4>HOW AN EVENING PASSES AT THE ELMS, AND DR. TOOLE MAKES A LITTLE +EXCURSION; AND TWO CHOICE SPIRITS DISCOURSE, AND HEBE TRIPS IN WITH THE +NECTAR.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img071.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'U'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'U'" /></div><p>p at the Elms, little Lily that night was sitting in the snug, +old-fashioned room, with the good old rector. She was no better; still +in doctors' hands and weak, but always happy with him, and he more than +ever gentle and tender with her; for though he never would give place to +despondency, and was naturally of a trusting, cheery spirit, he could +not but remember his young wife, lost so early; and once or twice there +was a look—an outline—a light—something, in little Lily's fair, +girlish face, that, with a strange momentary agony, brought back the +remembrance of her mother's stricken beauty, and plaintive smile. But +then his darling's gay talk and pleasant ways would reassure him, and +she smiled away the momentary shadow.</p> + +<p>And he would tell her all sorts of wonders, old-world gaieties, long +before she was born; and how finely the great Mr. Handel played upon the +harpsichord in the Music Hall, and how his talk was in German, Latin, +French, English, Italian, and half-a-dozen languages besides, sentence +about; and how he remembered his own dear mother's dress when she went +to Lord Wharton's great ball at the castle—dear, oh! dear, how long ago +that was! And then he would relate stories of banshees, and robberies, +and ghosts, and hair-breadth escapes, and 'rapparees,' and adventures in +the wars of King James, which he heard told in his nonage by the old +folk, long vanished, who remembered those troubles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And now, darling,' said little Lily, nestling close to him, with a +smile, 'you <i>must</i> tell me all about that strange, handsome Mr. Mervyn; +who he is, and what his story.'</p> + +<p>'Tut, tut! little rogue——'</p> + +<p>'Yes, indeed, you must, and you will; you've kept your little Lily +waiting long enough for it, and she'll promise to tell nobody.'</p> + +<p>'Handsome he is, and strange, no doubt—it was a strange fancy that +funeral. Strange, indeed,' said the rector.</p> + +<p>'What funeral, darling?'</p> + +<p>'Why, yes, a funeral—the bringing his father's body to be laid here in +the vault, in my church; it is their family vault. 'Twas a folly; but +what folly will not young men do?'</p> + +<p>And the good parson poked the fire a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Mervyn—<i>not</i> Mervyn—that was his mother's name; but—see, you +must not mention it, Lily, if I tell you—<i>not</i> Mr. Mervyn, I say, but +my Lord Dunoran, the only son of that disgraced and blood-stained +nobleman, who, lying in gaol, under sentence of death for a foul and +cowardly murder, swallowed poison, and so closed his guilty life with a +tremendous crime, in its nature inexpiable. There, that's all, and too +much, darling.'</p> + +<p>'And was it very long ago?'</p> + +<p>'Why, 'twas before little Lily was born; and long before <i>that</i> I knew +him—only just a little. He used the Tiled House for a hunting-lodge, +and kept his dogs and horses there—a fine gentleman, but vicious, +always, I fear, and a gamester; an overbearing man, with a dangerous +cast of pride in his eye. You don't remember Lady Dunoran?—pooh, pooh, +what am I thinking of? No, to be sure! you could not. 'Tis from her, +chiefly, poor lady, he has his good looks. Her eyes were large, and very +peculiar, like <i>his</i>—his, you know, are very fine. She, poor lady, did +not live long after the public ruin of the family.'</p> + +<p>'And has he been recognised here? The townspeople are so curious.'</p> + +<p>'Why, dear child, not one of them ever saw him before. He's been lost +sight of by all but a few, a very few friends. My Lord Castlemallard, +who was his guardian, of course, knows; and to me he disclosed himself +by letter; and we keep his secret; though it matters little who knows +it, for it seems to me he's as unhappy as aught could ever make him. The +townspeople take him for his cousin, who squandered his fortune in +Paris; and how is he the better of their mistake, and how were he the +worse if they knew him for whom he is? 'Tis an unhappy family—a curse +haunts it. Young in years, old in vice, the wretched nobleman who lies +in the vault, by the coffin of that old aunt, scarcely better than +himself, whose guineas supplied his early profligacy—alas! he ruined +his ill-fated, beautiful cousin, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> she died heart-broken, and her +little child, both there—in that melancholy and contaminated house.'</p> + +<p>So he rambled on, and from one tale to another, till little Lily's early +bed-hour came.</p> + +<p>I don't know whether it was Doctor Walsingham's visit in the morning, +and the chance of hearing something about it, that prompted the unquiet +Tom Toole to roll his cloak about him, and buffet his way through storm +and snow, to Devereux's lodgings. It was only a stone's-throw; but even +that, on such a night, was no trifle.</p> + +<p>However, up he went to Devereux's drawing-room, and found its handsome +proprietor altogether in the dumps. The little doctor threw off his +sleety cloak and hat in the lobby, and stood before the officer fresh +and puffing, and a little flustered and dazzled after his romp with the +wind.</p> + +<p>Devereux got up and received him with a slight bow and no smile, and a +'Pray take a chair, Doctor Toole.'</p> + +<p>'Well, this <i>is</i> a bright fit of the dismals,' said little Toole, +nothing overawed. 'May I sit near the fire?'</p> + +<p>'Upon it,' said Devereux, sadly.</p> + +<p>'Thank'ee,' said Toole, clapping his feet on the fender, with a grin, +and making himself comfortable. 'May I poke it?'</p> + +<p>'Eat it—do as you please—anything—everything; play that fiddle +(pointing to the ruin of Puddock's guitar, which the lieutenant had left +on the table), or undress and go to bed, or get up and dance a minuet, +or take that pistol, with all my heart, and shoot me through the head.'</p> + +<p>'Thank'ee, again. A fine choice of amusements, I vow,' cried the jolly +doctor.</p> + +<p>'There, don't mind me, nor all I say, Toole. I'm, I suppose, in the +vapours; but, truly, I'm glad to see you, and I thank you, indeed I do, +heartily, for your obliging visit; 'tis very neighbourly. But, hang it, +I'm weary of the time—the world is a dull place. I'm tired of this +planet, and should not mind cutting my throat and trying a new star. +Suppose we make the journey together, Toole; there is a brace of pistols +over the chimney, and a fair wind for some of them.'</p> + +<p>'Rather too much of a gale for my taste, thanking you again,' answered +Toole with a cosy chuckle; 'but, if <i>you're</i> bent on the trip, and can't +wait, why, at least, let's have a glass together before parting.'</p> + +<p>'With all my heart, what you will. Shall it be punch?'</p> + +<p>'Punch be it. Come, hang saving; get us up a ha'porth of whiskey,' said +little Toole, gaily.</p> + +<p>'Hallo, Mrs. Irons, Madam, will you do us the favour to make a bowl of +punch as soon as may be?' cried Devereux, over the banister.</p> + +<p>'Come, Toole,' said Devereux, 'I'm very dismal. Losses and crosses, and +deuce knows what. Whistle or talk, what you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> please, I'll listen; tell +me anything; stories of horses, dogs, dice, snuff, women, cocks, +parsons, wine—what you will. Come, how's Sturk? He's beaten poor +Nutter, and won the race; though the stakes, after all, were scarce +worth taking—and what's life without a guinea?—he's grown, I'm told, +so confoundedly poor, "quis pauper? avarus." A worthy man was Sturk, +and, in some respects, resembled the prophet, <i>Shylock</i>; but you know +nothing of him—why the plague don't you read your Bible, Toole?'</p> + +<p>'Well,' said Toole, candidly, 'I don't know the Old Testament as well as +the New; but certainly, whoever he's like, he's held out wonderfully. +'Tis nine weeks since he met that accident, and there he's still, above +ground; but that's all—just above ground, you see.'</p> + +<p>'And how's Cluffe?'</p> + +<p>'Pooh, Cluffe indeed! Nothing ever wrong with him but occasional +over-eating. Sir, you'd a laughed to-day had you seen him. I gave him a +bolus, twice the size of a gooseberry. "What's this?" said he. "A +bolus," says I. "The devil," says he; "dia-bolus, then," says I—"hey?" +said I, "well?" ha! ha! and by Jove, Sir, it actually half stuck in his +œsophagus, and I shoved it down like a bullet, with a probang; you'd +a died a laughing, yet 'twasn't a bit too big. Why, I tell you, upon my +honour, Mrs. Rebecca Chattesworth's black boy, only t'other day, +swallowed a musket bullet twice the size, ha! ha!—he did—and I set him +to rights in no time with a little powder.'</p> + +<p>'Gunpowder?' said Devereux. 'And what of O'Flaherty? I'm told he was +going to shoot poor Miles O'More.'</p> + +<p>'Ha, ha! hey? Well, I don't think either remembered in the morning what +they quarrelled about,' replied Toole; 'so it went off in smoke, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Well, and how is Miles?'</p> + +<p>'Why, ha, ha! he's back again, with a bill, as usual, and a horse to +sell—a good one—the black one, don't you remember? He wants five and +thirty guineas; 'tisn't worth two pounds ten. "Do you know anyone who +wants him? I would not mind taking a bill, with a couple of good names +upon it," says he. Upon my credit I believe he thought I'd buy him +myself. "Well," says I, "I think I do know a fellow that would give you +his value, and pay you cash besides," says I. 'Twas as good as a play to +see his face. "Who is he?" says he, taking me close by the arm. "The +knacker," says I. 'Twas a bite for Miles; hey? ha, ha, ha!'</p> + +<p>'And is it true old Tresham's going to join our club at last?'</p> + +<p>'He! hang him! he's like a brute beast, and never drinks but when he's +dry, and then small beer. But, I forgot to tell you, by all that's +lovely, they do say the charming Magnolia<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>—a fine bouncing girl +that—is all but betrothed to Lieutenant O'Flaherty.'</p> + +<p>Devereux laughed, and thus encouraged, Toole went on, with a wink and a +whisper.</p> + +<p>'Why, the night of the ball, you know, he saw her home, and they say he +kissed her—by Bacchus, on both sides of the face,—at the door there, +under the porch; and you know, if he had not a right, she'd a-knocked +him down.'</p> + +<p>'Psha! the girl's a Christian, and when she's smacked on one cheek she +turns the other. And what says the major to it?'</p> + +<p>'Why, as it happened, he opened the door precisely as the thing +occurred; and he wished Lieutenant O'Flaherty good-night, and paid him a +visit in the morning. And they say 'tis all satisfactory; and—by Jove! +'tis good punch.' And Mrs. Irons entered with a china bowl on a tray.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIX.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING A SECOND HURRICANE THAT RAGED IN CAPTAIN DEVEREUX'S +DRAWING-ROOM, AND RELATING HOW MRS. IRONS WAS ATTACKED WITH A SORT OF +CHOKING IN HER BED.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>nd the china bowl, with its silver ladle, and fine fragrance of lemon +and old malt whiskey, and a social pair of glasses, were placed on the +table by fair Mistress Irons; and Devereux filled his glass, and Toole +did likewise; and the little doctor rattled on; and Devereux threw in +his word, and finally sang a song. 'Twas a ballad, with little in the +words; but the air was sweet and plaintive, and so was the singer's +voice:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'A star so High,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In my sad sky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've early loved and late:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A clear lone star,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Serene and far,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doth rule my wayward fate.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Tho' dark and chill</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The night be still,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A light comes up for me:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In eastern skies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My star doth rise,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fortune dawns for me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'And proud and bold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My way I hold;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For o'er me high I see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In night's deep blue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My star shine true,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fortune beams on me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Now onward still,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Thro' dark and chill,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lonely way must be;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In vain regret,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My star will set,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fortune's dark for me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'And whether glad,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or proud, or sad,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or howsoe'er I be;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In dawn or noon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or setting soon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My star, I'll follow thee.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And so there was a pause and a silence. In the silvery notes of the +singer there was the ring of a prophecy; and Toole half read its +meaning. And himself loving a song, and being soft over his music, he +remained fixed for a few seconds, and then sighed, smiling, and dried +his light blue eyes covertly; and he praised the song and singer +briskly; and sighed again, with his fingers on the stem of his glass. +And by this time Devereux had drawn the window-curtain, and was looking +across the river, through the darkness, towards the Elms, perhaps for +that solitary distant light—his star—now blurred and lost in the +storm. Whatever his contemplations, it was plain, when he turned about, +that the dark spirit was upon him again.</p> + +<p>'Curse that punch,' said he, in language still more emphatic. 'You're +like Mephistopheles in the play—you come in upon my quiet to draw me to +my ruin. 'Twas the devil sent you here, to kill my soul, I believe; but +you sha'n't. <i>Drink</i>, will you?—ay—I'll give you a draught—a draught +of <i>air</i> will cool you. Drink to your heart's content.'</p> + +<p>And to Toole's consternation up went the window, and a hideous rush of +eddying storm and snow whirled into the room. Out went the candles—the +curtains flapped high in air, and lashed the ceiling—the door banged +with a hideous crash—papers, and who knows what beside, went spinning, +hurry-scurry round the room; and Toole's wig was very near taking wing +from his head.</p> + +<p>'Hey—hey—hey! holloo!' cried the doctor, out of breath, and with his +artificial ringlets frisking about his chops and eyes.</p> + +<p>'Out, sorcerer—temptation, begone—avaunt, Mephistopheles—cauldron, +away!' thundered the captain; and sure enough, from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> the open window, +through the icy sleet, whirled the jovial bowl; and the jingle of the +china was heard faint through the tempest.</p> + +<p>Toole was swearing, in the whirlwind and darkness, like a trooper.</p> + +<p>'Thank Heaven! 'tis gone,' continued Devereux; 'I'm safe—no thanks to +you, though; and, hark ye, doctor, I'm best alone; leave me—leave me, +pray—and pray forgive me.'</p> + +<p>The doctor groped and stumbled out of the room, growling all the while, +and the door slammed behind him with a crash like a cannon.</p> + +<p>'The fellow's brain's disordered—<i>delirium tremens</i>, and jump out of +that cursed window, I wouldn't wonder,' muttered the doctor, adjusting +his wig on the lobby, and then calling rather mildly over the banisters, +he brought up Mrs. Irons with a candle, and found his cloak, hat, and +cane; and with a mysterious look beckoned that matron to follow him, and +in the hall, winking up towards the ceiling at the spot where Devereux +might at the moment be presumed to be standing—</p> + +<p>'I say, has he been feverish or queer, or—eh?—any way humorsome or out +of the way?' And then—'See now, you may as well have an eye after him, +and if you remark anything strange, don't fail to let me know—d'ye see? +and for the present you had better get him to shut his window and light +his candles.'</p> + +<p>And so the doctor, wrapped in his mantle, plunged into the hurricane and +darkness; and was sensible, with a throb of angry regret, of a whiff of +punch rising from the footpath, as he turned the corner of the steps.</p> + +<p>An hour later, Devereux being alone, called to Mrs. Irons, and receiving +her with a courteous gravity, he said—</p> + +<p>'Madam, will you be so good as to lend me your Bible?'</p> + +<p>Devereux was prosecuting his reformation, which, as the reader sees, had +set in rather tempestuously, but was now settling in serenity and calm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Irons only said—</p> + +<p>'My——?' and then paused, doubting her ears.</p> + +<p>'Your <i>Bible</i>, if you please, Madam.'</p> + +<p>'Oh?—oh! my Bible? I—to be sure, captain, jewel,' and she peeped at +his face, and loitered for a while at the door, for she had unpleasant +misgivings about him, and did not know what to make of his request, so +utterly without parallel. She'd have fiddled at the door some time +longer, speculating about his sanity, but that Devereux turned full upon +her with a proud stare, and rising, he made her a slight bow, and said: +'I <i>thank</i> you, Madam,' with a sharp courtesy, that said: 'avaunt, and +quit my sight!' so sternly, though politely, that she vanished on the +instant; and down stairs she marvelled with Juggy Byrne, 'what the puck +the captain could want of a Bible! Upon my conscience it sounds well. +It's what he's not right in his head,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> I'm afeared. A Bible!'—and an +aërial voice seemed to say, 'a pistol,' and another, 'a coffin,'—'An' +I'm sure I wish that quare little Lieutenant Puddock id come up and keep +him company. I dunno' what's come over him.'</p> + +<p>And they tumbled about the rattletraps under the cupboard, and rummaged +the drawers in search of the sacred volume. For though Juggy said there +was no such thing, and never had been in her time, Mrs. Irons put her +down with asperity. It was not to be found, however, and the matron +thought she remembered that old Mrs. Legge's cook had borrowed it some +time ago for a charm. So she explained the accident to Captain Devereux, +who said—</p> + +<p>'I thank you, Madam; 'tis no matter. I wish you a good-night, Madam;' +and the door closed.</p> + +<p>'No Bible!' said Devereux, 'the old witch!'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Irons, as you remember, never spared her rhetoric, which was +fierce, shrill, and fluent, when the exercise of that gift was called +for. The parish clerk bore it with a cynical and taciturn patience, not, +perhaps, so common as it should be in his sex; and this night, when she +awoke, and her eyes rested on the form of her husband at her bedside, +with a candle lighted, and buckling on his shoes, with his foot on the +chair, she sat up straight in her bed, wide awake in an instant, for it +was wonderful how the sight of that meek man roused the wife in her +bosom, especially after an absence, and she had not seen him since four +o'clock that evening; so you may suppose his reception was warm, and her +expressions every way worthy of her feelings.</p> + +<p>Meek Irons finished buckling that shoe, and then lifted the other to the +edge of the chair, and proceeded to do the like for it, serenely, after +his wont, and seeming to hear nothing. So Mrs. Irons proceeded, as was +her custom when that patient person refused to be roused—she grasped +his collar near his cheek, meaning to shake him into attention.</p> + +<p>But instantly, as the operation commenced, the clerk griped her with his +long, horny fingers by the throat, with a snap so sure and energetic +that not a cry, not a gasp even, or a wheeze, could escape through 'the +trachea,' as medical men have it; and her face and forehead purpled up, +and her eyes goggled and glared in her head; and her husband looked so +insanely wicked, that, as the pale picture darkened before her, and she +heard curse after curse, and one foul name after another hiss off his +tongue, like water off a hot iron, in her singing ears, she gave herself +up for lost. He closed this exercise by chucking her head viciously +against the board of the bed half-a-dozen times, and leaving her +thereafter a good deal more confused even than on the eventful evening +when he had first declared his love.</p> + +<p>So soon as she came a little to herself, and saw him coolly buttoning +his leggings at the bedside, his buckles being adjusted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> by this time, +her fear subsided, or rather her just indignation rose above it, and +drowned it; and she was on the point of breaking out afresh, only in a +way commensurate with her wrongs, and proportionately more formidable; +when, on the first symptom of attack, he clutched her, if possible, +tighter, the gaping, goggling, purpling, the darkening of vision and +humming in ears, all recommenced; likewise the knocking of her head with +improved good-will, and, spite of her struggles and scratching, the +bewildered lady, unused to even a show of insurrection, underwent the +same horrid series of sensations at the hands of her rebellious lord.</p> + +<p>When they had both had enough of it, Mr. Irons went on with his +buttoning, and his lady gradually came to. This time, however, she was +effectually frightened—too much so even to resort to hysterics, for she +was not quite sure that when he had buttoned the last button of his left +legging he might not resume operations, and terminate their conjugal +relations.</p> + +<p>Therefore, being all of a tremble, with her hands clasped, and too much +terrified to cry, she besought Irons, whose bodily strength surprised +her, for her life, and his pale, malign glance, askew over his shoulder, +held her with a sort of a spell that was quite new to her—in fact, she +had never respected Irons so before.</p> + +<p>When he had adjusted his leggings, he stood lithe and erect at the +bedside, and with his fist at her face, delivered a short charge, the +point of which was, that unless she lay like a mouse till morning he'd +have her life, though he hanged for it. And with that he drew the +curtain, and was hidden from her sight for some time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXX.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR IS SEEN. IN THE CEDAR-PARLOUR OF THE +TILED HOUSE, AND THE STORY OF MR. BEAUCLERC AND THE 'FLOWER DE LUCE' +BEGINS TO BE UNFOLDED.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t was an awful night, indeed, on which all this occurred, and that +apparition had shown itself up at the Mills. And truly it would seem the +devil had business on his hands, for in the cedar-parlour of the Tiled +House another unexpected manifestation occurred just about the same +hour.</p> + +<p>What gentleman is there of broken fortunes, undefined rights, and in +search of evidence, without a legal adviser of some sort? Mr. Mervyn, of +course, had his, and paid for the luxury according to custom. And every +now and then off went a despatch from the Tiled House to the oracular +London attorney; sometimes it was a budget of evidence, and sometimes +only a string of queries. To-night, to the awful diapason of the +storm—he was penning one of these—the fruit of a tedious study of many +papers and letters, tied up in bundles by his desk, all of them redolent +of ominous or fearful associations.</p> + +<p>I don't know why it is the hours fly with such a strange celerity in the +monotony and solitude of such nightwork. But Mervyn was surprised, as +many a one similarly occupied has been, on looking at his watch, to find +that it was now long past midnight; so he threw himself back in his +chair with a sigh, and thought how vainly his life was speeding away, +and heard, with a sort of wonder, how mad was the roar of the storm +without, while he had quietly penned his long rescript undisturbed.</p> + +<p>The wild bursts of supernatural fury and agony which swell and mingle in +a hurricane, I dare say, led his imagination a strange aërial journey +through the dark. Now it was the baying of hell hounds, and the long +shriek of the spirit that flies before them. Anon it was the bellowing +thunder of an ocean, and the myriad voices of shipwreck. And the old +house quivering from base to cornice under the strain; and then there +would come a pause, like a gasp, and the tempest once more rolled up, +and the same mad hubbub shook and clamoured at the windows.</p> + +<p>So he let his Pegasus spread his pinions on the blast, and mingled with +the wild rout that peopled the darkness; or, in plainer words, he +abandoned his fancy to the haunted associations of the hour, the storm, +and the house, with a not unpleasant horror. In one of these momentary +lulls of the wind, there came a sharp, distinct knocking on the +window-pane. He re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>membered with a thrill the old story of the +supernatural hand which had troubled that house, and began its pranks at +this very window.</p> + +<p>Ay, ay, 'twas the impatient rapping of a knuckle on the glass quite +indisputably.</p> + +<p>It is all very well weaving the sort of dream or poem with which Mervyn +was half amusing and half awing himself, but the sensation is quite +different when a questionable sound or sight comes uninvited to take the +matter out of the province of our fancy and the control of our will. +Mervyn found himself on his legs, and listening in a less comfortable +sort of horror, with his gaze fixed in the direction of that small sharp +knocking. But the storm was up again, and drowning every other sound in +its fury.</p> + +<p>If Mr. Mervyn had been sufficiently frightened, he would have forthwith +made good his retreat to his bed-room, or, if he had not been frightened +at all, he would have kept his seat, and allowed his fancies to return +to their old channel. But, in fact, he took a light in his hand, and +opened a bit of the window-shutter. The snow, however, was spread over +the panes in a white, sliding curtain, that returned the light of his +candle, and hid all without. 'Twas idle trying to peer through it, but +as he did, the palm of a hand was suddenly applied to the glass on the +outside, and began briskly to rub off the snow, as if to open a +peep-hole for distinct inspection.</p> + +<p>It was to be more this time than the apparition of a hand—a human face +was immediately presented close to the glass—not that of Nutter +either—no—it was the face of Irons—pale, with glittering eyes and +blue chin, and wet hair quivering against the glass in the storm.</p> + +<p>He nodded wildly to Mervyn, brushing away the snow, beckoning towards +the back-door, as he supported himself on one knee on the window-stone, +and, with his lips close to the glass, cried, 'let me in;' but, in the +uproar of the storm, it was by his gestures, imperfectly as they were +seen, rather than by his words, that Mervyn comprehended his meaning.</p> + +<p>Down went Mr. Mervyn, without a moment's hesitation, leaving the candle +standing on the passage table, drew the bolts, opened the door, and in +rushed Irons, in a furious gust, his cloak whirling about his head +amidst a bitter eddying of snow, and a distant clapping of doors +throughout the house.</p> + +<p>The door secured again, Mr. Irons stood in his beflaked and dripping +mantle, storm-tossed, dishevelled, and alone once again in the shelter +of the Tiled House, to explain the motive of his visit.</p> + +<p>'Irons! I could hardly believe it,' and Mervyn made a pause, and then, +filled with the one idea, he vehemently demanded, 'In Heaven's name, +have you come to tell me all you know?'</p> + +<p>'Well, maybe—no,' answered the clerk: 'I don't know; I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> tell you +something. I'm going, you see, and I came here on my way; and I'll tell +you more than last time, but not all—not all yet.'</p> + +<p>'Going? and where?—what are your plans?'</p> + +<p>'Plans?—I've <i>no</i> plans. Where am I going!—nowhere—anywhere. I'm +going away, that's all.'</p> + +<p>'You're leaving this place—eh, to return no more?'</p> + +<p>'I'm leaving it to-night; I've the doctor's leave, Parson Walsingham. +What d'ye look at, Sir? d'ye think it's what I murdered any one? not but +if I stayed here I might though,' and Mr. Irons laughed a frightened, +half maniacal sort of laugh. 'I'm going for a bit, a fortnight, or so, +maybe, till things get quiet—(lead us not into temptation!)—to +Mullingar, or anywhere; only I won't stay longer at hell's door, within +stretch of that devil's long arm.'</p> + +<p>'Come to the parlour,' said Mervyn, perceiving that Irons was chilled +and shivering.</p> + +<p>There, with the door and window-shutters closed, a pair of candles on +the table, and a couple of faggots of that pleasant bog-wood, which +blazes so readily and fragrantly on the hearth, Irons shook off his +cloak, and stood, lank and grim, and, as it seemed to Mervyn, horribly +scared, but well in view, and trying, sullenly, to collect his thoughts.</p> + +<p>'I'm going away, I tell you, for a little while; but I'm come to see +you, Sir, to think what I may tell you now, and above all, to warn you +again' saying to any living soul one word of what passed between us when +I last was here; you've kept your word honourable as yet; if you break +it I'll not return,' and he clenched it with an oath, 'I <i>daren't</i> +return.'</p> + +<p>'I'll tell you the way it happened,' he resumed. ''Tis a good while now, +ay twenty-two years; your noble father's dead these twenty-two years and +upwards. 'Twas a bad murdher, Sir: they wor both bad murdhers. I look on +it, <i>he's</i> a murdhered man.'</p> + +<p>'He—who?' demanded the young man.</p> + +<p>'Your father, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'My father murdered?' said Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'Well, I see no great differ; I see none at all. I'll tell you how it +was.'</p> + +<p>And he looked over his shoulder again, and into the corners of the room, +and then Mr. Irons began—</p> + +<p>'I believe, Sir, there's no devil like a vicious young man, with a hard +heart and cool courage, in want of money. Of all the men I ever met +with, or heard tell of, Charles Archer was the most dreadful. I used +sometimes to think he <i>was</i> the devil. It wasn't long-headed or cunning +he was, but he knew your thoughts before you half knew them yourself. He +knew what <i>every</i> one was thinking of. He made up his mind at a glance, +and struck like a thunderbolt. As for pity or fear, he did not know what +they were, and his cunning was so deep and sure there was no catching +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> + +<p>'He came down to the Pied Horse Inn, where I was a drawer, at Newmarket, +twice.'</p> + +<p>Mervyn looked in his face, quickly, with a ghastly kind of a start.</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir, av coorse you know it; you read the trial; av coorse you did. +Well, he came down there twice. 'Twas a good old house, Sir, lots of +room, and a well-accustomed inn. An' I think there was but two bad men +among all the servants of the house—myself and Glascock. He was an +under hostler, and a bad boy. He chose us two out of the whole lot, with +a look. He never made a mistake. He knew us some way like a crow knows +carrion, and he used us cleverly.'</p> + +<p>And Irons cursed him.</p> + +<p>'He's a hard master, like his own,' said Irons; 'his wages come to +nothing, and his services is hell itself. He could sing, and talk, and +drink, and keep things stirring, and the gentlemen liked him; and he +was, 'twas said, a wonderful fine player at whist, and piquet, and +ombre, and all sorts of card-playing. So you see he could afford to play +fair. The first time he came down, he fought three duels about a tipsy +quarrel over a pool of Pope Joan. There was no slur on his credit, +though; 'twas just a bit of temper. He wounded all three; two but +trifling; but one of them—Chapley, or Capley, I think, was his +name—through the lungs, and he died, I heard, abroad. I saw him +killed—'twasn't the last; it was done while you'd count ten. Mr. Archer +came up with a sort of a sneer, pale and angry, and 'twas a clash of the +small swords—one, two, three, and a spring like a tiger—and all over. +He was frightful strong; ten times as strong as he looked—all a +deception.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, there was a Jew came down, offering wagers, not, you see, to +gentlemen, Sir, but to poor fellows. And Mr. Archer put me and Glascock +up to bite him, as he said; and he told us to back Strawberry, and we +did. We had that opinion of his judgment and his knowledge—you see, we +thought he had ways of finding out these things—that we had no doubt of +winning, so we made a wager of twelve pounds. But we had no money—not a +crown between us—and we must stake gold with the host of the "Plume of +Feathers;" and the long and the short of it was, I never could tell how +he put it into our heads, to pledge some of the silver spoons and a gold +chain of the master's, intending to take them out when we won the money. +Well, Strawberry lost, and we were left in the lurch. So we told Mr. +Archer how it was; for he was an off-handed man when he had anything in +view, and he told us, as we thought, he'd help us if we lost. "Help +you," says he, with a sort of laugh he had, "I want help myself; I +haven't a guinea, and I'm afraid you'll be hanged: and then," says he, +"stay a bit, and I'll find a way."</p> + +<p>'I think he <i>was</i> in a bad plight just then himself; he was awful +expensive with horses and—and—other things; and I think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> there was a +writ, or maybe more, out against him, from other places, and he wanted a +lump of money in his hand to levant with, and go abroad. Well, listen, +and don't be starting, or making a row, Sir,' and a sulky, lowering, +hang-dog shadow, came over Irons. 'Your father, Lord Dunoran, played +cards; his partner was Mr. Charles Archer. Whist it was—with a +gentleman of the name of Beauclerc, and I forget the other—he wore a +chocolate suit, and a black wig. 'Twas I carried them their wine. Well, +Mr. Beauclerc won, and Mr. Archer stopped playing, for he had lost +enough; and the gentleman in the chocolate—what was his name?—Edwards, +I think—ay, 'twas—<i>yes</i>, Edwards, it was—was tired, and turned +himself about to the fire, and took a pipe of tobacco; and my lord, your +father, played piquet with Mr. Beauclerc; and he lost a power of money +to him, Sir; and, by bad luck, he paid a great part of it, as they +played, in rouleaus of gold, for he had won at the dice down stairs. +Well, Mr. Beauclerc was a little hearty, and he grew tired, and was for +going to bed. But my lord was angry, and being disguised with liquor +too, he would not let him go till they played more; and play they did, +and the luck still went the same way; and my lord grew fierce over it, +and cursed and drank, and that did not mend his luck you may be sure; +and at last Mr. Beauclerc swears he'd play no more; and both kept +talking together, and neither heard well what t'other said; but there +was some talk about settling the dispute in the morning.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, in goes Mr. Beauclerc, staggering—his room was the Flower +de luce—and down he throws himself, clothes an' all, on his bed; and +then my lord turned on Mr. <i>Edwards</i>, I'm sure that was his name, and +persuades him to play at piquet; and to it they went.</p> + +<p>'As I was coming in with more wine, I meets Mr. Archer coming out, "Give +them their wine," says he, in a whisper, "and follow me." An' so I did. +"You know something of Glascock, and have a fast hold of him," says he, +"and tell him quietly to bring up Mr. Beauclerc's boots, and come back +along with him; and bring me a small glass of rum." And back he goes +into the room where the two were stuck in their cards, and talking and +thinking of nothing else.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXI.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. IRONS'S NARRATIVE REACHES MERTON MOOR.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'W'" /></div><p>ell, I did as he bid me, and set the glass of rum before him, and in +place of drinking it, he follows me out. "I told you," says he, "I'd +find a way, and I'm going to give you fifty guineas apiece. Stand you at +the stair-head," says he to Glascock, "and listen; and if you hear +anyone coming, step into Mr. Beauclerc's room with his boots, do you +see, for I'm going to rob him." I thought I'd a fainted, and Glascock, +that was a tougher lad than me, was staggered; but Mr. Archer had a way +of taking you by surprise, and getting you into a business before you +knew where you were going. "I see, Sir," says Glascock. "And come you +in, and I'll do it," says Mr. Archer, and in we went, and Mr. Beauclerc +was fast asleep.</p> + +<p>'I don't like talking about it,' said Irons, suddenly and savagely, and +he got up and walked, with a sort of a shrug of the shoulders, to and +fro half-a-dozen times, like a man who has a chill, and tries to make +his blood circulate.</p> + +<p>Mervyn commanded himself, for he knew the man would return to his tale, +and probably all the sooner for being left to work off his transient +horror how he might.</p> + +<p>'Well, he did rob him, and I often thought how cunningly, for he took no +more than about half his gold, well knowing, I'm now sure, neither he +nor my lord, your father, kept any count; and there was a bundle of +notes in his pocket-book, which Mr. Archer was thinning swiftly, when +all of a sudden, like a ghost rising, up sits Mr. Beauclerc, an unlucky +rising it was for him, and taking him by the collar—he was a powerful +strong man—"You've robbed me, Archer," says he. I was behind Mr. +Archer, and I could not see what happened, but Mr. Beauclerc made a sort +of a start and a kick out with his foot, and seemed taken with a tremble +all over, for while you count three, and he fell back in the bed with +his eyes open, and Mr. Archer drew a thin long dagger out of the dead +man's breast, for dead he was.</p> + +<p>"What are you afraid of, you —— fool?" says he, shaking me up; "I know +what I'm about; I'll carry you through; your life's in my hands, mine in +yours, only be cool." He was that himself, if ever man was, and quick as +light he closed the dead man's eyes, saying, "in for a penny in for a +pound," and he threw a bit of the coverlet over his breast, and his +mouth and chin, just as a man might draw it rolling round in the bed, +for I suppose he thought it best to hide the mouth that was open, and +told its tale too plainly, and out he was on the lobby the next<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +instant. "Don't tell Glascock what's happened, 'twill make him look +queer; let him put in the boots, and if he's asked, say Mr. Beauclerc +made a turn in the bed, and a grumbling, like a man turning over in his +sleep, while he was doing so, d'ye see, and divide this, 'twill settle +your little trouble, you know." 'Twas a little paper roll of a hundred +guineas. An' that's the way Mr. Beauclerc came by his death.'</p> + +<p>This to Mervyn was the sort of shock that might have killed an older +man. The dreadful calamity that had stigmatised and beggared his +family—the horror and shame of which he well remembered, when first +revealed to him, had held him trembling and tongue-tied for more than an +hour before tears came to his relief, and which had ever since blackened +his sky, with a monotony of storm and thunder, was in a moment shown to +be a chimera. No wonder that he was for a while silent, stunned, and +bewildered. At last he was able—pale and cold—to lift up his clasped +hands, his eyes, and his heart, in awful gratitude, to the Author of +Mercy, the Revealer of Secrets, the Lord of Life and Truth.</p> + +<p>'And where is this Charles Archer—is he dead or living?' urged Mervyn +with an awful adjuration.</p> + +<p>'Ay, where to catch him, and how—Dead? Well, he's dead to some, you +see, and living to others; and living or dead, I'll put you on his track +some fine day, if you're true to me; but not yet awhile, and if you turn +a stag, or name my name to living soul (and here Mr. Irons swore an oath +such as I hope parish clerks don't often swear, and which would have +opened good Dr. Walsingham's eyes with wonder and horror), you'll never +hear word more from me, and I think, Sir, you'll lose your life beside.'</p> + +<p>'Your threats of violence are lost on me, I can take care of myself,' +said Mervyn, haughtily.</p> + +<p>The clerk smiled a strange sort of smile.</p> + +<p>'But I've already pledged my sacred honour not to mention your name or +betray your secret.'</p> + +<p>'Well, just have patience, and maybe I'll not keep you long; but 'tis no +trifle for a man to make up his mind to what's before <i>me</i>, maybe.'</p> + +<p>After a pause, Irons resumed—</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, you see, Mr. Archer sat down by the fire and smoked a pipe, +and was as easy and pleased, you'd say, to look on him, as a man need +be; and he called for cards when my lord wanted them, and whatever else +he needed, making himself busy and bustling—as I afterwards thought to +make them both remember well that he was in the room with them.</p> + +<p>'In and out of the chamber I went with one thing or another, and every +time I passed Mr. Beauclerc's room I grew more and more frightened; and, +truth to say, I was a scared man, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> don't know how I got through my +business; every minute expecting to hear the outcry from the dead man's +room.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Edwards had an appointment, he said—nothing good, you may be +sure—they were a rake-helly set—saving your presence. Neither he nor +my lord had lost, I believe, anything to signify to one another; and my +lord, your father, made no difficulty about his going away, but began to +call again for Mr. Beauclerc, and to curse him—as a half-drunk man +will, making a power of noise; and, "Where's he gone to?" and, "Where's +his room?" and, "—— him, he shall play, or fight me." You see, Sir, he +had lost right and left that time, and was an angry man, and the liquor +made him half mad; and I don't think he knew rightly what he was doing. +And out on the lobby with him swearing he should give him his revenge, +or he'd know the reason why.</p> + +<p>"Where's Mr. Beauclerc's room?" he shouts to me, as if he'd strike me; I +did not care a rush about that, but I was afraid to say—it stuck in my +throat like—and I stared at Mr. Archer; and he calls to the +chamber-maid, that was going up stairs, "Where does Mr. Beauclerc lie?" +and she, knowing him, says at once, "The Flower de luce," and pointed to +the room; and with that, my lord staggered up to the door, with his +drawn sword in hand, bawling on him to come out, and fumbling with the +pin; he could not open it; so he knocked it open with a kick, and in +with him, and Mr. Archer at his elbow, soothing him like; and I, I don't +know how—behind him.</p> + +<p>'By this time he had worked himself into a mad passion, and says he, +"Curse your foxing—if you won't play like a man, you may die like a +dog." I think 'twas them words ruined him; the chamber-maid heard them +outside; and he struck Mr. Beauclerc half-a-dozen blows with the side of +the small-sword across the body, here and there, quite unsteady; and +"Hold, my lord, you've hurt him," cries Mr. Archer, as loud as he could +cry. "Put up your sword for Heaven's sake," and he makes a sort of +scuffle with my lord, in a friendly way, to disarm him, and push him +away, and "Throw down the coverlet and see where he's wounded," says he +to me; and so I did, and there was a great pool of blood—<i>we</i> knew all +about that—and my lord looked shocked when he seen it. "I did not mean +that," says my lord; "but," says he, with a sulky curse, "he's well +served."</p> + +<p>'I don't know whether Glascock was in the room or not all this while, +maybe he was; at any rate, he swore to it afterwards; but you've read +the trial, I warrant. The room was soon full of people. The dead man was +still warm—'twas well for us. So they raised him up; and one was for +trying one thing, and another; and my lord was sitting stupid-like all +this time by the wall; and up he gets, and says he, "I hope he's not +dead, but if he be, upon my honour, 'tis an accident—no more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> I call +Heaven to witness, and the persons who are now present; and pledge my +sacred honour, as a peer, I meant no more than a blow or two."</p> + +<p>"You hear, gentlemen, what my lord says, he meant only a blow or two, +and not to take his life," cries Mr. Archer.</p> + +<p>'So my lord repeats it again, cursing and swearing, like St. Peter in +the judgment hall.</p> + +<p>'So, as nobody was meddling with my lord, out he goes, intending, I +suppose, to get away altogether, if he could. But Mr. Underwood missed +him, and he says, "Gentlemen, where's my Lord Dunoran? we must not +suffer him to depart;" and he followed him—two or three others going +along with him, and they met him with his hat and cloak on, in the +lobby, and he says, stepping between him and the stairs,—</p> + +<p>'"My lord, you must not go, until we see how this matter ends."</p> + +<p>'"Twill end well enough," says he, and without more ado he walks back +again.</p> + +<p>'So you know the rest—<i>how</i> that business ended, at least for him.'</p> + +<p>'And you are that very Zekiel Irons who was a witness on the trial?' +said Mervyn, with a peculiar look of fear and loathing fixed on him.</p> + +<p>'The same,' said Irons, doggedly; and after a pause, 'but I swore to +very little; and all I said was true—though it wasn't the whole truth. +Look to the trial, Sir, and you'll see 'twas Mr. Archer and Glascock +that swore home against my lord—not I. And I don't think myself, +Glascock was in the room at all when it happened—so I don't.'</p> + +<p>'And where <i>is</i> that wretch, Glascock, and that double murderer Archer; +where is <i>he?</i>'</p> + +<p>'Well, Glascock's making clay.'</p> + +<p>'What do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'Under ground, this many a day. Listen: Mr. Archer went up to London, +and he was staying at the Hummums, and Glascock agreed with me to leave +the "Pied Horse." We were both uneasy, and planned to go up to London +together; and what does he do—nothing less would serve him—but he +writes a sort of letter, asking money of Mr. Archer under a threat. +This, you know, was after the trial. Well, there came no answer; but +after a while—all on a sudden—Mr. Archer arrives himself at the "Pied +Horse;" I did not know then that Glascock had writ to him—for he meant +to keep whatever he might get to himself. "So," says Mr. Archer to me, +meeting me by the pump in the stable-yard, "that was a clever letter you +and Glascock wrote to me in town."</p> + +<p>'So I told him 'twas the first I heard of it.</p> + +<p>'"Why," says he, "do you mean to tell me you don't want money?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I don't know why it was, but a sort of a turn came over me and I said, +"<i>No</i>."</p> + +<p>'"Well," says he, "I'm going to sell a horse, and I expect to be paid +to-morrow; you and Glascock must wait for me outside"—I think the name +of the village was Merton—I'm not sure, for I never seen it before or +since—"and I'll give you some money then."</p> + +<p>'"I'll have none," says I.</p> + +<p>'"What, no money?" says he. "Come, come."</p> + +<p>'"I tell you, Sir, I'll have none," says I. Something, you see, came +over me, and I was more determined than ever. I was always afeard of +him, but I feared him like Beelzebub now. "I've had enough of your +money, Sir; and I tell you what, Mr. Archer, I think 'tis best to end +our dealings, and I'd rather, if you please, Sir, never trouble you +more."</p> + +<p>'"You're a queer dog," says he, with his eye fast on me, and musing for +a while—as if he could see into my brain, and was diverted by what he +found there;—"you're a queer dog, Irons. Glascock knows the world +better, you see; and as you and he are going up to London together, and +I must give the poor devil a lift, I'll meet you at the other side of +Merton, beyond the quarry—you know the moor—on Friday evening, after +dark—say seven o'clock—we must be quiet, you know, or people will be +talking."</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, we met him, sure enough, at the time and place.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE APPARITION OF MR. IRONS IS SWALLOWED IN DARKNESS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>was a darkish night—very little moon—and he made us turn off the +road, into the moor—black and ugly it looked, stretching away four or +five miles, all heath and black peat, stretches of little broken +hillocks, and a pool or tarn every now and again. An' he kept looking +back towards the road, and not a word out of him. Well, I did not like +meeting him at all if I could help it, but I was in dread of him; and I +thought he might suppose I was plotting mischief if I refused. So I made +up my mind to do as he bid me for the nonce, and then have done with +him.</p> + +<p>'By this time we were in or about a mile from the road, and we got over +a low rising ground, and back nor forward, nor no way could we see +anything but the moor; and I stopped all of a sudden, and says I, "We're +far enough, I'll go no further."</p> + +<p>'"Good," says Mr. Archer; "but let's go yonder, where the stones are—we +can sit as we talk—for I'm tired."</p> + +<p>'There was half-a-dozen white stones there by the side of one of these +black tarns. We none of us talked much on that walk over the moor. We +had enough to think of, each of us, I dare say.</p> + +<p>'"This will do," says Mr. Archer, stopping beside the pool; but he did +not sit, though the stones were there. "Now, Glascock, here I am, with +the price of my horse in my pocket; what do you want?"</p> + +<p>'Well, when it came to the point so sudden, Glascock looked a bit shy, +and hung his head, and rowled his shoulders, and shuffled his feet a +bit, thinking what he'd say.</p> + +<p>'"Hang it, man; what are you afraid of? we're friends," says Mr. Archer, +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>'"Surely, Sir," says Glascock, "I did not mean aught else."</p> + +<p>'And with that Mr. Archer laughed, and says he—</p> + +<p>'"Come—you beat about the bush—let's hear your mind."</p> + +<p>'"Well, Sir, 'tis in my letter," says he.</p> + +<p>'"Ah, Glascock," says he, "that's a threatening letter. I did not think +you'd serve me so. Well, needs must when the devil drives." And he +laughed again, and shrugs up his shoulders, and says he, putting his +hand in his pocket, "there's sixty pounds left; 'tis all I have; come, +be modest—what do you say?"</p> + +<p>'"You got a lot of gold off Mr. Beauclerc," says Glascock.</p> + +<p>'"Not a doit more than I wanted," says he, laughing again. "And who, +pray, had a better right—did not I murder him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p>'His talk and his laughing frightened me more and more.</p> + +<p>'"Well, I stood to you then, Sir; didn't I?" says Glascock.</p> + +<p>'"Heart of oak, Sir—true as steel; and now, how much do you want? +Remember, 'tis all I have—and I out at elbows; and here's my friend +Irons, too—eh?"</p> + +<p>'"I want nothing, and I'll take nothing," says I; "not a shilling—not a +half-penny." You see there was something told me no good would come of +it, and I was frightened besides.</p> + +<p>'"What! you won't go in for a share, Irons?" says he.</p> + +<p>'"No; 'tis your money, Sir—I've no right to a sixpence—and I won't +have it," says I; "and there's an end."</p> + +<p>'"Well, Glascock, what say you?—you hear Irons."</p> + +<p>'"Let Irons speak for himself—he's nothing to me. You should have +considered me when all that money was took from Mr. Beauclerc—one done +as much as another—and if 'twas no more than holding my tongue, still +'tis worth a deal to you."</p> + +<p>'"I don't deny—a deal—everything. Come—there's sixty pounds +here—but, mark, 'tis all I have—how much?"</p> + +<p>'"I'll have thirty, and I'll take no less," says Glascock, surly enough.</p> + +<p>'"Thirty! 'tis a good deal—but all considered—perhaps not too much," +says Mr. Archer.</p> + +<p>'And with that he took his right hand from his breeches' pocket, and +shot him through the heart with a pistol.</p> + +<p>'Neither word, nor stir, nor groan, did Glascock make; but with a sort +of a jerk, flat on his back he fell, with his head on the verge of the +tarn.</p> + +<p>'I believe I said something—I don't know—I was almost as dead as +himself—for I did not think anything <i>that</i> bad was near at all.</p> + +<p>'"Come, Irons—what ails you—steady, Sir—lend me a hand, and you'll +take no harm."</p> + +<p>'He had the pistol he discharged in his left hand by this time, and a +loaded one in his right.</p> + +<p>'"'Tis his own act, Irons. <i>I</i> did not want it; but I'll protect myself, +and won't hold my life on ransom, at the hands of a Jew or a Judas," +said he, smiling through his black hair, as white as a tombstone.</p> + +<p>'"I am neither," says I.</p> + +<p>'"I know it," says he; "and so you're <i>here</i>, and he <i>there</i>."</p> + +<p>'"Well, 'tis over now, I suppose," says I. I was thinking of making off.</p> + +<p>'"Don't go yet," says he, like a man asking a favour; but he lifted the +pistol an inch or two, with a jerk of his wrist, "you must help me to +hide away this dead fool."</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, we had three or four hours cold work of it—we tied stones +in his clothes, and sunk him close under the bank, and walled him over +with more. 'Twas no light job, I can tell you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> the water was near four +feet deep, though 'twas a dry season; and then we slipped out a handsome +slice of the bank over him; and, making him all smooth, we left him to +take his chance; and I never heard any talk of a body being found there; +and I suppose he's now where we left him.'</p> + +<p>And Irons groaned.</p> + +<p>'So we returned silent and tired enough, and I in mortal fear of him. +But he designed me no hurt. There's luckily some risk in making away +with a fellow, and 'tisn't done by any but a fool without good cause; +and when we got on the road again, I took the London road, and he turned +his back on me, and I don't know where he went; but no doubt his plans +were well shaped.</p> + +<p>''Twas an ugly walk for me, all alone, over that heath, I can tell you. +'Twas mortal dark; and there was places on the road where my footsteps +echoed back, and I could not tell but 'twas Mr. Archer following me, +having changed his mind, maybe, or something as bad, if that could be; +and many's the time I turned short round, expecting to see him, or may +be that other lad, behind, for you see I got a start like when he shot +Glascock; and there was a trembling over me for a long time after.</p> + +<p>'Now, you see, Glascock's dead, and can't tell tales no more nor Mr. +Beauclerc, and Dr. Sturk's a dead man too, you may say; and I think he +knew—that is—brought to mind somewhat. He lay, you see, on the night +Mr. Beauclerc lost his life, in a sort of a dressing-room, off his +chamber, and the door was open; but he was bad with a fall he had, and +his arm in splints, and he under laudanum—in a trance like—and on the +inquest he could tell nothing; but I think he remembered something more +or less concerning it after.' And Mr. Irons took a turn, and came back +very close to Mervyn, and said very gently, 'and I think Charles Archer +murdered him.'</p> + +<p>'Then Charles Archer <i>has</i> been in Dublin, perhaps in Chapelizod, within +the last few months,' exclaimed Mervyn, in a sort of agony.</p> + +<p>'I didn't say so,' answered Irons. 'I've told you the truth—'tis the +truth—but there's no catching a ghost—and who'd believe my story? and +them things is so long ago. And suppose I make a clean breast of it, and +that I could bring you face to face with him, the world would not +believe my tale, and I'd then be a lost man, one way or another—no one, +mayhap, could tell how—I'd lose my life before a year, and all the +world could not save me.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps—perhaps Charles Nutter's the man; and Mr. Dangerfield knows +something of him,' cried Mervyn.</p> + +<p>Irons made no answer, but sat quite silent for some seconds, by the +fire, the living image of apathy.</p> + +<p>'If you name me, or blab one word I told you, I hold my peace for ever,' +said he, slowly, with a quiet oath, but very pale, and how blue his chin +looked—how grim his smile, with his face<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> so shiny, and his eyelids +closed. You're to suppose, Sir, 'tis possible Mr. Dangerfield has a +guess at him. Well, he's a clever man, and knows how to put this and +that together; and has been kind to Dr. Sturk and his family. He's a +good man, you know; and he's a long-headed gentleman, they say; and if +he takes a thing in hand, he'll be as like as another to bring it about. +But sink or swim my mind's made up. Charles Archer, wherever he is, will +not like my going—he'll sniff danger in the wind, Sir. I could not +stay—he'd have had me—you see, body and soul. 'Twas time for me to +go—and go or stay, I see nothing but bad before me. 'Twas an evil day I +ever saw his face; and 'twould be better for me to have a cast for my +life at any rate, and that I'm nigh-hand resolved on; only you see my +heart misgives me—and that's how it is. I can't quite make up my mind.'</p> + +<p>For a little while Mervyn stood in an agony of irresolution. I'm sure I +cannot understand all he felt, having never been, thank Heaven! in a +like situation. I only know how much depended on it, and I don't wonder +that for some seconds he thought of arresting that lank, pale, sinister +figure by the fire, and denouncing him as, by his own confession, an +accessory to the murder of Beauclerc. The thought that he would slip +through his fingers, and the clue to vindication, fortune, and +happiness, be for ever lost, was altogether so dreadful that we must +excuse his forgetting for a moment his promise, and dismissing patience, +and even policy, from his thoughts.</p> + +<p>But 'twas a transitory temptation only, and common sense seconded +honour. For he was persuaded that whatever likelihood there was of +leading Irons to the critical point, there was none of driving him +thither; and that Irons, once restive and impracticable, all his hopes +would fall to the ground.</p> + +<p>'I am going,' said Irons, with quiet abruptness; 'and right glad the +storm's up still,' he added, in a haggard rumination, and with a strange +smile of suffering. 'In dark an' storm—curse him!—I see his face +everywhere. I don't know how he's got this hold over me,' and he cursed +him again and groaned dismally. 'A night like this is my chance—and so +here goes.'</p> + +<p>'Remember, for Heaven's sake, remember,' said Mervyn, with agonised +urgency, as he followed him with a light along the passage to the +back-door.</p> + +<p>Irons made no answer; and walking straight on, without turning his head, +only lifted his hand with a movement backward, like a man who silently +warns another from danger.</p> + +<p>So Irons went forth into the night and the roaring storm, dark and +alone, like an evil spirit into desert places; and Mervyn barred the +door after him, and returned to the cedar parlour, and remained there +alone and long in profound and not unnatural agitation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIII.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN, WITH A BLACK PATCH OVER HIS EYE, WHO +MADE SOME VISITS WITH A LADY, IN CHAPELIZOD AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>n the morning, though the wind had somewhat gone down, 'twas still +dismal and wild enough; and to the consternation of poor Mrs. Macnamara, +as she sat alone in her window after breakfast, Miss Mag and the major +being both abroad, a hackney coach drew up at the door, which stood +open. The maid was on the step, cheapening fish with a virulent lady who +had a sieve-full to dispose of.</p> + +<p>A gentleman, with a large, unwholesome face, and a patch over one eye, +popped his unpleasant countenance, black wig, and three-cocked hat, out +of the window, and called to the coachman to let him out.</p> + +<p>Forth he came, somewhat slovenly, his coat not over-well brushed, having +in his hand a small trunk, covered with gilt crimson leather, very +dingy, and somewhat ceremoniously assisted a lady to alight. This dame, +as she stepped with a long leg, in a black silk stocking, to the ground, +swept the front windows of the house from under her velvet hood with a +sharp and evil glance; and in fact she was Mistress Mary Matchwell.</p> + +<p>As she beheld her, poor Mrs. Mack's heart fluttered up to her mouth, and +then dropped with a dreadful plump, into the pit of her stomach. The +dingy, dismal gentleman, swinging the red trunk in his hand, swaggered +lazily back and forward, to stretch his legs over the pavement, and air +his large cadaverous countenance, and sniff the village breezes.</p> + +<p>Mistress Matchwell in the meantime, exchanging a passing word with the +servant, who darkened and drew back as if a ghost had crossed her, +gathered her rustling silks about her, and with a few long steps +noiselessly mounted the narrow stairs, and stood, sallow and terrible in +her sables, before the poor gentlewoman.</p> + +<p>With two efforts Mrs. Mack got up and made a little, and then a great +courtesy, and then a little one again, and tried to speak, and felt very +near fainting.</p> + +<p>'See,' says Mary Matchwell, 'I must have twenty pounds—but don't take +on. You must make an effort, my dear—'tis the last. Come, don't be cast +down. I'll pay you when I come to my property, in three weeks' time; but +law expenses must be paid, and the money I must have.'</p> + +<p>Hereupon Mrs. Mack clasped her hands together in an agony, and 'set up +the pipes.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> + +<p>M. M. was like to lose patience, and when she did she looked most +feloniously, and in a way that made poor soft Mrs. Mack quiver.</p> + +<p>''Tis but twenty pounds, woman,' she said, sternly. +'Hub-bub-bub-boo-hoo-hoo,' blubbered the fat and miserable Mrs. +Macnamara. 'It will be all about—I may as well tell it myself. I'm +ruined! My Venetian lace—my watch—the brocade not made up. It won't +do. I must tell my brother; I'd rather go out for a charwoman and starve +myself to a skeleton, than try to borrow more money.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Matchwell advanced her face towards the widow's tearful +countenance, and held her in the spell of her dreadful gaze as a cat +does a bird.</p> + +<p>'Why, curse you, woman, do you think 'tis to rob you I mean?—'tisn't a +present even—only a loan. Stop that blubbering, you great old mouth! or +I'll have you posted all over the town in five minutes. A <i>loan</i>, Madam; +and you need not pay it for three months—three whole months—<i>there</i>!'</p> + +<p>Well, this time it ended as heretofore—poor Mrs. Mack gave way. She had +not a crown-piece, indeed, that she could call her own; but M. M. was +obliging, and let her off for a bill of exchange, the nature of which, +to her dying day, the unhappy widow could never comprehend, although it +caused her considerable affliction some short time subsequently.</p> + +<p>Away went Mary Matchwell with her prize, leaving an odour of brandy +behind her. Her dingy and sinister squire performed his clumsy +courtesies, and without looking to the right or left, climbed into the +coach after her, with his red trunk in his hand; and the vehicle was +again in motion, and jingling on at a fair pace in the direction of +Nutter's house, The Mills, where her last visit had ended so tragically.</p> + +<p>Now, it so happened that just as this coach, with its sombre occupants, +drew up at The Mills, Doctor Toole was standing on the steps, giving +Moggy a parting injunction, after his wont; for poor little Mrs. Nutter +had been thrown into a new paroxysm by the dreadful tidings of her +Charlie's death, and was now lying on her bed, and bathing the pillow in +her tears.</p> + +<p>'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.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Nutter's <i>here</i>, 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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> + +<p>'<i>This</i> is Mrs. Nutter, relict of the late Charles Nutter, of The Mills, +Knockmaroon, in the parish of Chapelizod.'</p> + +<p>'At your service, Sir,' said Mary Matchwell, dropping a demure courtesy, +and preparing to sail by him.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Who are you, man, that dare shut my own door in my face?' said the +beldame.</p> + +<p>'Toole's my name, Madam,' said the little doctor, with a lofty look and +a bow. 'I have the honour to attend here in a professional capacity.'</p> + +<p>'Ho! a village attorney,' cried the fortune-teller, plainly without +having consulted the cards or the planets. 'Well, Sir, you'd better +stand aside, for I am the Widow Nutter, and this is my house; and burn +me, but one way or another, in I'll get.'</p> + +<p>'You'd do well to avoid a trespass, Ma'am, and better to abstain from +house breaking; and you may hammer at the knocker till you're tired, but +they'll not let you in,' rejoined Toole. 'And as to you being the Widow +Nutter, Ma'am, that is widow of poor Charles Nutter, lately found +drowned, I'll be glad to know, Ma'am, how you make <i>that</i> out.'</p> + +<p>'Stay, Madam, by your leave,' said the cadaverous, large-faced man, +interposing. 'We are here, Sir, to claim possession of this tenement and +the appurtenances, as also of all the money, furniture, and other +chattels whatsoever of the late Charles Nutter; and being denied +admission, we shall then serve certain cautionary and other notices, in +such a manner as the court will, under the circumstances, and in your +presence, being, by your admission, the attorney of Sarah Hearty, +calling herself Nutter—'</p> + +<p>'I did not say I was,' said Toole, with a little toss of his chin.</p> + +<p>The gentleman's large face here assumed a cunning leer.</p> + +<p>'Well, we have our thoughts about that, Sir,' he said. 'But by your +leave, we'll knock at the hall-door.'</p> + +<p>'I tell you what, Sir,' said Toole, who had no reliance upon the wisdom +of the female garrison, and had serious misgivings lest at the first +stout summons the maids should open the door, and the ill-favoured pair +establish themselves in occupation of poor Mrs. Nutter's domicile, 'I'll +not object to the notices being received. There's the servant up at the +window there—but you must not make a noise; Mrs. Nutter, poor woman, is +sick and hypochondriac, and can't bear a noise; but I'll permit the +service of the notices, because, you see, we can afford to snap our +fingers at you. I say, Moggy, open a bit of that window,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> and take in +the papers that this gentleman will hand you. <i>There</i>, Sir, on the end +of your cane, if you please—very good.'</p> + +<p>''Twill do, she has them. Thank you, Miss,' said the legal practitioner, +with a grin. 'Now, Ma'am, we'd best go to the Prerogative Court.'</p> + +<p>Mary Matchwell laughed one of her pale malevolent laughs up at the maid +in the window, who stood there, with the papers in her hand, in a sort +of horror.</p> + +<p>'Never mind,' said Mary Matchwell, to herself, and, getting swiftly into +the coach, she gleamed another ugly smile up at the window of The Mills, +as she adjusted her black attire.</p> + +<p>'To the Prerogative Court,' said the attorney to the coachman.</p> + +<p>'In that house I'll lie to-night,' said Mary Matchwell, with a terrible +mildness, as they drove away, still glancing back upon it, with her +peculiar smile; and then she leaned back, with a sneer of superiority on +her pallid features, and the dismal fatigue of the spirit that rests +not, looked savagely out from the deep, haggard windows of her eyes.</p> + +<p>When Toole saw the vehicle fairly off, you may be sure he did not lose +time in getting into the house, and there conning over the papers, which +puzzled him unspeakably.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH DOCTOR TOOLE, IN HIS BOOTS, VISITS MR. GAMBLE, AND SEES AN UGLY +CLIENT OF THAT GENTLEMAN'S; AND SOMETHING CROSSES AN EMPTY ROOM.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img077.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'H'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'H'" /></div><p>ere's a conspiracy with a vengeance!' muttered Toole, 'if a body +could only make head or tail of it. Widow!—Eh!—We'll see: why, she's +like no woman ever <i>I</i> saw. Mrs. Nutter, forsooth!' and he could +not forbear laughing at the conceit. 'Poor Charles! 'tis ridiculous—though +upon my life, I don't like it. It's just possible it may be all as +true as gospel—they're the most devilish looking pair I've seen +out of the dock—curse them—for many a day. I would not wonder if +they were robbers. The <i>widow</i> looks consumedly like a man in +petticoats—hey!—devilish like. I think I'll send Moran and Brien up to +sleep to-night in the house. But, hang it! if they were, they would not +come out in the daytime to give an alarm. Hollo! Moggy, throw me out one +of them papers till I see what it's about.'</p> + +<p>So he conned over the notice which provoked him, for he could not half +understand it, and he was very curious.</p> + +<p>'Well, keep it safe, Moggy,' said he. 'H'm—it <i>does</i> look like law +business, after all, and I believe it <i>is</i>. No—they're not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +housebreakers, but robbers of another stamp—and a worse, I'll take my +davy.'</p> + +<p>'See,' said he, as a thought struck him, 'throw me down both of them +papers again—there's a good girl. They ought to be looked after, I dare +say, and I'll see the poor master's attorney to-day, d'ye mind? and +we'll put our heads together—and, that's right—<i>relict</i> indeed!'</p> + +<p>And, with a solemn injunction to keep doors locked and windows fast, and +a nod and a wave of his hand to Mistress Moggy, and muttering half a +sentence or an oath to himself, and wearying his imagination in search +of a clue to this new perplexity, he buttoned his pocket over the legal +documents, and strutted down to the village, where his nag awaited him +saddled, and Jimmey walking him up and down before the doctor's +hall-door.</p> + +<p>Toole was bound upon a melancholy mission that morning. But though +properly a minister of life, a doctor is also conversant with death, and +inured to the sight of familiar faces in that remarkable disguise. So he +spurred away with more coolness, though not less regret than another +man, to throw what light he could upon the subject of the inquest which +was to sit upon the body of poor Charles Nutter.</p> + +<p>The little doctor, on his way to Ringsend, without the necessity of +diverging to the right or left, drew bridle at the door of Mr. Luke +Gamble, on the Blind Quay, attorney to the late Charles Nutter, and +jumping to the ground, delivered a rattling summons thereupon.</p> + +<p>It was a dusty, dreary, wainscoted old house—indeed, two old houses +intermarried—with doors broken through the partition walls—the floors +not all of a level—joined by steps up and down—and having three great +staircases, that made it confusing. Through the windows it was not easy +to see, such a fantastic mapping of thick dust and dirt coated the +glass.</p> + +<p>Luke Gamble, like the house, had seen better days. It was not his fault; +but an absconding partner had well nigh been his ruin: and, though he +paid their liabilities, it was with a strain, and left him a poor man, +shattered his connexion, and made the house too large by a great deal +for his business.</p> + +<p>Doctor Toole came into the clerk's room, and was ushered by one of these +gentlemen through an empty chamber into the attorney's sanctum. Up two +steps stumbled the physician, cursing the house for a place where a +gentleman was so much more likely to break his neck than his fast, and +found old Gamble in his velvet cap and dressing-gown, in conference with +a hard-faced, pale, and pock-marked elderly man, squinting unpleasantly +under a black wig, who was narrating something slowly, and with effort, +like a man whose memory is labouring to give up its dead, while the +attorney, with his spectacles on his nose, was making notes. The speaker +ceased abruptly, and turned his pallid visage and jealous, oblique eyes +on the intruder.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + +<p>Luke Gamble looked embarrassed, and shot one devilish angry glance at +his clerk, and then made Doctor Toole very welcome.</p> + +<p>When Toole had ended his narrative, and the attorney read the notices +through, Mr. Gamble's countenance brightened, and darkened and +brightened again, and with a very significant look, he said to the pale, +unpleasant face, pitted with small-pox—</p> + +<p>'M. M.,' and nodded.</p> + +<p>His companion extended his hand toward the papers.</p> + +<p>'Never mind,' said the attorney; 'there's that here will fix M. M. in a +mighty tight vice.'</p> + +<p>'And who's M. M., pray?' enquired Toole.</p> + +<p>'When were these notices served, doctor?' asked Mr. Gamble.</p> + +<p>'Not an hour ago; but, I say, who the plague's M. M.?' answered Toole.</p> + +<p>'M. M.,' repeated the attorney, smiling grimly on the backs of the +notices which lay on the table; 'why there's many queer things to be +heard of M. M.; and the town, and the country, too, for that matter, is +like to know a good deal more of her before long; and who served them—a +process-server, or who?'</p> + +<p>'Why, a fat, broad, bull-necked rascal, with a double chin, and a great +round face, the colour of a bad suet-dumplin', and a black patch over +his eye,' answered Toole.</p> + +<p>'Very like—was he alone?' said Gamble.</p> + +<p>'No—a long, sly she-devil in black, that looked as if she'd cut your +windpipe, like a cat in the dark, as pale as paper, and mighty large, +black, hollow eyes.'</p> + +<p>'Ay—that's it,' said Gamble, who, during this dialogue, had thrown his +morning-gown over the back of the chair, and got on his coat, and opened +a little press in the wall, from which he took his wig, and so completed +his toilet.</p> + +<p>'That's it?' repeated Toole: 'what's it?—what's <i>what?</i>'</p> + +<p>'Why, 'tis David O'Regan—Dirty Davy, as we call him. I never knew him +yet in an honest case; and the woman's M. M.'</p> + +<p>'Hey! to be sure—a woman—I know—I remember; and he was on the point +of breaking out with poor Mrs. Macnamara's secret, but recovered in +time. 'That's the she fortune-teller, the witch, M. M., Mary Matchwell; +'twas one of her printed cards, you know, was found lying in Sturk's +blood. Dr. Sturk, you remember, that they issued a warrant for, against +our poor friend, you know.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, ay—poor Charles—poor Nutter. Are you going to the inquest?' said +Gamble; and, on a sudden, stopped short, with a look of great fear, and +a little beckon of his hand forward, as if he had seen something.</p> + +<p>There was that in Gamble's change of countenance which startled Toole, +who, seeing that his glance was directed through an open door at the +other end of the room, skipped from his chair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> and peeped through it. +There was nothing, however, visible but a tenebrose and empty passage.</p> + +<p>'What did you see—eh? What frightens you?' said Toole. 'One would think +you saw Nutter—like—like.'</p> + +<p>Gamble looked horribly perturbed at these words.</p> + +<p>'Shut it,' said he, nearing the door, on which Toole's hand rested. +Toole took another peep, and did so.</p> + +<p>'Why, there's nothing there—like—like the women down at the Mills +there,' continued the doctor.</p> + +<p>'What about the women?' enquired Gamble, not seeming to know very well +what he was saying, agitated still—perhaps, intending to keep Toole +talking.</p> + +<p>'Why, the women—the maids, you know—poor Nutter's servants, down at +the Mills. They swear he walks the house, and they'll have it they saw +him last night.'</p> + +<p>'Pish! Sir—'tis all conceit and vapours—women's fancies—a plague o' +them all. And where's poor Mrs. Nutter?' said Gamble, clapping on his +cocked-hat, and taking his cane, and stuffing two or three bundles of +law papers into his coat pockets.</p> + +<p>'At home—at the Mills. She slept at the village and so missed the +ghost. The Macnamaras have been mighty kind. But when the news was told +her this morning, poor thing, she would not stay, and went home; and +there she is, poor little soul, breaking her heart.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Gamble was not ceremonious; so he just threw a cursory and anxious +glance round the room, clapped his hands on his coat pockets, making a +bunch of keys ring somewhere deep in their caverns. And all being +right—</p> + +<p>'Come along, gentlemen,' says he, 'I'm going to lock the door;' and +without looking behind him, he bolted forth abstractedly into his dusty +ante-room.</p> + +<p>'Get your cloak about you, Sir—remember your <i>cough</i>, you know—the air +of the streets is sharp,' said he with a sly wink, to his ugly client, +who hastily took the hint.</p> + +<p>'Is that <i>coach</i> at the door?' bawled Gamble to his clerks in the next +room, while he locked the door of his own snuggery behind him; and being +satisfied it was so, he conducted the party out by a side door, avoiding +the clerks' room, and so down stairs.</p> + +<p>'Drive to the courts,' said the attorney to the coachman; and that was +all Toole learned about it that day. So he mounted his nag, and resumed +his journey to Ringsend at a brisk trot.</p> + +<p>I suppose, when he turned the key in his door, and dropped it into his +breeches' pocket, the gentleman attorney assumed that he had made +everything perfectly safe in his private chamber, though Toole thought +he had not looked quite the same again after that sudden change of +countenance he had remarked.</p> + +<p>Now, it was a darksome day, and the windows of Mr. Gamble's room were so +obscured with cobwebs, dust, and dirt,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> that even on a sunny day they +boasted no more than a dim religious light. But on this day a cheerful +man would have asked for a pair of candles, to dissipate the twilight +and sustain his spirits.</p> + +<p>He had not been gone, and the room empty ten minutes, when the door +through which he had seemed to look on that unknown something that +dismayed him, opened softly—at first a little—then a little more—then +came a knock at it—then it opened more, and the dark shape of Charles +Nutter, with rigid features and white eye-balls, glided stealthily and +crouching into the chamber, and halted at the table, and seemed to read +the endorsements of the notices that lay there.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXV.</h2> + +<h4>HOW A GENTLEMAN PAID A VISIT AT THE BRASS CASTLE, AND THERE READ A +PARAGRAPH IN AN OLD NEWSPAPER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>angerfield was, after his wont, seated at his desk, writing letters, +after his early breakfast, with his neatly-labelled accounts at his +elbow. There was a pleasant frosty sun glittering through the twigs of +the leafless shrubs, and flashing on the ripples and undulations of the +Liffey, and the redbreasts and sparrows were picking up the crumbs which +the housekeeper had thrown for them outside. He had just sealed the last +of half-a-dozen letters, when the maid opened his parlour-door, and told +him that a gentleman was at the hall-step, who wished to see him.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield looked up with a quick glance—</p> + +<p>'Eh?—to be sure. Show him in.'</p> + +<p>And in a few seconds more, Mr. Mervyn, his countenance more than usually +pale and sad, entered the room. He bowed low and gravely, as the servant +announced him.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield rose with a prompt smile, bowing also, and advanced with his +hand extended, which, as a matter of form rather than of cordiality, his +visitor took, coldly enough, in his.</p> + +<p>'Happy to see you here, Mr. Mervyn—pray, take a chair—a charming +morning for a turn by the river, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'I have taken the liberty of visiting you, Mr. Dangerfield—'</p> + +<p>'Your visit, Sir, I esteem an honour,' interposed the lord of the Brass +Castle.</p> + +<p>A slight and ceremonious bow from Mervyn, who continued—'For the +purpose of asking you directly and plainly for some light upon a matter +in which it is in the highest degree important I should be informed.'</p> + +<p>'You may command me, Mr. Mervyn,' said Dangerfield,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> crossing his legs, +throwing himself back, and adjusting himself to attention.</p> + +<p>Mervyn fixed his dark eyes full and sternly upon that white and +enigmatical face, with its round glass eyes and silver setting, and +those delicate lines of scorn he had never observed before, traced about +the mouth and nostril.</p> + +<p>'Then, Sir, I venture to ask you for all you can disclose or relate +about one Charles Archer.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield cocked his head on one side, quizzically, and smiled the +faintest imaginable cynical smile.</p> + +<p>'I can't <i>disclose</i> anything, for the gentleman never told me his +secrets; but all I can relate is heartily at your service.'</p> + +<p>'Can you point him out, Sir?' asked Mervyn, a little less sternly, for +he saw no traces of a guilty knowledge in the severe countenance and +prompt, unembarrassed manner of the gentleman who leaned back in his +chair, with the clear bright light full on him, and his leg crossed so +carelessly.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield smiled, shook his head gently, and shrugged his shoulders +the least thing in the world.</p> + +<p>'Don't you know him, Sir?' demanded Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'Why,' said Dangerfield, with his chin a little elevated, and the tips +of his fingers all brought together, and his elbows resting easily upon +the arms of his chair, and altogether an involuntary air of hauteur, +'Charles Archer, perhaps you're not aware, was not exactly the most +reputable acquaintance in the world; and my knowledge of him was very +slight indeed—wholly accidental—and of very short duration.'</p> + +<p>'May I ask you, if, without leaving this town, you can lay your finger +on him, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Why, not conveniently,' answered Dangerfield, with the same air of +cynical amusement. ''Twould reach in that case all the way to Florence, +and even then we should gain little by the discovery.'</p> + +<p>'But you do know him?' pursued Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'<i>I did</i>, Sir, though very slightly,' answered Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'And I'm given to understand, Sir, he's to be found occasionally in this +town?' continued his visitor.</p> + +<p>'There's just one man who sees him, and that's the parish clerk—what's +his name?—Zekiel Irons—he sees him. Suppose we send down to his house, +and fetch him here, and learn all about it?' said Dangerfield, who +seemed mightily tickled by the whole thing.</p> + +<p>'He left the town, Sir, last night; and I've reason to suspect, with a +resolution of returning no more. And I must speak plainly, Mr. +Dangerfield, 'tis no subject for trifling—the fame and fortune of a +noble family depend on searching out the truth; and I'll lose my life, +Sir, or I'll discover it.'</p> + +<p>Still the old cynical, quizzical smile on Dangerfield's white face, who +said encouragingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>'Nobly resolved, Sir, upon my honour!'</p> + +<p>'And Mr. Dangerfield, if you'll only lay yourself out to help me, with +your great knowledge and subtlety—disclosing everything you know or +conjecture, and putting me in train to discover the rest—so that I may +fully clear this dreadful mystery up—there is no sacrifice of fortune I +will not cheerfully make to recompense such immense services, and you +may name with confidence your own terms, and think nothing exorbitant.'</p> + +<p>For the first time Dangerfield's countenance actually darkened and grew +stern, but Mervyn could not discern whether it was with anger or deep +thought, and the round spectacles returned his intense gaze with a white +reflected sheen, sightless as death.</p> + +<p>But the stern mouth opened, and Dangerfield, in his harsh, brief tones, +said—</p> + +<p>'You speak without reflection, Sir, and had nigh made me lose my temper; +but I pardon you; you're young, Sir, and besides, know probably little +or nothing of me. Who are you, Sir, who thus think fit to address me, +who am by blood and education as good a gentleman as any alive? The +inducements you are pleased to offer—you may address elsewhere—they +are not for me. I shall forget your imprudence, and answer frankly any +questions, within my knowledge, you please to ask.'</p> + +<p>Mervyn bowed apologetically, and a silence ensued; after which he thus +availed himself of his host's permission to question him—</p> + +<p>'You mentioned Irons, the clerk, Mr. Dangerfield, and said that he sees +Charles Archer. Do you mean it?'</p> + +<p>'Why, thus I mean it. He <i>thinks</i> he sees him; but, if he does, upon my +honour, he sees a ghost,' and Dangerfield chuckled merrily.</p> + +<p>'Pray, Mr. Dangerfield, consider me, and be serious, and in Heaven's +name explain,' said Mervyn, speaking evidently in suppressed anguish.</p> + +<p>'Why, you know—don't you? the poor fellow's not quite right here,' and +he tapped the centre of his own towering forehead with the delicate tip +of his white middle finger. 'I've seen a little of him; he's an angler, +so am I; and he showed me the fishing of the river, here, last summer, +and often amused me prodigiously. He's got some such very odd maggots! I +don't say, mind ye, he's <i>mad</i>, there are many degrees, and he's quite a +competent parish clerk. He's only wrong on a point or two, and one of +them is Charles Archer. I believe for a while he thought <i>you</i> were he; +and Dangerfield laughed his dry, hard chuckle.</p> + +<p>'Where, Sir, do you suppose Charles Archer is now to be found?' urged +Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'Why, what remains of him, in Florence,' answered Dangerfield.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You speak, Sir, as if you thought him dead.'</p> + +<p>'Think? I know he's dead. I knew him but three weeks, and visited him in +his sickness—was in his room half an hour before he died, and attended +his funeral,' said Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'I implore of you, Sir, as you hope for mercy, don't trifle in this +matter,' cried Mervyn, whose face was white, like that of a man about to +swoon under an operation.</p> + +<p>'Trifle! What d'ye mean, Sir?' barked out Dangerfield, rabidly.</p> + +<p>'I mean, Sir, <i>this</i>—I've information he's positively living, and can +relieve my father's memory from the horrible imputation that rests upon +it. You know who I am!'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir, Lord Castlemallard told me.'</p> + +<p>'And my life I cheerfully devote to the task of seizing and tracing out +the bloody clue of the labyrinth in which I'm lost.'</p> + +<p>'Good—'tis a pious as well as a prudent resolve,' said Dangerfield, +with a quiet sneer. 'And now, Sir, give me leave to say a word. Your +information that Charles Archer is living, is not worth the breath of +the madman that spoke it, as I'll presently show you. By an odd chance, +Sir, I required this file of newspapers, last week, to help me in +ascertaining the date of Sir Harry Wyatt's marriage. Well, only last +night, what should I hit on but this. Will you please to read?'</p> + +<p>He had turned over the pages rapidly, and then he stopped at this little +piece of news packed up in a small paragraph at the bottom of a column, +and, pointing his finger to it, he slid the volume of newspapers over to +Mervyn, who read—</p> + +<p>'Died on the 4th of August, of a lingering disease, at his lodgings in +Florence, whither he had gone for the improvement of his health, Charles +Archer, Esq., a gentleman who some three years since gave an exceeding +clear evidence against Lord Dunoran, for the murder of Mr. Beauclerc, +and was well known at Newmarket. His funeral, which was private, was +attended by several English gentlemen, who were then at Florence.'</p> + +<p>Mervyn, deadly pale, with gleaming eyes, and hand laid along his +forehead, as if to screen off an insupportable light and concentrate his +gaze upon the words, read and re-read these sentences with an agony of +scrutiny such as no critic ever yet directed upon a disputed passage in +his favourite classic. But there was no possibility of fastening any +consolatory interpretation upon the paragraph. It was all too plain and +outspoken.</p> + +<p>''Tis possible this may be true—<i>thus</i> much. <i>A</i> Charles Archer is +dead, and yet another Charles Archer, the object of my search, still +living,' said Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'Hey! that didn't strike me,' said Dangerfield, as much amused as was +consistent with moderately good breeding. 'But I can quite account, Mr. +Mervyn,' he continued, with a sudden change of tone and manner, to +something almost of kindness, 'for your readiness to entertain any +theory not quite destructive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> of hopes, which, notwithstanding, I fear, +rest simply on the visions of that poor hypochondriac, Irons. But, for +all that, 'tis just possible that something may strike either you or me +in the matter not quite so romantic—hey? But still something.—You've +not told me how the plague Charles Archer could possibly have served +you. But on that point, perhaps, we can talk another time. I simply +desire to say, that any experience or ability I may possess are heartily +at your service whenever you please to task them, as my good wishes are +already.'</p> + +<p>So, stunned, and like a man walking in a dream—all his hopes shivered +about his feet—Mervyn walked through the door of the little parlour in +the Brass Castle, and Dangerfield, accompanying him to the little gate +which gave admission from the high-road to that tenement, dismissed him +there, with a bow and a pleasant smile; and, standing, for a while, wiry +and erect, with his hands in his pockets, he followed him, as he paced +dejectedly away, with the same peculiar smile.</p> + +<p>When he was out of sight, Dangerfield returned to his parlour, smiling +all the way, and stood on the hearthrug, with his back to the fire. When +he was alone, a shadow came over his face, and he looked down on the +fringe with a thoughtful scowl—his hands behind his back—and began +adjusting and smoothing it with the toe of his shoe.</p> + +<p>'Sot, fool, and poltroon—triple qualification for mischief—I don't +know why he still lives. Irons—a new vista opens, and this d——d young +man!' All this was not, as we sometimes read, 'mentally ejaculated,' but +quite literally muttered, as I believe every one at times mutters to +himself. 'Charles Archer living—Charles Archer dead—or, as I sometimes +think, neither one nor t'other quite—half man, half corpse—a +vampire—there is no rest for thee: no sabbath in the days of thy week. +Blood, blood—blood—'tis tiresome. Why should I be a slave to these +d——d secrets. I don't think 'tis my judgment, so much as the devil, +holds me here. Irons has more brains than I—instinct—calculation—which +is oftener right? Miss Gertrude Chattesworth, a mere whim, I think +understood her game too. I'll deal with that to-morrow. I'll send Daxon +the account, vouchers, and cheque for Lord Castlemallard—tell Smith to +sell my horses, and, by the next packet—hey?' and he kissed his hand, +with an odd smirk, like a gentleman making his adieux, 'and so leave +those who court the acquaintance of Charles Archer, to find him out, +and catch their Tartar how they may.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVI.</h2> + +<h4>RELATING HOW THE CASTLE WAS TAKEN, AND HOW MISTRESS MOGGY TOOK HEART OF +GRACE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>hat evening there came to the door of the Mills, a damsel, with a wide +basket on her arm, the covering of which being removed, a goodly show of +laces, caps, fans, wash-balls, buckles, and other attractions, came out +like a parterre of flowers, with such a glow as dazzled the eyes of +Moggy, at the study window.</p> + +<p>'Would you plaze to want any, my lady?' enquired the pedlar.</p> + +<p>Moggy thought they were, perhaps, a little bit too fine for her purse, +but she could not forbear longing and looking, and asking the prices of +this bit of finery and that, at the window; and she called Betty, and +the two maids conned over the whole contents of the basket.</p> + +<p>At last she made an offer for an irresistible stay-hook of pinchbeck, +set with half-a-dozen resplendent jewels of cut glass, and after +considerable chaffering, and a keen encounter of their wits, they came +at last to terms, and Moggy ran out to the kitchen for her money, which +lay in a brass snuff-box, in a pewter goblet, on the dresser.</p> + +<p>As she was counting her coin, and putting back what she did not want, +the latch of the kitchen door was lifted from without, and the door +itself pushed and shaken. Though the last red gleam of a stormy sunset +was glittering among the ivy leaves round the kitchen window, the +terrors of last night's apparition were revived in a moment, and, with a +blanched face, she gazed on the door, expecting, breathlessly, what +would come.</p> + +<p>The door was bolted and locked on the inside, in accordance with Doctor +Toole's solemn injunction; and there was no attempt to use violence. But +a brisk knocking began thereat and Moggy, encouraged by hearing the +voices of Betty and the vender of splendours at the little parlour +window, and also by the amber sunlight on the rustling ivy leaves, and +the loud evening gossip of the sparrows, took heart of grace, and +demanded shrilly—</p> + +<p>'Who's there?'</p> + +<p>A whining beggar's voice asked admission.</p> + +<p>'But you can't come in, for the house is shut up for the night, replied +the cook.</p> + +<p>''Tis a quare hour you lock your doors at,' said the besieger.</p> + +<p>'Mighty quare, but so it is,' she answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + +<p>'But 'tis a message for the misthress I have,' answered the applicant.</p> + +<p>'Who from?' demanded the porteress.</p> + +<p>''Tis a present o' some wine, acushla.'</p> + +<p>'Who from?' repeated she, growing more uneasy.</p> + +<p>'Auch! woman, are you going to take it in, or no?'</p> + +<p>'Come in the morning, my good man,' said she, 'for sorrow a foot you'll +put inside the house to-night.'</p> + +<p>'An' that's what I'm to tell them that sent me.'</p> + +<p>'Neither more nor less,' replied she.</p> + +<p>And so she heard a heavy foot clank along the pavement, and she tried to +catch a glimpse of the returning figure, but she could not, though she +laid her cheek against the window-pane. However, she heard him whistling +as he went, which gave her a better opinion of him, and she thought she +heard the road gate shut after him.</p> + +<p>So feeling relieved, and with a great sigh, she counted her money over; +and answering Betty's shrill summons to the study, as the woman was in +haste, with a 'Coming, coming this minute,' she replaced her treasure, +and got swiftly into poor Charles Nutter's little chamber. There was his +pipe over the chimney, and his green, and gold-laced Sunday waistcoat +folded on the little walnut table by the fire, and his small folio, +'Maison Rustique, the Country Farme,' with his old green worsted purse +set for a marker in it where he had left off reading the night before +all their troubles began; and his silk dressing-gown was hanging by the +window-frame, and his velvet morning-cap on the same peg—the dust had +settled on them now. And after her fright in the kitchen, all these +mementoes smote her with a grim sort of reproach and menace, and she +wished the window barred, and the door of the ominous little chamber +locked for the night.</p> + +<p>''Tis growing late,' said the dealer from without, 'and I daren't be on +the road after dark. Gi' me my money, good girl; and here, take your +stay-hook.'</p> + +<p>And so saying, she looked a little puzzled up and down, as not well +knowing how they were to make their exchange.</p> + +<p>'Here,' says Moggy, 'give it in here.' And removing the fastening, she +shoved the window up a little bit. 'Hould it, Betty; hould it up,' said +she. And in came the woman's hard, brown hand, palm open, for her money, +and the other containing the jewel, after which the vain soul of Moggy +lusted.</p> + +<p>'That'll do,' said she; and crying shrilly, 'Give us a lift, +sweetheart,' in a twinkling she shoved the window up, at the same time +kneeling, with a spring, upon the sill, and getting her long leg into +the room, with her shoulder under the window-sash, her foot firmly +planted on the floor, and her face and head in the apartment. Almost at +the same instant she was followed by an ill-looking fellow, buttoned up +in a surtout, whose stature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> seemed enormous, and at sight of whom the +two women shrieked as if soul and body were parting.</p> + +<p>The lady was now quite in the room, and standing upright showed the tall +shape and stern lineaments of Mary Matchwell. And as she stood she +laughed a sort of shuddering laugh, like a person who had just had a +plunge in cold water.</p> + +<p>'Stop that noise,' said she, recognising Betty, who saw her with +unspeakable terror. 'I'm the lady that came here, you know, some months +ago, with Mrs. Macnamara; and I'm Mrs. Nutter, which the woman up stairs +<i>is not</i>. I'm Mrs. Nutter, and <i>you're my</i> servants, do ye mind? and +I'll act a fair mistress by you, if you do me honest service. Open the +hall-door,' she said to the man, who was by this time also in the room. +And forth he went to do her bidding, and a gentleman, who turned out to +be that respectable pillar of the law whom Mr. Gamble in the morning had +referred to as 'Dirty Davy,' entered. He was followed by Mrs. Mary +Matchwell's maid, a giggling, cat-like gipsy, with a lot of gaudy finery +about her, and a withered, devilment leering in her face; and a +hackney-coach drove up to the door, which had conveyed the party from +town; and the driver railing in loud tones, after the manner of his kind +in old times, at all things, reeking of whiskey and stale tobacco, and +cursing freely, pitched in several trunks, one after the other; and, in +fact, it became perfectly clear that M. M. was taking possession. And +Betty and Moggy, at their wits' end between terror and bewilderment, +were altogether powerless to resist, and could only whimper a protest +against the monstrous invasion, while poor little Sally Nutter up +stairs, roused by the wild chorus of strange voices from the lethargy of +her grief, and even spurred into active alarm, locked her door, and then +hammered with a chair upon the floor, under a maniacal hallucination +that she was calling I know not what or whom to the rescue.</p> + +<p>Then Dirty Davy read aloud, with due emphasis, to the maids, copies, as +he stated, of the affidavits sworn to that day by Mistress Mary +Matchwell, or as he called her, Mrs. Nutter, relict of the late Charles +Nutter, gentleman, of the Mills, in the parish of Chapelizod, barony of +Castleknock, and county of Dublin, deposing to her marriage with the +said Charles Nutter having been celebrated in the Church of St. Clement +Danes, in London, on the 7th of April, 1750. And then came a copy of the +marriage certificate, and then a statement how, believing that deceased +had left no 'will' making any disposition of his property, or naming an +executor, she applied to the Court of Prerogative for letters of +administration to the deceased, which letters would be granted in a few +days; and in the meantime the bereaved lady would remain in possession +of the house and chattels of her late husband.</p> + +<p>All this, of course, was so much 'Hebrew-Greek,' as honest Father Roach +was wont to phrase it, to the scared women.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> But M. M.—νυκτι +εοικως—fixing them both with her cold and terrible gaze, said quite +intelligibly—</p> + +<p>'What's your name?'</p> + +<p>'Moggy Sullivan, if you please, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'And what's yours?'</p> + +<p>'Lizabet—Betty they call me—Madam; Lizabet Burke, if you please, +Madam.'</p> + +<p>'Well, then, Moggy Sullivan and Elizabeth Burke, harkee both, while I +tell you a thing. I'm mistress here by law, as you've just heard, and +you're my servants; and if you so much as wind the jack or move a +tea-cup, except as I tell you, I'll find a way to punish you; and if I +miss to the value of a pin's head, I'll indict you for a felony, and +have you whipped and burnt in the hand—you know what that means. And +now, where's Mistress Sarah Harty? for she must pack and away.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! Ma'am, jewel, the poor misthress.'</p> + +<p>'<i>I'm</i> the mistress, slut.'</p> + +<p>'Ma'am, dear, she's very bad.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Where</i> is she?'</p> + +<p>'In her room, Ma'am,' answered Betty, with blubbered cheeks.</p> + +<p>'Where are you going, minx?' cried M. M., with a terrible voice and look, +and striding toward the door, from which Moggy was about to escape.</p> + +<p>Now, Moggy was a sort of heroine, not in the vain matter of beauty, for +she had high cheek bones, a snub nose, and her figure had no more waist, +or other feminine undulations, than the clock in the hall; but like that +useful piece of furniture, presented an oblong parallelogram, unassisted +by art; for, except on gala days, these homely maidens never sported +hoops. But she was, nevertheless, a heroine of the Amazonian species. +She tripped up Pat Morgan, and laid that athlete suddenly on his back, +upon the grass plot before the hall door, to his eternal disgrace, when +he 'offered' to kiss her, while the fiddler and tambourine-man were +playing. She used to wring big boys by the ears; overawe fishwives with +her voluble invective; put dangerous dogs to rout with sticks and +stones, and evince, in all emergencies, an adventurous spirit and an +alacrity for battle.</p> + +<p>For her, indeed, as for others, the spell of 'M. M.'s' evil eye and +witchlike presence was at first too much; but Moggy rallied, and, thus +challenged, she turned about at the door and stoutly confronted the +intruder.</p> + +<p>'Minx, yourself, you black baste; I'm goin' just wherever it plases me +best, and I'd like to know who'll stop me; and first, Ma'am, be your +lave, I'll tell the mistress to lock her door, and keep you and your +rake-helly squad at the wrong side of it, and then, Ma'am, wherever the +fancy takes me next—and that's how it is, and my sarvice to your +ladyship.'</p> + +<p>Off went Moggy, with a leer of defiance and a snap of her fingers, +cutting a clumsy caper, and rushed like a mad cow up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> the stairs, +shouting all the way, 'Lock your door, Ma'am—lock your door.'</p> + +<p>Growing two or three degrees whiter, M. M., so soon as she recovered +herself, glided in pursuit, like the embodiment of an evil spirit, as +perhaps she was, and with a gleam of insanity, or murder, in her eye, +which always supervened when her wrath was moved.</p> + +<p>The sullen face of the bailiff half lighted up with a cynical grin of +expectation, for he saw that both ladies were game, and looked for a +spirited encounter. But Dirty Davy spoiled all by interposing his +person, and arresting the pursuit of his client, and delivering a wheezy +expostulation close in her ear.</p> + +<p>''Tis a strange thing if I can't do what I will with my own—fine laws, +i'faith!'</p> + +<p>'I only tell you, Madam, and if you do, it may embarrass us mightily +by-and-by.'</p> + +<p>'I'd wring her neck across the banister,' murmured M. M.</p> + +<p>'An' now, plase your ladyship, will I bring your sarvice to the ladies +and gentlemen down in the town, for 'tis there I'm going next,' said +Moggy, popping in at the door, with a mock courtesy, and a pugnacious +cock in her eye, and a look altogether so provoking and warlike as +almost tempted the bailiff at the door to clap her on the back, and cry, +had he spoken Latin, <i>macte virtute puer</i>!</p> + +<p>'Catch the slut. You sha'n't budge—not a foot—hold her,' cried M. M. to +the bailiff.</p> + +<p>'Baugh!' was his answer.</p> + +<p>'See, now,' said Davy, 'Madam Nutter's not serious—you're <i>not</i>, Ma'am? +We don't detain you, mind. The door's open. There's no false +imprisonment or duress, mind ye, thanking you all the same, Miss, for +your offer. We won't detain you, ah, ah. No, I thank you. Chalk the road +for the young lady, Mr. Redmond.'</p> + +<p>And Davy fell to whisper energetically again in M. M.'s ear.</p> + +<p>And Moggy disappeared. Straight down to the town she went, and to the +friendly Dr. Toole's house, but he was not expected home from Dublin +till morning. Then she had thoughts of going to the barrack, and +applying for a company of soldiers, with a cannon, if necessary, to +retake the Mills. Then she bethought her o' good Dr. Walsingham, but he +was too simple to cope with such seasoned rogues. General Chattesworth +was too far away, and not quite the man either, no more than Colonel +Stafford; and the young beaux, 'them captains, and the like, 'id only be +funnin' me, and knows nothing of law business.' So she pitched upon +Father Roach.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH IRISH MELODY PREVAILS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img015.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'N'" /></div><p>ow, Father Roach's domicile was the first house in the Chapel-lane, +which consisted altogether of two, not being very long. It showed a +hall-door, painted green—the national hue—which enclosed, I'm happy to +say, not a few of the national virtues, chief among which reigned +hospitality. As Moggy turned the corner, and got out of the cold wind +under its friendly shelter, she heard a stentorian voice, accompanied by +the mellifluous drone of a bagpipe, concluding in a highly decorative +style the last verse of the 'Colleen Rue.'</p> + +<p>Respect for this celestial melody, and a desire to hear a little more of +what might follow, held Moggy on the steps, with the knocker between her +finger and thumb, unwilling to disturb by an unseasonable summons the +harmonies from which she was, in fact, separated only by the thickness +of the window and its shutter. And when the vocal and instrumental music +came to an end together with a prolonged and indescribable groan and a +grunt from the songster and the instrument, there broke forth a shrilly +chorus of female cackle, some in admiration and some in laughter; and +the voice of Father Roach was heard lustily and melodiously ejaculating +'More power to you, Pat Mahony!'</p> + +<p>As this pleasant party all talked together, and Moggy could not clearly +unravel a single sentence, she made up her mind to wait no longer, and +knocked with good emphasis, under cover of the uproar.</p> + +<p>The maid, who had evidently been in the hall, almost instantaneously +opened the door; and with a hasty welcome full of giggle and excitement, +pulled in Moggy by the arm, shutting the door after her; and each damsel +asked the other, 'An' how are you, and are you elegant?' and shaking her +neighbour by both hands. The clerical handmaid, in a galloping whisper +in Moggy's ear, told her,' 'Twas a weddin' party, and such tarin' fun +she never see—sich dancin' and singin', and laughin' and funnin'; and +she must wait a bit, and see the quality,' a portion of whom, indeed, +were visible as well as over-poweringly audible, through the half-open +door of the front parlour; 'and there was to be a thunderin' fine +supper—a round of beef and two geese, and a tubful of oysters,' &c., &c.</p> + +<p>Now I must mention that this feast was, in fact, in its own way, more +romantically wonderful than that of the celebrated wedding of Camacho +the Rich, and one of the many hundred proofs I've met with in the course +of my long pilgrimage that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> honest prose of everyday life is often +ten times more surprising than the unsubstantial fictions of even the +best epic poets.</p> + +<p>The valiant Sir Jaufry, it is true, was ordered to a dungeon by the fair +Brunissende, who so soon as she beheld him, nevertheless became +enamoured of the knight, and gave him finally her hand in wedlock. But +if the fair Brunissende had been five and forty, or by'r lady, fifty, +the widow of a tailor, herself wondrous keen after money, and stung very +nigh to madness by the preposterous balance due (as per ledger), and the +inexhaustible and ingenious dodges executed by the insolvent Sir Jaufry, +the composer of that chivalric romance might have shrunk from the happy +winding-up as bordering too nearly upon the incredible.</p> + +<p>Yet good Father Roach understood human nature better. Man and woman have +a tendency to fuse. And given a good-looking fellow and a woman, no +matter of what age, who but deserves the name, and bring them together, +and let the hero but have proper opportunities, and deuce is in it if +nothing comes of the matter. Animosity is no impediment. On the contrary +'tis a more advantageous opening than indifference. The Cid began his +courtship by shooting his lady-love's pigeons, and putting her into a +pet and a frenzy. The Cid knew what he was about. Stir no matter <i>what</i> +passions, provided they <i>be</i> passions, and get your image well into your +lady's head, and you may repeat, with like success, the wooing (which +superficial people pronounce so unnatural) of crook-backed Richard and +the Lady Anne. Of course, there are limits. I would not advise, for +instance, a fat elderly gentleman, bald, carbuncled, dull of wit, and +slow of speech, to hazard that particular method, lest he should find +himself the worse of his experiment. My counsel is for the young, the +tolerably good-looking, for murmuring orators of the silver-tongue +family, and romantic athletes with coaxing ways.</p> + +<p>Worthy Father Roach constituted himself internuncio between Mahony, whom +we remember first in his pride of place doing the honours of that feast +of Mars in which his 'friend' Nutter was to have carved up the great +O'Flaherty on the Fifteen Acres, and next, <i>quantum, mutatus ab illo</i>! a +helpless but manly captive in the hands of the Dublin bailiffs, and that +very Mrs. Elizabeth Woolly, relict and sole executrix of the late +Timotheus Woolly, of High-street, tailor, &c., &c., who was the cruel +cause of his incarceration.</p> + +<p>Good Father Roach, though a paragon of celibacy, was of a gallant +temperament, and a wheedling tongue, and unfolded before the offended +eye of the insulted and vindictive executrix so interesting a picture of +'his noble young friend, the victim of circumstance, breaking his manly +heart over his follies and misfortunes;' and looking upon her, Mrs. +Woolly, afar off, with an eye full of melancholy and awe, tempered with, +mayhap, somewhat of romantic gallantry, like Sir Walter Raleigh from the +Tower window on Queen Elizabeth, that he at length persuaded the +tremendous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> 'relict' to visit her captive in his dungeon. This she did, +in a severe mood, with her attorney, and good Father Roach; and though +Mahony's statement was declamatory rather than precise, and dealt more +with his feelings than his resources, and was carried on more in the way +of an appeal to the 'leedy' than as an exposition to the man of law, +leaving matters at the end in certainly no clearer state than before he +began, yet the executrix consented to see the imprisoned youth once +more, this time dispensing with her attorney's attendance, and content +with the protection of the priest, and even upon that, on some +subsequent visits, she did not insist.</p> + +<p>And so the affair, like one of those medleys of our Irish melodies +arranged by poor M. Jullien, starting with a martial air, breathing turf +and thunder, fire and sword, went off imperceptibly into a pathetic and +amorous strain. Father Roach, still officiating as internuncio, found +the dowager less and less impracticable, and at length a treaty was +happily concluded. The captive came forth to wear thenceforward those +lighter chains only, which are forged by Hymen and wreathed with roses; +and the lady applied to his old promissory notes the torch of love, +which in a moment reduced them to ashes. And here, at the hermitage of +our jolly Chapelizod priest—for bride and bridegroom were alike of the +'ancient faith'—the treaty was ratified, and the bagpipe and the +bridegroom, in tremendous unison, splitting the rafters with 'Hymen, +Hymen, O Hymenœe!'</p> + +<p>In the midst of this festive celebration, his reverence was summoned to +the hall, already perfumed with the incense of the geese, the onions, +the bacon browned at the kitchen-fire, and various other delicacies, +toned and enriched by the vapours that exhaled from the little bottle of +punch which, in consideration of his fatigues, stood by the elbow of the +piper.</p> + +<p>When the holy man had heard Moggy's tale, he scratched his tonsure and +looked, I must say, confoundedly bored.</p> + +<p>'Now, Moggy, my child, don't you see, acushla, 'tisn't to me you should +ha' come; I'm here, my dear, engaged,' and he dried his moist and +rubicund countenance, 'in one of the sacred offices iv the Church, the +sacrament, my dear, iv'—here Mahony and the piper struck up again in so +loud a key in the parlour, that as Moggy afterwards observed, 'they +could not hear their own ears,' and the conclusion of the sentence was +overwhelmed in, 'Many's the bottle I cracked in my time.' So his +reverence impatiently beckoned to the hall-door, which he opened, and on +the steps, where he was able to make himself audible, he explained the +nature of his present engagement, and referred her to Doctor Toole. +Assured, however, that he was in Dublin, he scratched his tonsure once +more.</p> + +<p>'The divil burn the lot o' them, my dear, an' purty evenin' they chose +for their vagaries—an' law papers too, you say, an' an attorney into +the bargain—there's no influence you can bring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> to bear on them +fellows. If 'twas another man, an' a couple more at his back, myself an' +Pat Moran 'id wallop them out of the house, an' into the river, be +gannies; as aisy as say an <i>ave</i>.'</p> + +<p>The illustration, it occurred to him, might possibly strike Moggy as +irreverent, and the worthy father paused, and, with upturned eyes, +murmured a Latin ejaculation, crossing himself; and having thus +reasserted his clerical character, he proceeded to demonstrate the +uselessness of his going.</p> + +<p>But Father Roach, though sometimes a little bit testy, and, on the +whole, not without faults, was as good-natured an anchorite as ever said +mass or brewed a contemplative bowl of punch. If he refused to go down +to the Mills, he would not have been comfortable again that night, nor +indeed for a week to come. So, with a sigh, he made up his mind, got +quietly into his surtout and mufflers which hung on the peg behind the +hall-door, clapped on his hat, grasped his stout oak stick, and telling +his housekeeper to let them know, in case his guests should miss him, +that he was obliged to go out for ten minutes or so on parish business, +forth sallied the stout priest, with no great appetite for +knight-errantry, but still anxious to rescue, if so it might be, the +distressed princess, begirt with giants and enchanters, at the Mills.</p> + +<p>At the Salmon House he enlisted the stalworth Paddy Moran, with the +information conveyed to that surprised reveller, that he was to sleep at +'Mrs. Nutter's house' that night; and so, at a brisk pace, the clerical +knight, his squire, and demoiselle-errant, proceeded to the Mills.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH, WHILE THE HARMONY CONTINUES IN FATHER ROACH'S FRONT PARLOUR, A +FEW DISCORDS ARE INTRODUCED ELSEWHERE; AND DOCTOR TOOLE ARRIVES IN THE +MORNING WITH A MARVELLOUS BUDGET OF NEWS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he good people who had established themselves in poor Nutter's domicile +did not appear at all disconcerted by the priest's summons. His knock at +the hall-door was attended to with the most consummate assurance by +M. M.'s maid, just as if the premises had belonged to her mistress all +her days.</p> + +<p>Between this hussy and his reverence, who was in no mood to be trifled +with, there occurred in the hall some very pretty sparring, which ended +by his being ushered into the parlour, where sat Mistress Matchwell and +Dirty Davy, the 'tea-things' on the table, and an odour more potent than +that of the Chinese aroma circulating agreeably through the chamber.</p> + +<p>I need not report the dialogue of the parties, showing how the honest +priest maintained, under sore trial, his character for politeness while +addressing a lady, and how he indemnified himself in the style in which +he 'discoorsed' the attorney; how his language fluctuated between the +persuasively religious and the horribly profane; and how, at one crisis +in the conversation, although he had self-command enough to bow to the +matron, he was on the point of cracking the lawyer's crown with the fine +specimen of Irish oak which he carried in his hand, and, in fact, +nothing but his prudent respect for that gentleman's cloth prevented his +doing so.</p> + +<p>'But supposin', Ma'am,' said his reverence, referring to the astounding +allegation of her marriage with Nutter; 'for the sake of argumint, it +should turn out to be so, in coorse you would not like to turn the poor +woman out iv doors, without a penny in her pocket, to beg her bread?'</p> + +<p>'Your friend up stairs, Sir, intended playing the lady for the rest of +her days,' answered M. M., with a cat-like demureness, sly and cruel, 'at +my cost and to my sorrow. For twenty long years, or nigh hand it, she +has lived with my husband, consuming my substance, and keeping me in +penury. What did she allow me all that time?—not so much as that +crust—ha! ha!—no, not even allowed my husband to write me a line, or +send me a shilling. I suppose she owes me for her maintenance here—in +my house, out of my property—fully two thousand pounds. Make money of +that, Sir;—and my lawyer advises me to make her pay it.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Or rather to make her account, Ma'am; or you will, if she's disposed to +act fairly, take anything you may be advised, to be reasonable and +equitable, Ma'am,' interposed Dirty Davy.</p> + +<p>'That's it,' resumed Madam Mary. 'I don't want her four bones. Let her +make up one thousand pounds—that's reason, Sir—and I'll forgive her +the remainder. But if she won't, then to gaol I'll send her, and there +she may rot for me.'</p> + +<p>'You persave, Sir,' continued the attorney; 'your client—I mane your +friend—has fixed herself in the character of an agent—all the late +gintleman's money, you see, went through her hands—an agent or a +steward to Charles Nutther, desased—an' a coort iv equity'll hould her +liable to account, ye see; an' we know well enough what money's past +through her hands annually—an' whatever she can prove to have been +honestly applied, we'll be quite willin' to allow; but, you see, we must +have the balance!'</p> + +<p>'Balance!' said the priest, incensed beyond endurance; 'if you stay +balancin' here, my joker, much longer, you'll run a raysonable risk of +balancin' by the neck out iv one of them trees before the doore.'</p> + +<p>'So you're threatenin' my life, Sir!' said the attorney, with a sly +defiance.</p> + +<p>'You lie like the divil, Sir—savin' your presence, Ma'am. Don't you +know the differ, Sir, between a threat an' a warnin', you bosthoon?' +thundered his reverence.</p> + +<p>'You're sthrivin' to provoke me to a brache iv the pace, as the company +can testify,' said Dirty Davy.</p> + +<p>'Ye lie again, you—you fat crature—'tis thryin' to provoke you to +<i>keep</i> the pace I am. Listen to me, the both o' yez—the leedy up +stairs, the misthress iv this house, and widow of poor Charles +Nutter—Mrs. Sally Nutther, I say—is well liked in the parish; an' if +they get the wind o' the word, all I say 's this—so sure as you're +found here houldin' wrongful possession of her house an' goods, the boys +iv Palmerstown, Castleknock, and Chapelizod will pay yez a visit you +won't like, and duck yez in the river, or hang yez together, like a pair +of common robbers, as you unquestionably <i>are—not</i>,' he added, with a +sudden sense of legal liability.</p> + +<p>'Who's that?' demanded the lynx-eyed lady, who saw Pat Moran cross the +door in the shadow of the lobby.</p> + +<p>'That's Mr. Moran, a most respectable and muscular man, come here to +keep possession, Madam, for Mrs. Sally Nutther, our good friend and +neighbour, Ma'am,' replied the priest.</p> + +<p>'As you plase, Sir,' replied the attorney; 'you're tumblin' yourself and +your friend into a nice predicament—as good a consthructive ousther, vi +et armis, as my client could possibly desire. Av coorse, Sir, we'll seek +compensation in the regular way for this violent threspass; and we have +you criminally, you'll obsarve, no less than civilly.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Now, look—onderstand me—don't affect to misteek, av you plase,' +said the priest, not very clear or comfortable, for he had before +had one or two brushes with the law, and the recollection was +disagreeable: 'I—Mr. Moran—we're here, Sir—the both iv us, as you +see—pacibly—and—and—all to that—and at the request of Mrs. Sally +Nutther—mind that, too—at her special desire—an' I tell you what's +more—if you make any row here—do you mind—I'll come down with the +magisthrate an' the soldiers, an' lave it to them to dale with you +accordin'—mind ye—to law an' equity, civil, human, criminal, an' +divine—an' make money o' that, ye—ye—mountain in labour—savin' your +presence, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'I thank you—that'll do, Sir,' said the lawyer, with a lazy chuckle.</p> + +<p>'I'll now do myself the honour to make my compliments to Mrs. Sally +Nutther,' said Father Roach, making a solemn bow to Mrs. Matchwell, who, +with a shrill sneer, pursued him as he disappeared with—</p> + +<p>'The lady in the bed-room, your reverence?'</p> + +<p>Whereat Dirty Davy renewed his wheezy chuckle.</p> + +<p>Nothing daunted, the indignant divine stumped resolutely up stairs, and +found poor Sally Nutter, to whose room he was joyfully admitted by +honest Betty, who knew his soft honest brogue in a panic, the violence +of which had almost superseded her grief. So he consoled and fortified +the poor lady as well as he could, and when she urged him to remain in +the house all night.</p> + +<p>'My dear Ma'am,' says he, lifting his hand and shaking his head, with +closed eyes, 'you forget my ca<i>rac</i>ter. Why, the house is full iv +faymales. My darlin' Mrs. Nutther, I—I couldn't enthertain sich an +idaya; and, besides,' said he, with sudden energy, recollecting that the +goose might be overdone, 'there's a religious duty, my dear Ma'am—the +holy sacrament waitin'—a pair to be married; but Pat Moran will keep +them quiet till mornin,' and I'll be down myself to see you then. So my +sarvice to you, Mrs. Nutther, and God bless you, my dear Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>And with this valediction the priest departed, and from the road he +looked back at the familiar outline of the Mills, and its thick clumps +of chimneys, and two twinkling lights, and thought of the horrible and +sudden change that had passed over the place and the inmates, and how a +dreadful curse had scathed them: making it, till lately the scene of +comfort and tranquillity, to become the hold of every foul spirit, and +the cage of every unclean and hateful bird.</p> + +<p>Doctor Toole arrived at ten o'clock next morning, with news that shook +the village. The inquest was postponed to the evening, to secure the +attendance of some witnesses, who could throw a light, it was thought, +on the enquiry. Then Doctor Toole was examined, and identified the body +at first, confidently.</p> + +<p>'But,' said he, in the great parlour of the Phœnix, where he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> held +forth, 'though the features were as like as two eggs, it struck me the +forehead was a thought broader. So, said I, I can set the matter at rest +in five minutes. Charles Nutter's left upper arm was broken midway, and +I set it; there would be the usual deposit where the bone knit, and he +had a sword thrust through his right shoulder, cicatrised, and very well +defined; and he had lost two under-teeth. Well, the teeth <i>were</i> gone, +but three instead of two, and on laying the arm-bone bare, 'twas plain +it had never been broken, and, in like manner, nothing wrong with the +right shoulder, and there was nothing like so much deltoid and biceps as +Nutter had. So says I, at once, be that body whose it may, 'tis none of +Charles Nutter's, and to that I swear, gentlemen; and I had hardly made +an end when 'twas identified for the corpse of the French hair-dresser, +newly arrived from Paris, who was crossing the Liffey, on Tuesday night, +you remember, at the old ferry-boat slip, and fell in and was drowned. +So that part of the story's ended.</p> + +<p>'But, gentlemen,' continued Toole, with the important and resolute +bearing of a man who has a startling announcement to make, 'I am sorry +to have to tell you that poor Charles Nutter's in gaol.'</p> + +<p>In gaol! was echoed in all sorts of tones from his auditory, with an +abundance of profane ejaculations of wonderment, concern, and horror.</p> + +<p>'Ay, gentlemen, in the body of the gaol.'</p> + +<p>Then it came out that Nutter had been arrested that very morning, in a +sedan-chair, at the end of Cook Street, and was now in the county prison +awaiting his trial; and that, no doubt, bail would be refused, which, +indeed, turned out truly.</p> + +<p>So, when all these amazing events had been thoroughly discussed, the +little gathering dispersed to blaze them abroad, and Toole wrote to Mr. +Gamble, to tell him that the person, Mary Matchwell, claiming to be the +wife of Charles Nutter, has established herself at the Mills, and is +disposed to be troublesome, and terrifies poor Mrs. Sally Nutter, who is +ill; it would be a charity to come out, and direct measures. I know not +what ought to be done, though confident her claim is a bag of moonshine +and lies, and, if not stopped, she'll make away with the goods and +furniture, which is mighty hard upon this unfortunate lady,' etc., etc.</p> + +<p>'That Mary Matchwell, as I think, ought to be in gaol for the assault on +Sturk; her card, you know, was found in the mud beside him, and she's +fit for any devil's work.'</p> + +<p>This was addressed by Toole to his good wife.</p> + +<p>'That <i>card?</i> said Jimmey, who happened to be triturating a powder in +the corner for little Master Barney Sturk, and who suspended operations, +and spoke with the pestle in his fingers, and a very cunning leer on his +sharp features: 'I know all about that card.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You do—do you? and why didn't you spake out long ago, you vagabond?' +said Toole. 'Well, then! come now!—what's in your knowledge-box?—out +with it.'</p> + +<p>'Why, I had that card in my hand the night Mr. Nutter went off.'</p> + +<p>'Well?—go on.'</p> + +<p>''Twas in the hall at the Mills, Sir; I knew it again at the Barracks +the minute I seen it.'</p> + +<p>'Why, 'tis a printed card—there's hundreds of them—how d'ye know one +from t'other, wisehead?'</p> + +<p>'Why, Sir, 'twas how this one was walked on, and the letter M. in Mary +was tore across, an' on the back was writ, in red ink, for Mrs. +Macnamara, and they could not read it down at the Barracks, because the +wet had got at it, and the end was mostly washed away, and they thought +it was MacNally, or MacIntire; but I knew it the minute I seen it.'</p> + +<p>'Well, my tight little fellow, and what the dickens has all that to do +with the matter?' asked Toole, growing uneasy.</p> + +<p>'The dickens a much, I believe, Sir; only as Mr. Nutter was goin' out he +snatched it out o' my hand—in the hall there—and stuffed it into his +pocket.'</p> + +<p>'You did not tell that lying story, did you, about the town, you +mischievous young spalpeen?' demanded the doctor, shaking his disciple +rather roughly by the arm.</p> + +<p>'No—I—I didn't—I did not tell, Sir—what is it to me?' answered the +boy, frightened.</p> + +<p>'You didn't tell—not you, truly. I lay you a tenpenny-bit there isn't a +tattler in the town but has the story by rote—a pretty kettle o' fish +you'll make of it, with your meddling and lying. If 'twas true, 'twould +be another matter, but—hold your tongue;—how the plague are you to +know one card from another when they're all alike, and Mrs. Macnamara, +Mrs. Macfiddle. I suppose <i>you</i> can read better than the <i>adjutant</i>, ha, +ha! Well, mind my words, you've got yourself into a pretty predicament; +I'd walk twice from this to the county court-house and back again, only +to look at it; a pleasant cross-hackling the counsellors will give you, +and if you prevaricate—you know what that is, my boy—the judge will +make short work with you, and you may cool your heels in gaol as long as +he pleases, for me.'</p> + +<p>'And, look'ee,' said Toole, returning, for he was going out, as he +generally did, whenever he was profoundly ruffled; 'you remember the +affidavit-man that was whipped and pilloried this time two years for +perjury, eh? Look to it, my fine fellow. There's more than me knows how +Mr. Nutter threatened to cane you that night—and a good turn 'twould +have been—and 'twouldn't take much to persuade an honest jury that you +wanted to pay him off for that by putting a nail in his coffin, you +young miscreant! Go on—do—and I promise you'll get an airing yet +you'll not like—you will.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> + +<p>And so Toole, with a wag of his head, and a grin over his shoulder, +strutted out into the village street, where he was seen, with a pursed +mouth, and a flushed visage, to make a vicious cut or two with his cane +in the air as he walked along. And it must be allowed that Master +Jimmey's reflections were a little confused and uncomfortable, as he +pondered over the past and the future with the pestle in his fingers and +the doctor's awful words ringing in his ears.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIX.</h2> + +<h4>SHOWING HOW LITTLE LILY'S LIFE BEGAN TO CHANGE INTO A RETROSPECT; AND +HOW ON A SUDDEN SHE BEGAN TO FEEL BETTER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>s time wore on, little Lilias was not better. When she had read her +Bible, and closed it, she would sit long silent, with a sad look, +thinking; and often she would ask old Sally questions about her mother, +and listen to her, looking all the time with a strange and earnest gaze +through the glass door upon the evergreens and the early snowdrops. And +old Sally was troubled somehow, and saddened at her dwelling so much +upon this theme.</p> + +<p>And one evening, as they sat together in the drawing-room—she and the +good old rector—she asked him, too, gently, about her; for he never +shrank from talking of the beloved dead, but used to speak of her often, +with a simple tenderness, as if she were still living.</p> + +<p>In this he was right. Why should we be afraid to <i>speak</i> of those of +whom we think so continually? She is not dead, but sleepeth! I have met +a few, and they very good men, who spoke of their beloved dead with this +cheery affection, and mingled their pleasant and loving remembrances of +them in their common talk; and often I wished that, when I am laid up in +the bosom of our common mother earth, those who loved me would keep my +memory thus socially alive, and allow my name, when I shall answer to it +no more, to mingle still in their affectionate and merry intercourse.</p> + +<p>'Some conflicts my darling had the day before her departure,' he said; +'but such as through God's goodness lasted not long, and ended in the +comfort that continued to her end, which was so quiet and so peaceable, +we who were nearest about her, knew not the moment of her departure. And +little Lily was then but an infant—a tiny little thing. Ah! if my +darling had been spared to see her grown-up, such a beauty, and so like +her!'</p> + +<p>And so he rambled on; and when he looked at her, little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> Lily was +weeping; and as he looked she said, trying to smile—</p> + +<p>'Indeed, I don't know why I'm crying, darling. There's nothing the +matter with your little Lily—only I can't help crying: and I'm your +foolish little Lily, you know.'</p> + +<p>And this often happened, that he found she was weeping when he looked on +her suddenly, and she used to try to smile, and both, then, to cry +together, and neither say what they feared, only each unspeakably more +tender and loving. Ah, yes! in their love was mingling now something of +the yearning of a farewell, which neither would acknowledge.</p> + +<p>'Now, while they lay here,' says sweet John Bunyan, in his 'Pilgrim's +Progress,' 'and waited for the good hour, there was a noise in the town +that there was a post come from the celestial city, with matter of great +importance to one Christiana. So enquiry was made for her, and the house +was found out where she was; so the post presented her with a letter, +the contents whereof were, "Hail, thou good one! I bring thee tidings +that the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldst stand +in his presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten days."'</p> + +<p>'When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a sure token +that he was a true messenger, and was come to bid her make haste to be +gone. The token was an arrow with a point sharpened with love, let +easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, +that at the time appointed she must be gone.</p> + +<p>'When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that she was the first +of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr. Greatheart, her +guide, and told him how matters were.'</p> + +<p>And so little Lily talked with Mr. Greatheart in her own way; and +hearing of her mother, gave ear to the story as to a sweet and solemn +parable, that lighted her dark steps. And the old man went on:—</p> + +<p>'It is St. John who says, "And the sea arose by reason of a great wind +that blew. So when they had rowed about five-and-twenty, or thirty +furlongs, they see the Lord walking on the sea, and drawing nigh unto +the ship: and they were afraid. But he saith unto them, It is I, be not +afraid." So is it with the frail bark of mortality and the trembling +spirit it carries. When "it is now dark," and the sea arises, and the +"great wind" blows, the vessel is tost, and the poor heart fails within +it; and when they see the dim form which they take to be the angel of +death walking the roaming waters, they cry out in terror, but the voice +of the sweet Redeemer, the Lord of Life is heard, "It is I; be not +afraid," and so the faithful ones "willingly receive him into the ship," +and immediately it is at the land whither they go: yes, at the land +whither they go. But, oh! the lonely ones, left behind on the other +shore.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<p>One morning, old Sally, who, in her quiet way, used to tell all the +little village news she heard, thinking to make her young mistress +smile, or at least listen, said—</p> + +<p>'And that wild young gentleman, Captain Devereux, is growing godly, they +say; Mrs. Irons tells me how he calls for his Bible o' nights, and how +he does not play cards, nor eat suppers at the Phœnix, nor keep bad +company, nor go into Dublin, but goes to church; and she says she does +not know what to make of him.'</p> + +<p>Little Lily did not speak or raise her head; she went on stirring the +little locket, that lay on the table, with the tip of her finger, +looking on it silently. She did not seem to mind old Sally's talk, +almost to hear it, but when it ended, she waited, still silent, as a +child, when the music is over, listens for more.</p> + +<p>When she came down she placed her chair near the window, that she might +see the snowdrops and the crocuses.</p> + +<p>'The spring, at last, Sally, my darling, and I feel so much better;' and +Lily smiled on the flowers through the windows, and I fancy the flowers +opened in that beautiful light.</p> + +<p>And she said, every now and then, that she felt 'so much better—so much +stronger,' and made old Sally sit by her, and talk to her, and smiled so +happily, and there again were all her droll engaging little ways. And +when the good rector came in, that evening, she welcomed him in the old +pleasant way: though she could not run out, as in other times, when she +heard his foot on the steps, to meet him at the door, and there was such +a beautiful colour in her clear, thin cheeks, and she sang his favourite +little song for him, just one verse, with the clear, rich voice he loved +so well, and then tired. The voice remained in his ears long after, and +often came again, and that little song, in lonely reveries, while he sat +listening, in long silence, and twilight, a swan's song.</p> + +<p>'You see, your little Lily is growing quite well again. I feel so much +better.'</p> + +<p>There was such a childish sunshine in her smile, his trembling heart +believed it.</p> + +<p>'Oh! little Lily, my darling!' he stopped—he was crying, and yet +delighted. Smiling all the time, and crying, and through it a little +laugh, as if he had waked from a dream of having lost her, and found her +there—his treasure—safe. 'If anything happened to little Lily, I think +the poor old man'—and the sentence was not finished; and, after a +little pause, he said, quite cheerily—'But I knew the spring would +bring her back. I knew it, and here she is; the light of the house; +little Lily, my treasure.'</p> + +<p>And so he blessed and kissed her, and blessed her again, with all his +fervent soul, laying his old hand lightly on her fair young head; and +when she went up for the night, with gentle old Sally, and he heard her +room door shut, he closed his own, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> kneeling down, with clasped +hands and streaming eyes, in a rapture of gratitude, he poured forth his +thanksgivings before the Throne of all Mercies.</p> + +<p>These outpourings of gratitude, all premature, for blessings not real +but imagined, are not vain. They are not thrown away upon that glorious +and marvellous God who draws near to all who will draw near to Him, +reciprocates every emotion of our love with a tenderness literally +parental, and is delighted with his creatures' appreciation of his +affection and his trustworthiness; who knows whereof we are made, and +remembers that we are but dust, and is our faithful Creator. Therefore, +friend, though thou fearest a shadow, thy prayer is not wasted; though +thou rejoicest in an illusion, thy thanksgiving is not in vain. They are +the expressions of thy faith recorded in Heaven, and counted—oh! +marvellous love and compassion!—to thee for righteousness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXX.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH TWO ACQUAINTANCES BECOME, ON A SUDDEN, MARVELLOUSLY FRIENDLY IN +THE CHURCH-YARD; AND MR. DANGERFIELD SMOKES A PIPE IN THE BRASS CASTLE, +AND RESOLVES THAT THE DUMB SHALL SPEAK.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img083.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'O'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'O'" /></div><p>n Sunday, Mervyn, after the good doctor's sermon and benediction, +wishing to make enquiry of the rector touching the movements of his +clerk, whose place was provisionally supplied by a corpulent and +unctuous mercenary from Dublin, whose fat presence and panting delivery +were in signal contrast with the lank figure and deep cavernous tones of +the absent official, loitered in the church-yard to allow time for the +congregation to disperse, and the parson to disrobe and emerge.</p> + +<p>He was reading an epitaph on an expansive black flag-stone, in the far +corner of the church-yard—it is still there—upon several ancestral +members of the family of Lowe, who slept beneath 'in hope,' as the +stone-cutter informed the upper world; and musing, as sad men will, upon +the dates and vanities of the record, when a thin white hand was lightly +laid upon his sleeve from behind; and looking round, in expectation of +seeing the rector's grave, simple, kindly countenance, he beheld, +instead, with a sort of odd thrill, the white glittering face of Mr. +Paul Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Hamlet in the church-yard!' said the white gentleman, with an ambiguous +playfulness, very like a sneer. 'I'm too old to play Horatio; but +standing at his elbow, if the Prince permits, I have a friendly word or +two to say, in my own dry way.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was in Mervyn's nature something that revolted instinctively from +the singular person who stood at his shoulder. Their organisations and +appetites were different, I suppose, and repellent. Cold and glittering +was the 'gelidus anguis in herbâ'—the churchyard grass—who had lifted +his baleful crest close to his ear.</p> + +<p>There was a slight flush on 'Hamlet's' forehead, and a glimmer of +something dangerous in his eye, as he glanced on his stark acquaintance. +But the feeling was transitory and unreasonable, and he greeted him with +a cold and sad civility.</p> + +<p>'I was thinking, Mr. Mervyn,' said Mr. Dangerfield, politely, 'of +walking up to the Tiled House, after church, to pay my respects, and ask +the favour of five minutes' discourse with you; and seeing you here, I +ventured to present myself.'</p> + +<p>'If I can do anything to serve Mr. Dangerfield,' began Mervyn.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield smiled and bowed. He was very courteous; but in his smile +there was a character of superiority which Mervyn felt almost like an +insult.</p> + +<p>'You mistake me, Sir. I'm all gratitude; but I don't mean to trouble you +further than to ask your attention for two or three minutes. I've a +thing to tell you, Sir. <i>I</i>'m really anxious to serve <i>you</i>. I wish I +could. And 'tis only that I've recollected since I saw you, a +circumstance of which possibly you may make some use.'</p> + +<p>'I'm deeply obliged, Sir—deeply,' said Mervyn, eagerly.</p> + +<p>'I'm only, Sir, too happy. It relates to Charles Archer. I've +recollected, since I saw you, a document concerning his death. It had a +legal bearing of some sort, and was signed by at least three gentlemen. +One was Sir Philip Drayton, of Drayton Hall, who was with him at +Florence in his last illness. I may have signed it myself, but I don't +recollect. It was by his express desire, to quiet, as I remember, some +proceedings which might have made a noise, and compromised his family.'</p> + +<p>'Can you bring to mind the nature of the document?'</p> + +<p>'Why, thus much. I'm quite sure it began with a certificate of his +death; and then, I think, was added a statement, at his last request, +which surprised, or perhaps, shocked us. I only say I <i>think</i>—for +though I remember that such a statement was solemnly made, I can't bring +to mind whether it was set out in the writing of which I speak. Only I +am confident it referred to some crime—a confession of something; but +for the life o' me I can't recollect what. If you could let me know the +subject of your suspicion it might help me. I should never have +remembered this occurrence, for instance, had it not been for our +meeting t'other day. I can't exactly—in fact, <i>at all</i>—bring to mind +what the crime was: forgery, or perjury—eh?'</p> + +<p>'Why, Sir, 'twas this,' said Mervyn, and stopped short, not knowing how +far even this innocent confidence might compro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>mise Irons. Dangerfield, +his head slightly inclined, was disconcertingly silent and attentive.</p> + +<p>'I—I suspect,' resumed Mervyn, 'I suspect, Sir, 'twas <i>perjury</i>,' said +Mervyn.</p> + +<p>'Oh! perjury? I see—in the matter of his testimony in that distressing +prosecution. My Lord Dunoran—hey?'</p> + +<p>Mervyn bowed, and Dangerfield remained silent and thoughtful for a +minute or two, and then said:—</p> + +<p>'I see, Sir—I <i>think</i> I see; but, who then was the guilty man, who +killed Mr. —— pooh, What's-his-name—the deceased man,—you know?'</p> + +<p>'Why, upon that point, Sir, I should have some hesitation in speaking. I +can only now say thus much, that I'm satisfied, he, Charles Archer, in +swearing as he did, committed wilful perjury.'</p> + +<p>'You are?—oho!—oh! This is satisfactory. You don't, of course, mean +mere conjecture—eh?'</p> + +<p>'I know not, Sir, how you would call it, but 'tis certainly a feeling +fixed in my mind.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, I trust it may prove well founded. I wish I had myself a +copy of that paper; but, though I have it not, I think I can put you in +a way to get it. It was addressed, I perfectly recollect, to the Messrs. +Elrington, gentlemen attorneys, in Chancery-lane, London. I remember it, +because my Lord Castlemallard employed them eight or nine years +afterwards in some law business, which recalled the whole matter to my +mind before it had quite faded. No doubt they have it there. 'Twas about +a week after his death. The date of that you can have from newspapers. +You'll not mention my name when writing, because they mayn't like the +trouble of searching, and my Lord Castlemallard would not approve my +meddling in other persons' affairs—even in yours.'</p> + +<p>'I sha'n't forget. But what if they refuse to seek the paper out?'</p> + +<p>'Make it worth their while in money, Sir; and, though they may grumble +over it, I warrant they'll find it.'</p> + +<p>'Sir,' said Mervyn, suddenly, 'I cannot thank you half enough. This +statement, should it appear attached, as you suppose, to the +certificate, may possibly place me on the track of that lost witness, +who yet may restore my ruined name and fortunes. I thank you, Sir. From +my heart I <i>do</i> thank you.'</p> + +<p>And he grasped Dangerfield's white thin hand in his, with a fervour how +unlike his cold greeting of only a few minutes before, and shook it with +an eager cordiality.</p> + +<p>Thus across the grave of these old Lowes did the two shake hands, as +they had never done before; and Dangerfield, white and glittering, and +like a frolicsome man, entering into a joke, wrung his with an +exaggerated demonstration, and then flung it downward with a sudden +jerk, as if throwing down a glove. The gesture, the smile, and the +suspicion of a scowl, had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> strange mixture of cordiality, banter and +defiance, and he was laughing a quiet 'ha, ha, ha;' and, wagging his +head, he said—</p> + +<p>'Well, I thought 'twould please you to hear this; and anything more I +can do or think of is equally at your service.'</p> + +<p>So, side by side they returned, picking their steps among the graves and +head-stones, to the old church porch.</p> + +<p>For a day or two after the storm, the temper of our cynical friend of +the silver spectacles had suffered. Perhaps he did not like the news +which had reached him since, and would have preferred that Charles +Nutter had made good his escape from the gripe of justice.</p> + +<p>The management of Lord Castlemallard's Irish estates had devolved +provisionally upon Mr. Dangerfield during the absence of Nutter and the +coma of his rival; and the erect white gentleman, before his desk in his +elbow-chair, when, after his breakfast, about to open the letters and +the books relating to this part of his charge, used sometimes to grin +over his work, and jabber to himself his hard scoffs and gibes over the +sins and follies of man, and the chops and changes of this mortal life.</p> + +<p>But from and after the night of the snow-storm he had contracted a +disgust for this part of his labours, and he used to curse Nutter with +remarkable intensity, and with an iteration which, to a listener who +thought that even the best thing may be said too often, would have been +tiresome.</p> + +<p>Perhaps a little occurrence, which Mr. Dangerfield himself utterly +despised, may have had something to do with his bitter temper, and gave +an unsatisfactory turn to his thoughts. It took place on the eventful +night of the tempest.</p> + +<p>If some people saw visions that night, others dreamed dreams. In a +midnight storm like this, time was when the solemn peal and defiant +clang of the holy bells would have rung out confusion through the winged +hosts of 'the prince of the powers of the air,' from the heights of the +abbey tower. Everybody has a right to his own opinion on the matter. +Perhaps the prince and his army are no more upon the air on such a night +than on any other; or that being so, they no more hastened their +departure by reason of the bells than the eclipse does by reason of the +beating of the Emperor of China's gongs. But this I aver, whatever the +cause, upon such nights of storm, the sensoria of some men are crossed +by such wild variety and succession of images, as amounts very nearly to +the Walpurgis of a fever. It is not the mere noise—other noises won't +do it. The air, to be sure, is thin, and blood-vessels expand, and +perhaps the brain is pressed upon unduly. Well, I don't know. Material +laws may possibly account for it. I can only speak with certainty of the +phenomenon. I've experienced it; and some among those of my friends who +have reached that serene period of life in which we con over our +ailments, register our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> sensations, and place ourselves upon regimens, +tell me the same story of themselves. And this, too, I know, that upon +the night in question, Mr. Paul Dangerfield, who was not troubled either +with vapours or superstitions, as he lay in his green-curtained bed in +the Brass Castle, had as many dreams flitting over his brain and voices +humming and buzzing in his ears, as if he had been a poet or a +pythoness.</p> + +<p>He had not become, like poor Sturk before his catastrophe, a dreamer of +dreams habitually. I suppose he did dream. The beasts do. But his +visions never troubled him; and I don't think there was one morning in a +year on which he could have remembered his last night's dream at the +breakfast-table.</p> + +<p>On this particular night, however, he did dream. <i>Vidit somnium</i>. He +thought that Sturk was dead, and laid out in a sort of state in an open +coffin, with a great bouquet on his breast, something in the continental +fashion, as he remembered it in the case of a great, stern, burly +ecclesiastic in Florence. The coffin stood on tressels in the aisle of +Chapelizod church; and, of all persons in the world, he and Charles +Nutter stood side by side as chief mourners, each with a great waxen +taper burning in one hand, and a white pocket-handkerchief in the other.</p> + +<p>Now in dreams it sometimes happens that men undergo sensations of awe, +and even horror, such as waking they never know, and which the scenery +and situation of the dream itself appear wholly inadequate to produce. +Mr. Paul Dangerfield, had he been called on to do it, would have kept +solitary watch in a dead man's chamber, and smoked his pipe as serenely +as he would in the club-room of the Phœnix. But here it was +different. The company were all hooded and silent, sitting in rows: and +there was a dismal sound of distant waters, and an indefinable darkness +and horror in the air; and, on a sudden, up sat the corpse of Sturk, and +thundered, with a shriek, a dreadful denunciation, and Dangerfield +started up in his bed aghast, and cried—'Charles Archer!'</p> + +<p>The storm was bellowing and shrieking outside, and for some time that +grim, white gentleman, bolt upright in his shirt, did not know +distinctly in what part of the world, or, indeed, in what world he was.</p> + +<p>'So,' said Mr. Dangerfield, soliloquising, 'Charles Nutter's alive, and +in prison, and what comes next? 'Tis enough to make one believe in a +devil almost! Why wasn't he drowned, d—n him? How did he get himself +taken, d—n him again? From the time I came into this unlucky village +I've smelt danger. That accursed beast, a corpse, and a ghost, and a +prisoner at last—well, he has been my evil genius. <i>If</i> he were drowned +or hanged; born to be hanged, I hope: all I want is quiet—just <i>quiet</i>; +but I've a feeling the play's not played out yet. He'll give the hangman +the slip, will he: not if I can help<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> it, though; but caution, Sir, +caution; life's at stake—my life's on the cast. The clerk's a wise dog +to get out of the way. Death's walking. What a cursed fool I was when I +came here and saw those beasts, and knew them, not to turn back again, +and leave them to possess their paradise! I think I've lost my caution +and common sense under some cursed infatuation. That handsome, insolent +wench, Miss Gertrude, 'twould be something to have her, and to humble +her, too; but—but 'tis not worth a week in such a neighbourhood.'</p> + +<p>Now this soliloquy, which broke into an actual mutter every here and +there, occurred at about eleven o'clock <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, in the little low +parlour of the Brass Castle, that looked out on the wintry river.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield knew the virtues of tobacco, so he charged his pipe, and +sat grim, white, and erect by the fire. It is not everyone that is +'happy thinking,' and the knight of the silver spectacles followed out +his solitary discourse, with his pipe between his lips, and saw all +sorts of things through the white narcotic smoke.</p> + +<p>'It would not do to go off and leave affairs thus; a message might +follow me, eh? No; I'll stay and see it out, quite out. Sturk—Barnabas +Sturk. If he came to his speech for five minutes—hum—we'll see. I'll +speak with Mrs. Sturk about it—we must help him to his speech—a +prating fellow; 'tis hard he should hold his tongue; yes, we'll help him +to his speech; 'tis in the interest of justice—eternal justice—ha, ha, +the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Let Dr. Sturk be +sworn—ha, ha—magna est veritas—there is nothing hidden that shall not +be revealed; ha, ha. Let Dr. Sturk be called.'</p> + +<p>So the white, thin phantom of the spectacles and tobacco pipe, sitting +upright by the fire, amused himself with a solitary banter. Then he +knocked the white ashes out upon the hob, stood up with his back to the +fire, in grim rumination, for about a minute, at the end of which he +unlocked his desk, and took forth a letter, with a large red seal. If +was more than two months old by this time, and was, in fact, that letter +from the London doctor which he had expected with some impatience.</p> + +<p>It was not very long, and standing he read it through, and his white +face contracted, and darkened, and grew strangely intense and stern as +he did so.</p> + +<p>''Tis devilish strong—ha, ha, ha—conclusive, indeed.' He was amused +again. 'I've kept it long enough—<i>igni reservata</i>.'</p> + +<p>And holding it in the tongs, he lighted a corner, and as the last black +fragment of it, covered with creeping sparks, flew up the chimney, he +heard the voice of a gentleman hallooing in the court-yard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXI.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. DANGERFIELD RECEIVES A VISITOR, AND MAKES A CALL.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img078.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'D'" /></div><p>angerfield walked out and blandly greeted the visitor, who turned out +to be Mr. Justice Lowe.</p> + +<p>'I give you good-morning, Sir; pray, alight and step in. Hallo, Doolan, +take Mr. Justice Lowe's horse.'</p> + +<p>So Mr. Lowe thanked him, in his cold way, and bowing, strode into the +Brass Castle; and after the customary civilities, sat himself down, and +says he—</p> + +<p>'I've been at the Crown Office, Sir, about this <i>murder</i>, we may call +it, upon Sturk, and I told them you could throw a light, as I thought, +on the matter.'</p> + +<p>'As how, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Why, regarding the kind of feeling that subsisted between the prisoner, +Nutter, and Doctor Sturk.'</p> + +<p>''Tis unpleasant, Sir, but I can't object.'</p> + +<p>'There was an angry feeling about the agency, I believe? Lord +Castlemallard's agency, eh?' continued Lowe.</p> + +<p>'Well, I suppose it <i>was</i> that; there certainly was an unpleasant +feeling—<i>very</i> unpleasant.'</p> + +<p>'You've heard him express it?'</p> + +<p>'Yes; I think most gentlemen who know him have. Why, he made no disguise +of it; he was no great talker, but we've heard him on that subject.'</p> + +<p>'But you specially know how it stood between them in respect of the +agency?'</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'Very good, Sir,' said Lowe.</p> + +<p>'And I've a notion that something decisive should be done toward +effecting a full discovery, and I'll consider of a method,' replied +Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'How do you mean?' said Lowe, looking up with a glance like a hawk.</p> + +<p>'How! why I'll talk it over with Mrs. Sturk this evening.'</p> + +<p>'Why, what has she got to tell?'</p> + +<p>'Nothing, as I suppose; I'll see her to-day; there's nothing to tell; +but something, I think, to be done; it hasn't been set about rightly; +'tis a botched business hitherto—that's in <i>my</i> judgment.'</p> + +<p>'Yet 'tis rather a strong case,' answered Mr. Lowe, superciliously.</p> + +<p>'Rather a strong case, so it is, but I'll clench it, Sir; it ought to be +certain.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, Sir?' said Lowe, who expected to hear more.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Dangerfield, briskly, ''twill depend on <i>her; I'll</i> suggest, +<i>she'll</i> decide.'</p> + +<p>'And why <i>she</i>, Sir?' said Lowe sharply.</p> + +<p>'Because 'tis her business and her right, and no one else can,' answered +Dangerfield just as tartly, with his hands in his breeches' pockets, and +his head the least thing o' one side, and then with a bow, 'won't you +drink a glass of wine, Sir?' which was as much as to say, you'll get no +more from me.</p> + +<p>'I thank you, Sir, no; 'tis a little too early for me.' And so with the +usual ceremonies, Mr. Lowe departed, the governor of the Brass Castle +walking beside his horse, as far as the iron gate, to do him honour; and +as he rode away towards Lucan, Mr. Dangerfield followed him with a snowy +smirk.</p> + +<p>Then briskly, after his wont, the knight of the shining spectacles made +his natty toilet; and in a few minutes his cocked hat was seen gliding +along the hedge toward Chapelizod.</p> + +<p>He glanced up at Sturk's window—it was a habit now—so soon as he came +in sight, but all looked as usual. So he mounted the steps, and asked to +see Mrs. Sturk.</p> + +<p>'My dear Madam,' said he, after due courtesies interchanged, 'I've but a +few minutes; my horse waits yonder at the Phœnix, and I'm away to +town. How does your patient to-day?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, mighty well—wonderful—that is considering how cold the weather +is. The doctor says he's lower, indeed, but I don't mind that, for he +must be lower while the cold continues; I always say that; and I judge +very much by the eye; don't you, Mr. Dangerfield? by his looks, you +know; they can't deceive me, and I assure you—'</p> + +<p>'Your house is quiet; are the children out, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, with Mag in the park.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps, Ma'am, you'd let me see him?'</p> + +<p>'See him?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, look on him, Ma'am, only for a moment you know.'</p> + +<p>She looked very much surprised, and perhaps a little curious and +frightened.</p> + +<p>'I hope you haven't heard he's worse, Mr. Dangerfield. Oh, Sir, sure you +haven't?'</p> + +<p>'No, Madam, on my honour, except from yourself, I've heard nothing of +him to-day; but I'd like to see him, and speak a word to you, with your +permission.'</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Sturk led the way up stairs, whispering as she ascended; for she +had always the fancy in her head that her Barney was in a sweet light +sleep, from which he was on no account to be awakened, forgetting, or +not clearly knowing, that all the ordnance in the barrack-yard over the +way had not voice enough to call him up from that dread slumber.</p> + +<p>'You may go down, my dear,' said Mr. Dangerfield to the little girl, who +rose silently from the chair as they entered; 'with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> your permission, +Mistress Sturk—I say, child, you may run down,' and he smiled a +playful, sinister smile, with a little wave of his finger toward the +door. So she courtesied and vanished obediently.</p> + +<p>Then he drew the curtain, and looked on Doctor Sturk. There lay the hero +of the tragedy, his smashed head strapped together with +sticking-plaster, and a great white fold of fine linen, like a fantastic +turban, surmounting his grim yellow features.</p> + +<p>Then he slipped his fingers under the coverlet, and took his hand; a +strange greeting that! But it was his pulse he wanted, and when he had +felt it for a while—</p> + +<p>'Psha!' said he in a whisper—for the semblance of sleep affected +everyone alike—'his pulse is just gone. Now, Madam, listen to me. +There's not a soul in Chapelizod but yourself who does not know his +wounds are mortal—he's <i>dying</i>, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'Oh—oh—o—o—oh, Mr. Dangerfield, you don't—you don't think so,' +wildly cried the poor little lady, growing quite white with terror and +agony.</p> + +<p>'Now, pray, my dear Mistress Sturk, compose yourself, and hear me out: +'Tis my belief he has a chance; but none, absolutely <i>no</i> chance, Madam, +unless my advice be taken. There's not an evening, Ma'am, I meet Doctor +Toole at the club, but I hear the same report—a little lower—always +the same—lower—sinking—and <i>no hope</i>.'</p> + +<p>Here Mrs. Sturk broke out again.</p> + +<p>'Now, Madam,' I protest you'll make me regret my visit, unless you +please to command yourself. While the doctors who are about him have got +him in hands, there's neither hope for his life, nor for his recovering, +for one moment, the use of his speech. Pray, Madam, hear me. They state +as much themselves. Now, Madam, I say, we must have a chance for his +life, and if that fails, a chance for his speech. The latter, Madam, is +of more consequence than, perhaps, you are aware.'</p> + +<p>Poor little Mrs. Sturk was looking very pale, and breathing very hard, +with her hand pressed to her heart.</p> + +<p>'I've done what I could, you know, to see my way through his affairs, +and I've succeeded in keeping his creditors quiet.'</p> + +<p>At this point poor Mrs. Sturk broke out—</p> + +<p>'Oh! may the Father of the fatherless, if such they are to be bless and +reward—oh—oh—ho—ho, Mr. Dangerfield—oh—oh-oh—Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Now, pray, Madam, oblige me and be tranquil. I say, Madam, his affairs, +I suspect, are by no means in so bad a case as we at first supposed, and +he has got, or I'm mistaken, large sums out, but where, neither I nor +you can tell. Give him five minutes' speech, and it may be worth a +thousand pounds to you—well, not to you, if you will, but to his +children. And again, Madam, 'tis of the utmost importance that +he should be able to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> state who was the villain who struck +him—Charles—a—Charles—Mr. Nutter—you know, Madam.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! that dreadful—dreadful man—may Heaven forgive him. Oh, my Barney! +look at him there—he'd forgive him if he could speak. You would, my +blessed Barney—you would.'</p> + +<p>'To be sure he would. But see, Ma'am, the importance of having his +evidence to settle the fact. Well, I know that he would not like to hang +anybody. But suppose, Ma'am, Charles Nutter is innocent, don't you think +he'd like to acquit him? ay, you do. Well, Ma'am, 'tis due to the +public, you see, and to his children that he should have a chance of +recovering his speech, and to common humanity that he should have a +chance for his <i>life</i>—eh? and <i>neither</i> will the doctors who have him +in hands allow him. Now, Madam, there's a simple operation, called +trepanning, you have heard of it, which would afford him such a chance, +but fearing its failure they won't try it, although they allege that +without it <i>he must die</i>, d'ye see?—ay, <i>die he must</i>, without a cast +for his life if you won't try it.'</p> + +<p>And so, by harping on the alternatives, and demonstrating the prudence, +humanity, and duty of action, and the inevitably fatal consequences of +the other course, he wrought upon her at last to write a note to Surgeon +Dillon to come out on the evening following, and to perform the +operation. The dreadful word 'to-day,' the poor little woman could not +abide. She pleaded for a respite, and so, half-distracted, fixed +to-morrow.</p> + +<p>'I hope, my dear Madam, you've some little confidence in me. I think I +have shown an interest, and I've striven to be of use.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Sir, Mr. Dangerfield, you've been too good, our guardian angel; but +for you, Sir, we should not have had a roof over our heads, or a bed to +lie on; oh! may—'</p> + +<p>'Well, Ma'am, you please to speak too highly of my small services; but I +would plead them, humble as they are, as a claim on your confidence, and +having decided upon this wise and necessary course, pray do not say a +word about it to anybody but myself. I will go to town, and arrange for +the doctor's visit, and you'll soon, I hope, have real grounds for +gratitude, not to me, Ma'am, but to Heaven.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. PAUL DANGERFIELD PAYS HIS RESPECTS AND COMPLIMENTS AT +BELMONT; WHERE OTHER VISITORS ALSO PRESENT THEMSELVES.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img085.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'B'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'B'" /></div><p>efore going to town, Mr. Dangerfield, riding over the bridge and up the +Palmerstown-road, dismounted at Belmont door-steps, and asked for the +general. He was out. Then for Miss Rebecca Chattesworth. Yes, she was in +the withdrawing-room. And so, light, white, and wiry, he ascended the +stairs swiftly.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Dangerfield,' cried Dominick, throwing open the door; and that +elderly and ill-starred wooer glided in thereat.</p> + +<p>'Madam, your most humble servant.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! Mr. Dangerfield? You're very welcome, Sir,' said Aunt Becky, with a +grand courtesy, and extending her thin jewelled hand, which he took +gallantly, with another bow, and a smile, and a flash from his +spectacles.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky laid down her volume of Richardson. She was quite alone, +except for her little monkey—Goblin—with a silver hoop about his +waist, and a chain thereto attached; two King Charles's dogs, whose +barking subsided after a while; and one gray parrot on a perch in the +bow-window, who happily was not in a very chatty mood just then. So the +human animals were able to edge in a sentence easily enough. And Mr. +Dangerfield said—</p> + +<p>'I'm happy in having found you, Madam; for whatever be my +disappointments else, to Miss Rebecca Chattesworth at least I owe a debt +of gratitude, which, despairing to repay it, I can only acknowledge; and +leaving unacknowledged, I should have departed from Ireland most +unhappily.'</p> + +<p>'What a fop! what a fop,' said the parrot.</p> + +<p>'You rate my poor wishes too highly, Mr. Dangerfield. I over-estimated, +myself, my influence with the young lady; but why speak of your +departure, Sir, so soon? A little time may yet work a change.'</p> + +<p>'You lie, you dog! you lie, you lie, you lie,' said the parrot.</p> + +<p>'Madam,' said he with a shake of his head, ''tis hoping against hope. +Time will add to <i>my</i> wrinkles without softening <i>her</i> aversion. I +utterly despair. While there remained one spark of hope I should never +have dreamed of leaving Chapelizod.'</p> + +<p>Here there was a considerable pause, during which the parrot +occasionally repeated, 'You lie, you lie—you dog—you lie.'</p> + +<p>'Of course, Sir, if the chance be not worth waiting for, you do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> well to +be gone wherever your business or your pleasures, Sir, invite you,' said +Aunt Becky, a little loftily.</p> + +<p>'What a fop!' said the parrot. 'You lie, you dog!'</p> + +<p>'Neither business, Madam, nor pleasures invite me. My situation here has +been most distressing. So long as hope cheered me, I little regarded +what might be said or thought; but I tell you honestly that hope is +extinguished; and it has grown to me intolerable longer to remain in +sight of that treasure for which I cannot cease to wish, and which I +never can possess. I've grown, Madam, to detest the place.'</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky, with her head very high, adjusted in silence, the two China +mandarins on the mantelpiece—first, one very carefully, then the other. +And there was a pause, during which one of the lap-dogs screamed; and +the monkey, who had boxed his ears, jumped, with a ringing of his chain, +chattering, on the back of the arm-chair in which the grim suitor sat. +Mr. Dangerfield would have given the brute a slap in the face, but that +he knew how that would affect Miss Rebecca Chattesworth.</p> + +<p>'So, Madam,' said he, standing up abruptly, 'I am here to thank you most +gratefully for the countenance given to my poor suit, which, here and +now, at last and for ever, I forego. I shall leave for England so soon +as my business will allow; and as I made no secret of my suit, so I +shall make none of the reasons of my departure. I'm an outspoken man, +Madam; and as the world knew my hopes, I shall offer them no false +excuses for my departure; but lift my hat, and bow to fortune—a +defeated man.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Avez-vous diné mon petit coquin?</i>' said the parrot.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, I will not altogether deny you have reason for what you +design; and it may be, 'tis as well to bring the matter to a close, +though your resolution has taken me by surprise. She hath shown herself +so perverse in this respect, that I allow I see no present likelihood of +a change; and indeed I do not quite understand my niece; and, very like, +she does not comprehend herself.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield almost smiled one of his grim disconcerting smiles, and +a cynical light played over his face; and the black monkey behind him +grinned and hugged himself like his familiar. The disappointed gentleman +thought he understood Miss Gertrude pretty well.</p> + +<p>'I thought,' said Aunt Becky; 'I suspected—did you—a certain young +gentleman in this neighbourhood—'</p> + +<p>'As having found his way to the young lady's good graces?' asked +Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Yes; and I conjecture you know whom I mean,' said Aunt Rebecca.</p> + +<p>'Who—pray, Madam?' he demanded.</p> + +<p>'Why, Lieutenant Puddock,' said Aunt Becky, again adjusting the china on +the chimneypiece.</p> + +<p>'Eh?—truly?—that did not strike me,' replied Dangerfield.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had a disconcerting way of saying the most ordinary things, and there +was a sort of latent meaning, like a half-heard echo, underrunning the +surface of his talk, which sometimes made people undefinably +uncomfortable; and Aunt Becky looked a little stately and flushed; but +in a minute more the conversation proceeded.</p> + +<p>'I have many regrets, Miss Chattesworth, in leaving this place. The loss +of your society—don't mistake me, I never flatter—is a chief one. Some +of your views and plans interested me much. I shall see my Lord +Castlemallard sooner than I should had my wishes prospered; and I will +do all in my power to engage him to give the site for the building, and +stones from the quarry free; and I hope, though no longer a resident +here, you will permit me to contribute fifty pounds towards the +undertaking.'</p> + +<p>'Sir, I wish there were more gentlemen of your public spirit and +Christian benevolence,' cried Aunt Becky, very cordially; 'and I have +heard of all your goodness to that unhappy family of Doctor +Sturk's—poor wretched man!'</p> + +<p>'A bagatelle, Madam,' said Dangerfield, shaking his head and waving his +hand slightly; 'but I hope to do them, or at least the public, a service +of some importance, by bringing conviction home to the assassin who +struck him down, and that in terms so clear and authentic, as will leave +no room for doubt in the minds of any; and to this end I'm resolved to +stick at no trifling sacrifice, and, rather than fail, I'll drain my +purse.'</p> + +<p>'Mon petit coquin!' prattled the parrot in the bow-window.</p> + +<p>'And, Madam,' said he, after he had risen to take his leave, 'as I +before said, I'm a plain man. I mean, so soon as I can wind my business +up, to leave this place and country—I would <i>to-night</i>, if I could; but +less, I fear, than some days—perhaps a week will not suffice. When I'm +gone, Madam, I beg you'll exercise no reserve respecting the cause of my +somewhat abrupt departure; I could easily make a pretext of something +else; but the truth, Madam, is easiest as well as best to be told; I +protracted my stay so long as hope continued. Now my suit is ended. I +can no longer endure the place. The remembrance of your kindness only, +sweetens the bitterness of my regret, and that I shall bear with me so +long, Madam, as life remains.'</p> + +<p>And saying this, as Mr. Richardson writes, 'he bowed upon her passive +hand,' and Miss Rebecca made him a grand and gracious courtesy.</p> + +<p>As he retreated, whom should Dominick announce but Captain Cluffe and +Lieutenant Puddock. And there was an odd smile on Mr. Dangerfield's +visage, as he slightly acknowledged them in passing, which Aunt Rebecca +somehow did not like.</p> + +<p>So Aunt Becky's levee went on; and as Homer, in our school-boy ear, sang +the mournful truth, that 'as are the generations of the forest leaves so +are the succession of men,' the Dangerfield efflorescence had no sooner +disappeared, and that dry leaf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> whisked away down the stairs, than +Cluffe and Puddock budded forth and bloomed in his place, in the +sunshine of Aunt Rebecca's splendid presence.</p> + +<p>Cluffe, in virtue of his rank and pretensions, marched in the van, and, +as Aunt Becky received him, little Puddock's round eyes swept the room +in search, perhaps, of some absent object.</p> + +<p>'The general's not here,' said Aunt Becky loftily and severely, +interpreting Puddock's wandering glance in that way. 'Your visit, +perhaps, is for him—you'll find him in his study, with the orderly.'</p> + +<p>'My visit, Madam,' said Puddock, with a slight blush, 'was intended for +you, Madam—not for the general, whom I had the honour of seeing this +morning on parade.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! for me? I thank you,' said Aunt Rebecca, with a rather dry +acknowledgment. And so she turned and chatted with Cluffe, who, not +being at liberty to talk upon his usual theme—his poor, unhappy friend, +Puddock, and his disgraces—was eloquent upon the monkey, and sweet upon +the lap-dogs, and laughed till he grew purple at the humours of the +parrot, and swore, as gentlemen then swore, 'twas a conjuror, a wonder, +and as good as a play. While this entertaining conversation was going +on, there came a horrid screech and a long succession of yelps from the +court-yard.</p> + +<p>'Good gracious mercy,' cried Aunt Rebecca, sailing rapidly to the +window, ''tis Flora's voice. Sweet creature, have they killed you—my +angel; what is it?—where <i>are</i> you, sweetheart?—where <i>can</i> she be? +Oh, dear—oh, dear!'—and she looked this way and that in her +distraction.</p> + +<p>But the squeak subsided, and Flora was not to be seen; and Aunt Becky's +presence of mind returned, and she said—</p> + +<p>'Captain Cluffe, 'tis a great liberty; but you're humane—and, besides, +I know that <i>you</i> would readily do me a kindness.' That emphasis was +shot at poor Puddock. 'And may I pray you to try on the steps if you can +see the dear animal, anywhere—you know Flora?'</p> + +<p>'Know her?—oh dear, yes,' cried Cluffe with alacrity, who, however, did +<i>not</i>, but relied on her answering to her name, which he bawled lustily +from the door-steps and about the court-yard, with many terms of +endearment, intended for Aunt Becky's ear, in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Little Puddock, who was hurt at that lady's continued severity, was +desirous of speaking; for he liked Aunt Becky, and his heart swelled +within him at her injustice; but though he hemmed once or twice, somehow +the exordium was not ready, and his feelings could not find a tongue.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky looked steadfastly from the window for a while, and then +sailed majestically toward the door, which the little ensign, with an +humble and somewhat frightened countenance, hastened to open.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Pray, Sir, don't let me trouble you,' said Aunt Becky, in her high, +cold way.</p> + +<p>'Madam, 'tis no trouble—it would be a happiness to me, Madam, to serve +you in any way you would permit; but <i>'tis</i> a trouble to me, Madam, +indeed, that you leave the room, and a greater trouble,' said little +Puddock, waxing fluent as he proceeded, 'that I have incurred your +displeasure—indeed, Madam, I know not how—your goodness to me, Madam, +in my sickness, I never can forget.'</p> + +<p>'You <i>can</i> forget, Sir—you <i>have</i> forgot. Though, indeed, Sir, there +was little to remember, I—I'm glad you thought me kind, Sir. I—I wish +you well, Sir,' said Aunt Becky. She was looking down and a little pale, +and in her accents something hurried and almost sad. 'And as for my +displeasure, Sir, who said I was displeased? And if I were, what could +my displeasure be to you? No, Sir,' she went on almost fiercely, and +with a little stamp on the floor, 'you don't care; and why should +you?—you've proved it—you don't, Lieutenant Puddock, and you <i>never</i> +did.'</p> + +<p>And, without waiting for an answer, Aunt Becky flashed out of the room, +and up stairs to her chamber, the door of which she slammed fiercely; +and Gertrude, who was writing a letter in her own chamber, heard her +turn the key hastily in the lock.</p> + +<p>When Cluffe, who for some time continued to exercise his lungs in +persuasive invitations to Flora, at last gave over the pursuit, and +returned to the drawing-room, to suggest that the goddess in question +had probably retreated to the kitchen, he was a good deal chagrined to +find the drawing-room 'untreasured of its mistress.'</p> + +<p>Puddock looked a good deal put out, and his explanation was none of the +clearest; and he could not at all say that the lady was coming back.</p> + +<p>'I think, Lieutenant Puddock,' said Cluffe, who was much displeased, and +had come to regard Aunt Rebecca very much as under his especial +protection, 'it might have been better we hadn't called here. I—you +see—you're not—you see it yourself—you've offended Miss Rebecca +Chattesworth somehow, and I'm afraid you've not mended matters while I +was down stairs bawling after that cursed—that—the—little dog, you +know. And—and for my part, I'm devilish sorry I came, Sir.'</p> + +<p>This was said after a wait of nearly ten minutes, which appeared at +least twice as long.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, Sir, I embarrassed you with the disadvantage of my company,' +answered little Puddock, with dignity.</p> + +<p>'Why, 'tisn't that, you know,' rejoined Cluffe, in a patronising 'my +good-fellow' sort of way; 'you know I always liked your company devilish +well. But where's the good of putting one's self in the way of being +thought <i>de trop</i>—don't you see—by other people—and annoyed in this +way—and—you—you don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> know the <i>world</i>, Puddock—you'd much better +leave yourself in any hands, d'ye see; and so, I suppose, we may as well +be off now—'tis no use waiting longer.'</p> + +<p>And discontentedly and lingeringly the gallant captain, followed by +Puddock, withdrew himself—pausing to caress the wolf-dog at the corner +of the court-yard, and loitering as long as it was decent in the avenue.</p> + +<p>All this time Miss Gertrude Chattesworth, like her more mature relative, +was in the quiet precincts of her chamber. She, too, had locked her +door, and, with throbbing temples and pale face, was writing a letter, +from which I take the liberty of printing a few scarcely coherent +passages.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>'I saw you on Sunday—for near two hours—may Heaven forgive me, +thinking of little else than you. And, oh! what would I not have given +to speak, were it but ten words to you? When is my miserable probation +to end? Why is this perverse mystery persisted in? I sometimes lose all +hope in my destiny, and well-nigh all trust in you. I feel that I am a +deceiver, and cannot bear it. I assure you, on my sacred honour, I +believe there is nothing gained by all this—oh! forgive the +word—deception. How or when is it to terminate?—what do you +purpose?—why does the clerk's absence from the town cause you so much +uneasiness—is there any danger you have not disclosed? A friend told me +that you were making preparations to leave Chapelizod and return to +England. I think I was on the point of fainting when I heard it. I +almost regret I did not, as the secret would thus have been discovered, +and my emancipation accomplished. How have you acquired this strange +influence over me, to make me so deceive those in whom I should most +naturally confide? I am persuaded they believe I really recoil from you. +And what is this new business of Doctor Sturk? I am distracted with +uncertainties and fears. I hear so little, and imperfectly from you, I +cannot tell from your dark hints whether some new danger lurks in those +unlooked-for quarters. I know not what magic binds me so to you, to +endure the misery of this strange deceitful mystery—but you are all +mystery; and yet be not—you cannot be—my evil genius. You will not +condemn me longer to a wretchedness that must destroy me. I conjure you, +declare yourself. What have we to fear? I will brave all—anything +rather than darkness, suspense, and the consciousness of a continual +dissimulation. Declare yourself, I implore of you, and be my angel of +light and deliverance.'</p> + +<p>There is a vast deal more, but this sample is quite enough; and when the +letter was finished, she signed it—</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Your most unhappy and too-faithful,</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 20em;">'Gertrude'</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p> + +<p>And having sealed it, she leaned her anxious head upon her hand, and +sighed heavily.</p> + +<p>She knew very well by what means to send it; and the letter awaited at +his house him for whom it was intended on his return that evening.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SPECTACLES MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF +THE SAGE 'BLACK DILLON,' AND CONFERS WITH HIM IN HIS RETREAT.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>t that time there had appeared in Dublin an erratic genius in the +medical craft, a young surgeon, 'Black Dillon,' they called him, the +glory and disgrace of his calling; such as are from time to time raised +up to abase the pride of intellect, and terrify the dabblers in vice. A +prodigious mind, illuminating darkness, and shivering obstacles at a +blow, with an electric force—possessing the power of a demigod, and the +lusts of a swine. Without order, without industry; defying all usages +and morality; lost for weeks together in the catacombs of vice; and +emerging to re-assert in an hour the supremacy of his intellect; without +principles or shame; laden with debt; and shattered and poisoned with +his vices; a branded and admired man.</p> + +<p>In the presence of this outcast genius and prodigy of vice, stood Mr. +Dangerfield. There were two other gentlemen in the same small room, one +of whom was doggedly smoking, with his hat on, over the fire; the other +snoring in a crazy arm-chair, on the back of which hung his wig. The +window was small and dirty; the air muddy with tobacco-smoke, and +inflamed with whiskey. Singing and the clang of glasses was resounding +from the next room, together with peals of coarse laughter, and from +that on the other side, the high tones and hard swearing, and the +emphatic slapping of a heavy hand upon the table, indicating a rising +quarrel, were heard. From one door through another, across the narrow +floor on which Mr. Dangerfield stood, every now and then lounged some +neglected, dirty, dissipated looking inmate of these unwholesome +precincts. In fact, Surgeon Dillon's present residence was in that +diversorium pecatorum, the Four Courts Marshalsea in Molesworth-court. +As these gentlemen shuffled or swaggered through, they generally nodded, +winked, grunted, or otherwise saluted the medical gentleman, and stared +at his visitor. For as the writer of the Harleian tract—I forget its +name—pleasantly observes:—'In gaol they are no proud men, but will be +quickly acquainted without ceremony.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>'</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield stood erect; all his appointments were natty, and his +dress, though quiet, rich in material, and there was that air of +reserve, and decision, and command about him, which suggests money, an +article held much in esteem in that retreat. He had a way of seeing +every thing in a moment without either staring or stealing glances, and +nobody suspected him of making a scrutiny. In the young surgeon he saw +an object in strong contrast with himself. He was lean and ungainly, shy +and savage, dressed in a long greasy silk morning gown, blotched with +wine and punch over the breast. He wore his own black hair gathered into +a knot behind, and in a neglected dusty state, as if it had not been +disturbed since he rolled out of his bed. This being placed his large, +red, unclean hands, with fingers spread, like a gentleman playing the +harpsichord, upon the table, as he stood at the side opposite to Mr. +Dangerfield, and he looked with a haggard, surly stare on his visitor, +through his great dark, deep-set prominent eyes, streaming fire, the one +feature that transfixed the attention of all who saw him. He had a great +brutal mouth, and his nose was pimply and inflamed, for Bacchus has his +fires as well as Cupid, only he applies them differently. How polished +showed Mr. Dangerfield's chin opposed to the three days' beard of Black +Dillon! how delicate his features compared with the lurid proboscis, and +huge, sensual, sarcastic mouth of the gentleman in the dirty +morning-gown and shapeless slippers, who confronted him with his glare, +an image of degradation and power!</p> + +<p>'Tuppince, Docthor Dillon,' said a short, fat, dirty nymph, without +stays or hoop, setting down a 'naggin o' whiskey' between the medical +man and his visitor.</p> + +<p>The doctor, to do him justice, for a second or two looked confoundedly +put out, and his eyes blazed fiercer as his face flushed.</p> + +<p>'Three halfpence outside, and twopence here, Sir,' said he with an +awkward grin, throwing the money on the table; 'that's the way our +shepherd <i>deglubat oves</i>, Sir; she's brought it too soon, but no +matter.'</p> + +<p>It was not one o'clock, in fact.</p> + +<p>'They <i>will</i> make mistakes, Sir; but you will not suffer their blunders +long, I warrant,' said Dangerfield, lightly. 'Pray, Sir, can we have a +room for a moment to ourselves?'</p> + +<p>'We can, Sir, 'tis a liberal house; we can have any thing; liberty +itself, Sir—for an adequate sum,' replied Mr. Dillon.</p> + +<p>Whatever the sum was, the room was had, and the surgeon, who had +palpably left his 'naggin' uneasily in company with the gentleman in the +hat, and him without a wig, eyed Dangerfield curiously, thinking that +possibly his grand-aunt Molly had left him the fifty guineas she was +rumoured to have sewed up in her stays.</p> + +<p>'There's a great deal of diversion, Sir, in five hundred guineas,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> said +Mr. Dangerfield, and the spectacles dashed pleasantly upon the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Ye may say that,' answered the grinning surgeon, with a quiet oath of +expectation.</p> + +<p>''Tis a handsome fee, Sir, and you may have it.'</p> + +<p>'Five hundred guineas!'</p> + +<p>'Ah, you've heard, Sir, perhaps, of the attempted murder in the park, on +Doctor Sturk, of the Artillery; for which Mr. Nutter now lies in +prison?' said Mr. Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'That I have, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Well, you shall have the money, Sir, if you perform a simple +operation.'</p> + +<p>''Tis not to hang him you want me?' said the doctor, with a gloomy +sneer.</p> + +<p>'Hang him!—ha, ha—no, Sir, Doctor Sturk still lives, but insensible. +He must be brought to consciousness, and speech. Now, the trepan is the +only way to effect it; and I'll be frank with you: Doctor Pell has been +with him half a dozen times, and he says the operation would be +instantaneously fatal. I don't believe him. So also says Sir Hugh +Skelton, to whom I wrote in London—I don't believe him, either. At all +events, the man is dying, and can't last very many days longer, so +there's nothing risked. His wife wishes the operation; here's her note; +and I'll give you five hundred guineas and—what are you here for?'</p> + +<p>'Only eighteen, unless some more has come in this morning,' answered the +doctor.</p> + +<p>'And your liberty, Sir, <i>that</i> on the spot, if you undertake the +operation, and the fee so soon as you have done it.'</p> + +<p>The doctor's face blazed with a grin of exultation; he squared his +shoulders and shook himself a little; and after a little silence, he +demanded—</p> + +<p>'Can you describe the case, Sir, as you stated it to Sir Hugh Skelton?'</p> + +<p>'Surely, Sir, but I rely for it and the terms, upon the description of a +village doctor, named Toole; an ignoramus, I fear.'</p> + +<p>And with this preface he concisely repeated the technical description +which he had compiled from various club conversations of Dr. Toole's, to +which no person imagined he had been listening so closely.</p> + +<p>'If that's the case, Sir, 'twill kill him.'</p> + +<p>'Kill or cure, Sir, 'tis the only chance,' rejoined Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'What sort is the wife, Sir?' asked Black Dillon, with a very odd look, +while his eye still rested on the short note that poor Mrs. Sturk had +penned.</p> + +<p>'A nervous little woman of some two or three and forty,' answered the +spectacles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></p> + +<p>The queer look subsided. He put the note in his pocket, and looked +puzzled, and then he asked—'</p> + +<p>'Is he any way related to you, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'None in life, Sir. But that does not affect, I take it, the medical +question.'</p> + +<p>'No, it does <i>not</i> affect the medical question—nothing <i>can</i>,' observed +the surgeon, in a sulky, sardonic way.</p> + +<p>'Of course not,' answered the oracle of the silver spectacles, and both +remained silent for a while.</p> + +<p>'You want to have him speak? Well, suppose there's a hundred chances to +one the trepan kills him on the spot—what then?' demanded the surgeon, +uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield pondered, also uncomfortably for a minute, but answered +nothing; on the contrary, he demanded—</p> + +<p>'And what then, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'But here, in this case,' said Black Dillon, 'there's no chance at all, +do you see, there's <i>no</i> chance, good, bad, or indifferent; none at +all.'</p> + +<p>'But <i>I</i> believe there <i>is</i>,' replied Dangerfield, decisively.</p> + +<p>'You believe, but <i>I</i> know.'</p> + +<p>'See, Sir,' said Dangerfield, darkening, and speaking with a strange +snarl; 'I know what I'm about. I've a desire, Sir, that he should speak, +if 'twere only two minutes of conscious articulate life, and then +death—'tis not a pin's point to me how soon. Left to himself he must +die; therefore, to shrink from the operation on which depends the +discovery both of his actual murderer and of his money, Sir, otherwise +lost to his family, is—is a damned affectation! <i>I</i> think it—so do +<i>you</i>, Sir; and I offer five hundred guineas as your fee, and Mrs. +Sturk's letter to bear you harmless.'</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause. Dangerfield knew the man's character as well as +his skill. There were things said about him darker than we have hinted +at.</p> + +<p>The surgeon looked very queer and gloomy down upon the table, and +scratched his head, and he mumbled gruffly—</p> + +<p>'You see—you know—'tis a large fee, to be sure; but then—'</p> + +<p>'Come, Sir,' said Dangerfield, looking as though he'd pull him by the +ear; 'it <i>is</i> a large fee, and you'll get no more—you should not stick +at trifles, when there's—a—a—justice and humanity—and, to be brief, +Sir—yes or no?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Yes</i>,' answered the doctor; 'but how's the fee secured?'</p> + +<p>'Hey! I'd forgot. Right, Sir—you shall be satisfied.'</p> + +<p>And he took a pen, and wrote on the back of a letter—</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>'SIR—Considering the hopeless condition in which Dr. Sturk now lies, +and the vast importance of restoring him, Dr. Sturk, of the R.I.A., to +the power of speech, even for a few minutes, I beg to second Mrs. +Sturk's request to you; and when you shall have performed the critical +operation she desires, I hereby promise, whether it succeed or fail, to +give you a fee of five hundred guineas.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 20em;">Paul Dangerfield.</span></p> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">'The Brass Castle, Chapelizod.'</span><br /><br /></p> +<p>And he dated it, and handed it to the surgeon, who read it through, and +then looked with a gruff hesitation at the writer.</p> + +<p>'Oh, you've only to enquire—anyone who knows Chapelizod will tell you +who I am; and you'll want something—eh?—to take you out of this—how +much?'</p> + +<p>'Only seven guineas. There's a little score here, and some fees. +Eighteen will cover everything, unless something has come in this +morning.'</p> + +<p>So they went to 'the Hatch,' and made enquiries, and all being well, Mr. +Dangerfield dealt liberally with the surgeon, who promised to be in +attendance at Dr. Sturk's house in Chapelizod, at seven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> o'clock next +evening.</p> + +<p>'And pray, Dr. Dillon, come in a coach,' said Dangerfield, 'and in +costume—you understand. They've been accustomed, you know, to see Pell +and other doctors who make a parade.'</p> + +<p>And with these injunctions they parted; and the surgeon, whose luggage +was trifling, jumped into a coach with it, and jingled home to his den +and his liberty.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH CHRISTIANA GOES OVER; AND DAN LOFTUS COMES HOME.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>his evening Lily Walsingham was early tired and very weak, Sally +thought, and more glad than usual to lie down in her bed; and there her +old and loving nurse fancied that she looked a little strange, and that +her thoughts sometimes wandered.</p> + +<p>She lay very quietly for a good while, and suddenly, with a beautiful +look, and in a clear, glad voice, she said—</p> + +<p>'Mother!'</p> + +<p>And old Sally said—</p> + +<p>'There's no one, dear Miss Lily, but me.'</p> + +<p>But she was looking earnestly, and, with a wrapt smile, only said—</p> + +<p>'Oh!'</p> + +<p>She thought she saw her, I believe.</p> + +<p>Are these always illusions? Or is it only that, as the twilight deepens, +and the shapes of earth melt into night, the stars of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> heaven, +changeless and serene, reveal themselves, and shine out to the darkened +eyes of mortals?</p> + +<p>As Aunt Becky sat that night in the drawing-room with her niece, a maid, +with a whisper, placed a little note in Miss Gertrude's hand. There was +a little pause.</p> + +<p>'Oh! aunt—oh!' and she looked so terrified. 'Oh! aunt,' and she threw +her arms round her aunt's neck, and began crying wildly. 'Poor Lily's +gone—there's the note.'</p> + +<p>Then arose the wild wailing of unavailing grief, and sobs, mixed with +early recollections of childhood, and all poor Lily's sweet traits +poured out.</p> + +<p>Old Aunt Rebecca took the note. Her stoicism was the point on which she +piqued herself most. She looked very pale, and she told her niece to be +composed; for Aunt Becky had a theory that feelings ought to be +commanded, and that it only needed effort and resolution. So she read +the note, holding her head very high, but the muscles of her face were +quivering.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Gertrude, if ever there was an angel—and the poor desolate old +man——'</p> + +<p>The theory broke down, and old Aunt Rebecca cried and sat down, and +cried heartily, and went and put her thin arms round her niece, and +kissed her, and cried, and cried, and kissed her again.</p> + +<p>'She was such—such a darling—oh! Gertrude dear, we must never quarrel +any more.'</p> + +<p>Death had come so near, and all things less than itself were rebuked in +that sublime presence; and Lily Walsingham was gone; and she who was so +lately their gay companion, all at once so awfully angelic in the +unearthly light of death.</p> + +<p>'Who'd ha' thought it was so near, Ma'am,' said the maid; 'the poor +little thing! Though to be sure, Ma'am, a winding sheet came three times +in the candle last night, and I turns it round and picks it off, that +way, with my nail, unknownst to Mrs. Heany, for fear she'd be frettin' +about the little boy that's lyin' at home in the small-pox; and indeed I +thought 'twas for him it was; but man proposes, and God disposes—and +death forgets none, the Lord be praised—and everyone has their hour, +old and young, Ma'am; and as I was sayin', they had no notion or +expectation up at the Elms, Ma'am, she was so bad, the heavens be her +bed this night. 'Twas all in an instant like, Miss, she made as if she'd +sit up, bein' leanin' on pillows—and so she put out them purty little +hands of hers, with a smile, and that was all—the purty +crature—everyone's sorry afther her. The man was cryin' in the hall +that brought the note.'</p> + +<p>The poor came to the door, and made their rude and kindly +lamentations—they were all quite sincere—'His reverence was very good, +but he couldn't have the thought, you know.' It was quite +true—'everyone was sorry.' The brave Magnolia's eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> were red, when +she looked out of the window next morning, and jolly little Doctor Toole +said at the club—</p> + +<p>'Ah, Sir, she was a bright little thing—a born lady—such a beauty—and +the best little creature. The town might well be proud of her, in every +way, Sir.' And he fell a blubbering; and old Major O'Neill, who was a +quiet and silent officer, cried in a reserved way, looking into the +fire, with his elbow on the mantelpiece. And Toole said, 'I don't know +how I'll pass that house.'</p> + +<p>And many felt the same. Little Lily was there no more—and the Elms were +changed—the light and the grace were gone—and they were only dark old +trees now.</p> + +<p>And everyone felt a great desire to find some way—any way—to show +their respect and affection for their good old rector. And I'm sure he +understood it—for liking and reverence, one way or another, will tell +their story. The hushed enquiries at the door, and little offers of +useless services made by stealth through the servants, and such like +foolish kindnesses at such a time—the evidence of a great but helpless +sympathy—are sweet as angelic music.</p> + +<p>And who should arrive at night, with all his trunks, or at least a +considerable number of them, and his books and rattletraps, but honest, +simple Dan Loftus. The news was true about his young charge. He had died +of fever at Malaga, and Dick Devereux was at last a step, and a long +one—nearer to the title. So Dan was back again in his old garret. +Travel had not educated him in the world's ways. In them he was the same +queer, helpless tyro. And his costume, though he had a few handsome +articles—for, travelling with a sprig of nobility, he thought it but +right and seemed to dress accordingly—was on that account, perhaps, +only more grotesque than ever. But he had acquired mountains of that +lore in which he and good Doctor Walsingham delighted. He had +transcribed old epitaphs and translated interminable extracts from +archives, and bought five Irish manuscripts, all highly illustrative of +that history on which he and the doctor were so pleasantly engaged. It +was too late that night to go up to the Elms; but he longed to unpack +his trunkful of manuscripts, and to expound to his beloved doctor the +treasures he had amassed.</p> + +<p>And over his solitary tea-cup and his book the sorrowful news from the +Elms reached him, and all his historical castles in the air were +shivered. In the morning, before the town was stirring, he crossed the +bridge, and knocked softly at the familiar hall-door. Honest old John +Tracy opened it, and Dan shook hands with him, and both cried for a +while quietly.</p> + +<p>'How is the honoured master?' at last said Loftus.</p> + +<p>'He's there in the study, Sir. Thank God, you're come, Sir. I'm sure +he'd like to see you—I'll ask him.'</p> + +<p>Dan went into the drawing-room. He looked out at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> flowers, and then +at the harpsichord, and on her little walnut table, where her +work-basket lay, and her thimble, and the little coral necklace—a +childish treasure that she used to wear when she was quite a little +thing. It was like a dream; and everything seemed to say—'Poor little +Lily!'</p> + +<p>So old John came in, and 'Sir,' said he, 'the master will be glad to see +you.' And Dan Loftus found himself in the study; and the good doctor and +he wrung one another's hands for a long time.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Dan—Dan—she's gone—little Lily.'</p> + +<p>'You'll see her again, Sir—oh, you'll see her again.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Dan! Dan! Till the heavens be no more they shall not awake, nor be +raised out of their sleep. Oh, Dan, a day's so long—how am I to get +over the time?'</p> + +<p>'The loving Lord, Sir, will find a way.'</p> + +<p>'But, oh! was there no pitying angel to stay the blow—to plead for a +few years more of life? I deserved it—oh, Dan, yes!—I know it—I +deserved it. But, oh! could not the avenger have pierced me, without +smiting my innocent darling?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! she was taken in love, not in judgment, Sir—my pastor—but in +love. It was the voice of the Redeemer that called her.'</p> + +<p>And honest Dan repeated, through his sobs, a verse of that 'Song of +Songs,' which little Lily had loved so well—</p> + +<p>'My well-beloved spake, and said unto me: Arise, my love, my fair one, +and come thy way.'</p> + +<p>The old man bowed his sorrowful head listening.</p> + +<p>'You never saw anything so beautiful,' said he after a while. 'I think, +Dan, I could look at her for ever. I don't think it was partiality, but +it seems to me there never was—I never saw a creature like her.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, noble! noble!' sobbed poor Dan.</p> + +<p>The doctor took him by the arm, and so into the solemn room.</p> + +<p>'I think you'd like to see her, Dan?'</p> + +<p>'I would—I would indeed, Sir.'</p> + +<p>And there was little Lily, never so like the lily before. Poor old Sally +had laid early spring flowers on the white coverlet. A snow-drop lay by +her pale little finger and thumb, just like a flower that has fallen +from a child's hand it its sleep. He looked, at her—the white angelic +apparition—a smile, or a light upon the face.</p> + +<p>'Oh, my darling, my young darling, gone—"He is not a man as I am, that +I should answer him."'</p> + +<p>But poor Dan, loudly crying, repeated the noble words of Paul, that have +spoken down to us through the sorrows of nigh two thousand years—</p> + +<p>'For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are +alive, and remain unto the coming of the Lord, shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> not prevent them +which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a +shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God; and +the dead in Christ shall rise first.'</p> + +<p>And so there was a little pause, and the old man said—</p> + +<p>'It was very good of you to come to me, my good young friend, in my +helplessness and shipwreck, for the Lord hath hid himself from me; but +he speaks to his desolate creature, my good Dan, through your gracious +lips. My faith!—I thought I had faith till it was brought to the test, +and then it failed! But my good friend, Loftus, was sent to help me—to +strengthen the feeble knees.'</p> + +<p>And Dan answered, crying bitterly, and clasping the rector's hand in +both of his—</p> + +<p>'Oh, my master, all that ever I knew of good, I learned from you, my +pastor, my benefactor.'</p> + +<p>So, with a long, last look, Dan followed the old man to the study, and +they talked long there together, and then went out into the lonely +garden, and paced its walks side by side, up and down.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH CAPTAIN DEVEREUX HEARS THE NEWS; AND MR. DANGERFIELD MEETS AN +OLD FRIEND AFTER DINNER.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img083.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'O'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'O'" /></div><p>n the night when this great sorrow visited the Elms, Captain Richard +Devereux, who had heard nothing of it, was strangely saddened and +disturbed in mind. They say that a distant death is sometimes felt like +the shadow and chill of a passing iceberg; and if this ominous feeling +crosses a mind already saddened and embittered, it overcasts it with a +feeling akin to despair.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Irons knocked at his door, and with the eagerness of a messenger of +news, opened it without awaiting his answer.</p> + +<p>'Oh, captain, jewel, do you know what? There's poor Miss Lily +Walsingham; and what do you think but she's dead—the poor little thing; +gone to-night, Sir—not half an hour ago.'</p> + +<p>He staggered a little, and put his hand toward his sword, like a man +struck by a robber, and looked at her with a blank stare. She thought he +was out of his mind, and was frightened.</p> + +<p>''Tis only me, Sir, Mrs. Irons.'</p> + +<p>'A—thank you;' and he walked towards the chimney, and then towards the +door, like a man looking for something; and on a sudden clasping his +forehead in his hands, he cried a wild and terrible appeal to the Maker +and Judge of all things.</p> + +<p>''Tis impossible—oh, no—oh, no—it's <i>not</i> true.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was in the open air, he could not tell how, and across the bridge, +and before the Elms—a dream—the dark Elms—dark everything.</p> + +<p>'Oh, no—it can't be—oh, no—oh, no;' and he went on saying as he +stared on the old house, dark against the sky, 'Oh, no—oh, no.'</p> + +<p>Two or three times he would have gone over to the hall-door to make +enquiry, but he sickened at the thought. He clung to that hope, which +was yet not a hope, and he turned and walked quickly down the river's +side by the Inchicore-road. But the anguish of suspense soon drew him +back again; and now his speech was changed, and he said—</p> + +<p>'Yes, she's gone—she's gone—oh, she's gone—she's certainly gone.'</p> + +<p>He found himself at the drawing-room window that looked into the little +garden at the front of the house, and tapping at the window-pane. He +remembered, all on a sudden—it was like waking—how strange was such a +summons. A little after he saw a light crossing the hall, and he rang +the door-bell. John Tracy opened the door. Yes, it was all true.</p> + +<p>The captain was looking very pale, John thought, but otherwise much as +usual. He stared at the old servant for some seconds after he told him +all, but said nothing, not even good-night, and turned away. Old John +was crying; but he called after the captain to take care of the step at +the gate: and as he shut the hall-door his eye caught, by the light of +his candle, a scribbling in red chalk, on the white door-post, and he +stooped to read it, and muttered, 'Them mischievous young blackguards!' +and began rubbing it with the cuff of his coat, his cheek still wet with +tears. For even our grief is volatile; or, rather, it is two tunes that +are in our ears together, the requiem of the organ, and, with it, the +faint hurdy-gurdy jig of our vulgar daily life; and now and then this +latter uppermost.</p> + +<p>It was not till he had got nearly across the bridge that Captain +Devereux, as it were, waked up. It was no good waking. He broke forth +into sheer fury. It is not my business to note down the horrors of this +impious frenzy. It was near five o'clock when he came back to his +lodgings; and then, not to rest. To sit down, to rise again, to walk +round the room and round, and stop on a sudden at the window, leaning +his elbows on the sash, with hands clenched together, and teeth set; and +so those demoniac hours of night and solitude wore slowly away, and the +cold gray stole over the east, and Devereux drank a deep draught of his +fiery Lethe, and cast himself down on his bed, and fell at once into a +deep, exhausted lethargy.</p> + +<p>When his servant came to his bed-side at seven o'clock, he was lying +motionless, with flushed cheeks, and he could not rouse him. Perhaps it +was well, and saved him from brain-fever or madness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> + +<p>But after such paroxysms comes often a reaction, a still, stony, awful +despondency. It is only the oscillation between active and passive +despair. Poor Leonora, after she had worked out her fit, tearing 'her +raven hair,' and reviling heaven, was visited in sadder and tenderer +guise by the vision of the past; but with that phantom went down in fear +and isolation to the grave.</p> + +<p>This morning several of the neighbours went into Dublin, for the bills +were to be presented against Charles Nutter for a murderous assault, +with intent to kill, made upon the person of Barnabas Sturk, Esq., +Doctor of Medicine, and Surgeon to the Royal Irish Artillery. As the day +wore on, the honest gossips of Chapelizod looked out anxiously for news. +And everybody who met any one else asked him—'Any news about Nutter, +eh?'—and then they would stop to speculate—and then one would wonder +that Dr. Walsingham's man, Clinton, had not yet returned—and the other +would look at his watch, and say 'twas one o'clock—and then both agreed +that Spaight, at all events, must soon come—for he has appointed two +o'clock for looking at that brood mare of Fagan's.</p> + +<p>At last, sure enough, Spaight appeared. Toole, who had been detained by +business in another quarter, had ridden into the town from Leixlip, and +was now dismounted and talking with Major O'Neill upon the absorbing +topic. These cronies saw Spaight at the turnpike, and as he showed his +ticket, he talked with the man. Of course, the news was come. The +turnpike-man knew it by this time; and off scampered Toole, and the +major followed close at his heels, at double-quick. He made a dismal +shake or two of his head, and lifted his hand as they drew near. Toole's +heart misgave him.</p> + +<p>'Well, how is it?—what's the news?' he panted.</p> + +<p>'A true bill,' answered Spaight, with a solemn stare; 'a true bill, +Sir.'</p> + +<p>Toole uttered an oath of consternation, and taking the words out of +Spaight's mouth, told the news to the major.</p> + +<p>'Do you tell me so?' exclaimed the major. 'Bedad, Sir, I'm uncommon +sorry.'</p> + +<p>'A bad business, Sir,' observed Spaight.</p> + +<p>'No worse,' said Toole. 'If they convict him on this, you know—in case +Sturk dies, and die he will—they'll indict and convict him on the more +<i>serious</i> charge,' and he winked gloomily, 'the evidence is all one.'</p> + +<p>'That poor little Sally Nutter!' ejaculated the major. 'She's to be +pitied, the crature!'</p> + +<p>''Tis mighty slender evidence to take a man's life on,' said Toole, with +some disgust. 'Be the law, Sir, the whole thing gives me a complete +turn. Are you to dine with Colonel Strafford to-day?'</p> + +<p>'I am, Sir,' said the major; 'an' it goes again' the colonel's grain to +have a party at all just now, with the respect he has for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> the family up +there,' and he nodded his head, pensively, toward the Elms. 'But he +asked Lowe ten days ago, and Mr. Dangerfield, and two or three more; and +you know he could not put them off on that ground—there being no +relationship, you see—and, 'pon my oath, Sir, I'd rather not go myself, +just now.'</p> + +<p>That evening, at five o'clock, Colonel Stafford's dinner party assembled +at the King's House. The colonel was a serene man, and hospitality—even +had he been in the dumps—demands her sacrifices. He, therefore, did the +honours as beseemed a genial and courteous old officer of the Royal +Irish Artillery, who, if his conversation was not very remarkable in +quality, and certainly not exorbitant in quantity, made up by listening +a great deal, and supplying no end of civility, and an affluence of very +pretty claret. Mr. Justice Lowe was there, and Mr. Dangerfield, and old +Colonel Bligh, of the Magazine, and honest Major O'Neill, +notwithstanding his low spirits. Perhaps they required keeping up; and +claret like Colonel Stafford's is consoling.</p> + +<p>The talk turned, of course, a good deal on Charles Nutter; and Mr. +Dangerfield, who was in great force, and, indeed, in particularly +pleasant spirits, except when unfortunate Nutter was actually under +discussion—when he grew grave and properly saddened—told, in his +clear, biting way, a curious rosary of Newgate stories—of highwaymen's +disguises—of clever constables—of circumstantial evidence, +marvellously elicited, and exquisitely put together—of monsters, long +concealed, drawn from the deep by the finest tackle, into upper light, +and dropped deftly into the landing-net of Justice. These curious +anecdotes of Bow-street dexterity and Bagshot dodges—thrust and +parry—mine and counter-mine—ending, for the most part, in the triumph +of Bow-street, Justice crowned, and a Tyburn speech—tickled Lowe +mightily, who quite enjoyed himself, and laughed more than his friend +Colonel Stafford ever remembered to have heard him before, over some of +the ingenious stratagems described so neatly by Dangerfield, and the gay +irony with which he pointed his catastrophes. And Lowe actually, having +obtained Colonel Stafford's leave, proposed that gallant officer's +health in a bumper, and took occasion to mention their obligations to +him for having afforded them the opportunity of enjoying Mr. +Dangerfield's sprightly and instructive sallies; and hoped, with all his +heart, that the neighbourhood was long to enjoy the advantage and +pleasure of his residence among them. And Mr. Dangerfield replied gaily, +that all that was needed to make such sweet scenery and charming company +as the place commanded absolutely irresistible, was the sense of safety +conferred by the presence of such a magistrate as Mr. Lowe, and the +convivial inspiration of such wine as their gallant host provided; and +that, for his part, being somewhat of an old boy, and having had enough +of rambling, nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> would better please him than to spend the residue +of his days amidst the lively quietude of their virtuous and hilarious +neighbourhood; and some more to the like purpose, which pleased the good +company highly, who all agreed that the white gentleman—fluent, easy, +and pointed in his delivery—was a mighty fine speaker, indeed. Though +there was a lurking consciousness in each, which none cared to publish, +that there was, at times, an indefinable flavour of burlesque and irony +in Mr. Dangerfield's compliments, which excited momentary suspicions and +qualms, which the speaker waived off, however, easily with his jewelled +fingers, and smiled mockingly away.</p> + +<p>Lowe was mightily taken with him. There was little warmth or veneration +in that hard justice's nature. But Mr. Dangerfield had a way with him +that few men with any sort of taste for the knowledge of evil could +resist; and the cold-eyed justice of the peace hung on his words with an +attentive rapture, and felt that he was drinking deep and pleasant +draughts from the sparkling fountains of knowledge; and was really +sorry, and shook him admiringly by the hand, when Dangerfield, who had +special business at home, rose up in his brisk way, and flashed a +farewell over the company from his spectacles.</p> + +<p>'If Mr. Dangerfield really means to stay here, he must apply for the +commission of the peace,' said Mr. Lowe, so soon as the door shut. 'We +must put it upon him. I protest I never met a man so fitted by nature +and acquirements to make a perfectly useful magistrate. He and I, Sir, +between us, we'd give a good account of this part of the county; and +there's plenty of work, Sir, if 'twere only between this and Dublin; +and, by George, Sir, he's a wonderful diverting fellow, full of +anecdote. Wonderful place London, to be sure.'</p> + +<p>'And a good man, too, in a quiet way,' said Colonel Strafford, who could +state a fact. ''Tisn't every rich man has the heart to part with his +money as he does; he has done many charities here, and especially he has +been most bountiful to poor Sturk's family.'</p> + +<p>'I know that,' said Lowe.</p> + +<p>'And he sent a fifty pound note by the major there to poor Sally Nutter +o' Monday last; he'll tell you.'</p> + +<p>And thus it is, as the foul fiend, when he vanishes, leaves a smell of +brimstone after him, a good man leaves a fragrance; and the company in +the parlour enjoyed the aroma of Mr. Dangerfield's virtues, as he +buttoned his white surtout over his breast, and dropped his vails into +the palms of the carbuncled butler and fuddled footman in the hall.</p> + +<p>It was a clear, frosty, starlit night. White and stern was the face +which he turned upward for a moment to the sky. He paused for a second +in the ray of candle-light that gleamed through Puddock's window-shutter, +and glanced on the pale dial of his large gold watch. It was only +half-past eight o'clock.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> He walked on, glancing back over his shoulder, +along the Dublin road.</p> + +<p>'The drunken beast. My mind misgives me he'll disappoint,' muttered the +silver spectacles, gliding briskly onward.</p> + +<p>When he reached the main street he peered curiously before him under the +village tree, in quest of carriage lights.</p> + +<p>'A lawless brute like that may be before his time as well as after.' So +he walked briskly forward, and up Sturk's door-steps, and knocked.</p> + +<p>'The Dublin doctor hasn't come, eh?'—he asked.</p> + +<p>'No, Sir, he isn't come yet—'twas nine o'clock, the mistress told me.'</p> + +<p>'Very good. Tell Mrs. Sturk, pray, that I, Mr. Dangerfield, you know, +will call, as I promised, at nine o'clock precisely.'</p> + +<p>And he turned again and walked briskly over the bridge, and away along +the Inchicore road overhanging the river. All was silent there. Not a +step but his own was stirring, and the road in places so overhung with +old trees that it was difficult to see a yard before one.</p> + +<p>He slackened his pace, and listened, like a man who keeps an +assignation, and listened again, and laughed under his breath; and sure +enough, before long, the clink of a footstep was heard approaching +swiftly from the Dublin direction.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield drew aside under the deep shadow of a high hawthorn +hedge, overhung by trees; and watching intently, he saw a tall, lank +figure, with a peculiar gait and stoop of its own, glide stealthily by. +He smiled after it in the dark.</p> + +<p>The tall figure was that of our old friend, Zekiel Irons, the clerk. A +sable form, as beseemed his ecclesiastical calling—and now a white +figure was gliding without noise swiftly after him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as he reached an open part of the road, a thin hand was laid +on his shoulder, and, with a start, and a 'hollo,' he sprung round.</p> + +<p>'Hey! why, you're as frightened as if you had seen Charles—Charles +<i>Nutter</i>. Hey?—don't be uneasy. I heard from the parson yesterday +morning you were to be with him to-night before nine o'clock, about that +money you left in his hands, and I've chanced to meet you; and this I +want you to understand, Charles Nutter is in gaol, and we must not let +him get out—do you see? That business settled, we're at rest. So, Mr. +Irons, you must not show the white feather. Be bold—speak out what you +know—now's the time to strike. I'll put your evidence, as you reported +it to me, into shape, and you come to me to-morrow morning at eight +o'clock; and mind you, I'll reward you this time, and better than ever +you've fared before. Go on. Or stay—I'll go before.'</p> + +<p>And Mr. Dangerfield laughed one of his chilly laughs—and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> with a nod +to Irons, repeated—'eight o'clock'—and so walked on a little bit.</p> + +<p>The clerk had not said a word. A perspiration broke forth on his +forehead, and, wiping the drops away, he said—</p> + +<p>'Lord have mercy upon us—Lord deliver us—Lord have mercy upon us,' +like a man dying.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield's bold proposition seemed quite to overpower and unman +him.</p> + +<p>The white figure turned short, facing the clerk, and said he—</p> + +<p>'See you, Mr. Irons, I'm serious—there must be no shirking. If you +undertake, you must go through; and, hark! in your ear—you shall have +five hundred pounds. I put no constraint—say yes or no—if you don't +like you needn't. Justice, I think, will be done even without your help. +But till he's quiet—you understand—<i>nothing</i> sure. He has been dead +and alive again—curse him; and till he's at rest, and on the surgeon's +table—ha! ha!—we sha'n't feel quite comfortable.'</p> + +<p>'Lord have mercy upon us!' muttered Irons, with a groan.</p> + +<p>'Amen,' said Dangerfield, with a sneering imitation.</p> + +<p>'<i>There</i>, 'tis enough—if you have nerve to speak truth and do justice, +you may have the money. We're men of business—you and I. If not, I +sha'n't trouble you any more. If you like it, come to me at eight +o'clock in the morning; if not, why, stay away, and no harm's done.'</p> + +<p>And with these words, Mr. Dangerfield turned on his heel once more, and +started at a lively pace for Chapelizod.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVI.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. PAUL DANGERFIELD MOUNTS THE STAIRS OF THE HOUSE BY THE +CHURCH-YARD, AND MAKES SOME ARRANGEMENTS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he white figure glided duskily over the bridge. The river rushed +beneath in Egyptian darkness. The air was still, and a thousand +celestial eyes twinkled down brightly through the clear deep sky upon +the actors in this true story. He kept the left side, so that the road +lay between him and the Phœnix door, which gaped wide with a great +hospitable grin, and crimsoned the night air with a glow of candle-light.</p> + +<p>The white figure turned the corner, and glided onward in a straight, +swift line—straight and swift as fate—to the door of Doctor Sturk.</p> + +<p>He knocked softly at the hall-door, and swiftly stepped in and shut it.</p> + +<p>'How's your master?'</p> + +<p>'Jist the same way, plaze yer honour; jist sleepin'—still +sleepin'—sleepin' always,' answered the maid.</p> + +<p>'Has the Dublin doctor come?'</p> + +<p>'No.'</p> + +<p>'The mistress—where's she?'</p> + +<p>'In the room, Sir, with the masther.'</p> + +<p>'Present my service to her—Mr. Dangerfield's compliments, you know—and +say I await her permission to come up stairs.'</p> + +<p>Presently the maid returned, with poor Mrs. Sturk's invitation to Mr. +Dangerfield to walk up.</p> + +<p>Up he went, leaving his white surtout and cocked hat in the hall, and +entered the chamber where pale little Mrs. Sturk, who had been crying a +great deal, sat in a dingy old tabby saque, by the light of a solitary +mould-candle at the bed-side of the noble Barney.</p> + +<p>The mutton-fat wanted snuffing; but its light danced and splintered +brilliantly over Mr. Dangerfield's resplendent shoe-buckles, and up and +down his cut-steel buttons, and also glimmered in a more phosphoric way +upon his silver spectacles, as he bowed at the door, arrayed in a puce +cut velvet coat, lined with pink, long embroidered satin waistcoat, fine +lace ruffles and cravat, his well-shaped leg gleaming glossily in silk, +and altogether, in his glimmering jewellery, and purple and fine linen, +resembling Dives making a complimentary visit to the garret of Lazarus.</p> + +<p>Poor little Mrs. Sturk felt her obligations mysteriously enlarged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> by so +much magnificence, and wondered at the goodness of this white-headed +angel in point, diamonds, and cut velvet, who had dropped from the upper +regions upon the sad and homely floor of her Barney's sick chamber.</p> + +<p>'Dr. Dillon not yet arrived, Madam? Well, 'tis precisely his hour; we +shall have him soon. How does the patient? Ha! just as usual. How?—why +there's a change, isn't there?'</p> + +<p>'As how, Sir?' enquired Mrs. Sturk, with a scared look.</p> + +<p>'Why, don't you see? But you mustn't be frightened; there's one coming +in whom I have every confidence.'</p> + +<p>'I don't see, Sir. What is it, Mr. Dangerfield? Oh, <i>pray</i>, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Why—a—nothing very particular, only he looks more languid than when I +saw him last, and discoloured somewhat, and his face more sunk, I +think—eh?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, Sir—'tis this bad light—nothing more, indeed, Sir. This +evening, I assure you, Mr. Dangerfield, at three o'clock, when the sun +was shining, we were all remarking how well he looked. I never +saw—you'd have said so—such a wonderful improvement.'</p> + +<p>And she snuffed the candle, and held it up over Barney's grim features.</p> + +<p>'Well, Madam, I hope we soon may find it. 'Twill be a blessed +sight—eh?—when he sits up in that bed, Madam, as I trust he may this +very night, and speak—eh?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! my precious Barney!' and the poor little woman began to cry, and +fell into a rhapsody of hopes, thanksgiving, anecdote and prayer.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Dangerfield was feeling his pulse, with his watch in +the hollow of his hand.</p> + +<p>'And aren't they better—his pulse, Sir—they were stronger this morning +by a great deal than last night—it was just at ten o'clock—don't you +perceive, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'H'm—well, I hope, Ma'am, we'll soon find <i>all</i> better. Now, have you +got all things ready—you have, of course, a sheet well aired?'</p> + +<p>'A sheet—I did not know 'twas wanted.'</p> + +<p>'Hey, this will never do, my dear Madam—he'll be here and nothing +ready; and you'll do well to send over to the mess-room for a lump of +ice. 'Tis five minutes past nine. If you'll see to these things, I'll +sit here, Madam, and take the best care of the patient—and, d'ye see, +Mistress Sturk, 'twill be necessary that you take care that Toole hears +nothing of Dr. Dillon's coming.'</p> + +<p>It struck me, when originally reading the correspondence which is +digested in these pages, as hardly credible that Doctor Sturk should +have continued to live for so long a space in a state of coma. Upon this +point, therefore, I took occasion to ask the most eminent surgeon of my +acquaintance, who at once quieted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> my doubts by detailing a very +remarkable case cited by Sir A. Cooper in his lectures, Vol. I., p. 172. +It is that of a seaman, who was pressed on board one of his Majesty's +ships, early in the revolutionary war; and while on board this vessel, +fell from the yard-arm, and was taken up insensible, in which state he +continued living for thirteen months and some days!</p> + +<p>So with a little more talk, Mrs. Sturk, calling one of her maids, and +leaving the little girl in charge of the nursery, ran down with +noiseless steps and care-worn face to the kitchen, and Mr. Dangerfield +was left alone in the chamber with the spell-bound sleeper on the bed.</p> + +<p>In about ten seconds he rose sharply from his chair and listened: then +very noiselessly he stepped to the door and listened again, and gently +shut it.</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Dangerfield moved to the window. There was a round hole in the +shutter, and through it he glanced into the street, and was satisfied.</p> + +<p>By this time he had his white-pocket-handkerchief in his hands. He +folded it deftly across and across into a small square, and then the +spectacles flashed coldly on the image of Dr. Sturk, and then on the +door; and there was a pause.</p> + +<p>'What's that?' he muttered sharply, and listened for a second or two.</p> + +<p>It was only one of the children crying in the nursery. The sound +subsided.</p> + +<p>So with another long silent step, he stood by the capriole-legged old +mahogany table, with the scallop shell containing a piece of soap and a +washball, and the basin with its jug of water standing therein. Again he +listened while you might count two, and dipped the handkerchief, so +folded, into the water, and quietly squeezed it; and stood white and +glittering by Sturk's bed-side.</p> + +<p>People moved very noiselessly about that house, and scarcely a minute +had passed when the door opened softly, and the fair Magnolia Macnamara +popped in her glowing face and brilliant glance, and whispered.</p> + +<p>'Are you there, Mrs. Sturk, dear?'</p> + +<p>At the far side of the bed, Dangerfield, with his flashing spectacles +and snowy aspect, and a sort of pant, rose up straight, and looked into +her eyes, like a white bird of prey disturbed over its carrion.</p> + +<p>She uttered a little scream—quite pale on a sudden—for she did not +recognise the sinister phantom who glimmered at her over the prostrate +Sturk.</p> + +<p>But Dangerfield laughed his quiet hollow 'ha! ha! ha!' and said +promptly,</p> + +<p>'A strange old nurse I make, Miss Macnamara. But what can I do? Mrs. +Sturk has left me in charge, and faith I believe our patient's looking +mighty badly.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had observed Miss Mag glancing from him to the dumb figure in the bed +with a puzzled kind of horror.</p> + +<p>The fact is, Sturk's face had a leaden tint; he looked, evidently +enough, even in that dim candle-light, a great deal worse than the +curious Miss Mag was accustomed to see him.</p> + +<p>'He's very low, to-night, and seems oppressed, and his pulse is failing; +in fact, my dear young lady, he's plainly worse to-night than I like to +tell poor Mrs. Sturk, you understand.'</p> + +<p>'And his face looks so shiny and damp-like,' said Miss Mag, with a +horrible sort of scrutiny.</p> + +<p>'Exactly so, Miss, 'tis <i>weakness</i>,' observed Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'And you were wiping it with your pocket-handkerchief when I looked in,' +continued Miss Mag.</p> + +<p>'Was I—ha, ha—'tis wonderful how quick we learn a new business. I vow +I begin to think I should make a very respectable nursetender.'</p> + +<p>'And what the dickens brings <i>him</i> up here?' asked Miss Mag of herself; +so soon as the first shock was over, the oddity of the situation struck +her as she looked with perplexed and unpleasant sort of enquiry at Mr. +Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>Just then up came the meek little Mrs. Sturk, and the gentleman greeted +her with a 'Well, Madam, I have not left his bedside since you went +down; and I think he looks a little better—just a little—eh?'</p> + +<p>'I trust and pray, Sir, that when the doctor—' began Mrs. Sturk, and +stopped short, for Mr. Dangerfield frowned quickly, and pointed towards +Miss Mag, who was now, after her wont, looking round the room for matter +of interest.</p> + +<p>'And is Pell comin' out to-night?' asked Miss Mag quickly.</p> + +<p>'No, truly. Madam,' answered the gentleman: 'Dr. Pell's not comin'—is +he, Mrs. Sturk?'</p> + +<p>'Dr. Pell!—oh, la—no, Sir. No, my dear.' And, after a pause, 'Oh, ho. +I wish it was over,' she groaned, with her hand pressed to her side, +looking with a kind of agony on Sturk.</p> + +<p>'<i>What over</i>?' asked Miss Mag.</p> + +<p>Just then a double-knock came to the hall-door, and Mr. Dangerfield +signed sternly to Mrs. Sturk, who first stood up, with her eyes and +mouth wide open, and then sat down, like a woman going to faint.</p> + +<p>But the maid came up and told Miss Mag that her mother and Lieutenant +O'Flaherty were waiting on the steps for her; and so, though loath to go +unsatisfied, away she went, with a courtesy to Mr. Dangerfield and a +kiss to Mrs. Sturk, who revived on hearing it was only her fat kindly +neighbour from over the way, instead of Black Doctor Dillon, with his +murderous case of instruments.</p> + +<p>The gentleman in the silver spectacles accompanied her to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> lobby, +and offered his hand; but she dispensed with his attendance, and jumped +down the stairs with one hand to the wall and the other on the +banisters, nearly a flight at a time; and the cackle of voices rose from +the hall door, which quickly shut, and the fair vision had vanished.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield's silver spectacles gleamed phosphorically after her from +under his lurid forehead. It was not a pleasant look, and his mouth was +very grim. In another instant he was in the room again, and glanced at +his watch.</p> + +<p>''Tis half-past nine,' he said, in a quiet tone, but with a gleam of +intense fury over his face, 'and that—that—doctor named <i>nine</i>.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield waited, and talked a little to Mrs. Sturk and the maid, who +were now making preparations, in short sentences, by fits and starts of +half-a-dozen words at a time. He had commenced his visit ceremoniously, +but now he grew brusque, and took the command: and his tones were prompt +and stern, and the women grew afraid of him.</p> + +<p>Ten o'clock came. Dangerfield went down stairs, and looked from the +drawing-room windows. He waxed more and more impatient. Down he went to +the street. He did not care to walk towards the King's House, which lay +on the road to Dublin; he did not choose to meet his boon companions +again, but he stood for full ten minutes, with one of Dr. Sturk's +military cloaks about him, under the village tree, directing the +double-fire of his spectacles down the street, with an incensed +steadiness, unrewarded, unrelieved. Not a glimmer of a link; not a +distant rumble of a coach-wheel. It was a clear, frosty night, and one +might hear a long way.</p> + +<p>If any of the honest townsfolk had accidentally lighted upon that +muffled, glaring image under the dark old elm, I think he would have +mistaken it for a ghost, or something worse. The countenance at that +moment was not prepossessing.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield was not given to bluster, and never made a noise; but +from his hollow jaws he sighed an icy curse towards Dublin, which had a +keener edge than all the roaring blasphemies of Donnybrook together; +and, with another shadow upon his white face, he re-entered the house.</p> + +<p>'He'll not come to-night, Ma'am,' he said with a cold abruptness.</p> + +<p>'Oh, thank Heaven!—that is—I'm so afraid—I mean about the operation.'</p> + +<p>Dangerfield, with his hands in his pockets, said nothing. There was a +sneer on his face, white and dark, somehow. That was all. Was he +baffled, and was Dr. Sturk, after all, never to regain his speech?</p> + +<p>At half-past ten o'clock, Mr. Dangerfield abandoned hope. Had it been +Dr. Pell, indeed, it would have been otherwise. But Black Dillon had not +a patient; his fame was in the hospi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>tals. There was nothing to detain +him but his vices, and five hundred pounds to draw him to Chapelizod. He +had not come. He must be either brained in a row, or drunk under a +table. So Mr. Dangerfield took leave of good Mrs. Sturk, having told her +in case the doctor should come, to make him wait for his arrival before +taking any measures, and directing that he should be sent for +immediately.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Dangerfield got into his white surtout silently in the hall, and +shut the door quickly after him, and waited, a grim sentry, under the +tree, with his face towards Dublin. Father Time had not blunted the +white gentleman's perceptions, touched his ear with his numb fingers, or +blown the smoke of his tobacco-pipe into his eyes. He was keen of eye, +sharp of hearing; but neither sight nor sound rewarded him, and so he +turned, after a few minutes, and glided away, like a white ghost, toward +the Brass Castle.</p> + +<p>In less than five minutes after, the thunder of a coach shook Dr. +Sturk's windows, followed by a rousing peal on the hall-door, and Dr. +Dillon, in dingy splendours, and a great draggled wig, with a +gold-headed cane in his bony hand, stepped in; and, diffusing a reek of +whiskey-punch, and with a case of instruments under his arm, pierced the +maid, who opened the door, through, with his prominent black eyes, and +frightened her with his fiery face, while he demanded to see Mrs. Sturk, +and lounged, without ceremony, into the parlour; where he threw himself +on the sofa, with one of his bony legs extended on it, and his great +ugly hand under his wig scratching his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH TWO COMRADES ARE TETE-A-TETE IN THEIR OLD QUARTERS, AND DOCTOR +STURK'S CUE IS CUT OFF, AND A CONSULTATION COMMENCES.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he buzz of a village, like the hum of a city, represents a very +wonderful variety of human accent and feeling. It is marvellous how few +families thrown together will suffice to furnish forth this <i>dubia +cœna</i> of sweets and bitters.</p> + +<p>The roar of many waters—the ululatus of many-voiced +humanity—marvellously monotonous, considering the infinite variety of +its ingredients, booms on through the dark. The story-teller alone can +take up the score of the mighty medley, and read at a glance what every +fife and fiddle-stick is doing. That pompous thrum-thrum is the talk of +the great white Marseilles paunch, pietate gravis; the whine comes from +Lazarus, at the area rails; and the bass is old Dives, roaring at his +butler; the piccolo is contributed by the studious school-boy, whistling +over his Latin Grammar; that wild, long note is poor Mrs. Fondle's +farewell of her dead boy; the ugly barytone, rising from the tap-room, +is what Wandering Willie calls a sculduddery song—shut your ears, and +pass on; and that clear soprano, in nursery, rings out a shower of +innocent idiotisms over the half-stripped baby, and suspends the bawl +upon its lips.</p> + +<p>So, on this night, as usual, there rose up toward the stars a throbbing +murmur from our village—a wild chaos of sound, which we must strive to +analyse, extracting from the hurly-burly each separate tune it may +concern us to hear.</p> + +<p>Captain Devereux was in his lodging. He was comparatively tranquil now; +but a savage and impious despair possessed him. Serene outwardly—he +would not let the vulgar see his scars and sores; and was one of those +proud spirits who build to themselves desolate places.</p> + +<p>Little Puddock was the man with whom he had least reserve. Puddock was +so kindly, and so true and secret, and cherished beside, so great an +admiration for him, that he greeted him rather kindly at a moment when +another visitor would have fared scurvily enough. Puddock was painfully +struck with his pallor, his wild and haggard eye, and something stern +and brooding in his handsome face, which was altogether new and shocking +to him.</p> + +<p>'I've been <i>thinking</i>, Puddock,' he said; 'and thought with me has grown +strangely like despair—and that's all. Why, man,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> <i>think</i>—what is +there for me?—all my best stakes I've lost already; and I'm fast losing +myself. How different, Sir, is my fate from others? Worse men than +I—every way incomparably worse—and d—— them, <i>they</i> prosper, while I +go down the tide. 'Tisn't just!' And he swore a great oath. ''Tis enough +to make a man blaspheme. I've done with life—I hate it. I'll volunteer. +'Tis my first thought in the morning, and my last at night, how well I'd +like a bullet through my brain or heart. D—— the world, d—— feeling, +d—— memory. I'm not a man that can always be putting prudential +restraints upon myself. I've none of those plodding ways. The cursed +fools that spoiled me in my childhood, and forsake me now, have all to +answer for—I charge them with my ruin.' And he launched a curse at them +(meaning his aunt) which startled the plump soul of honest little +Puddock.</p> + +<p>'You must not talk that way, Devereux,' he said, still a good deal more +dismayed by his looks than his words. 'Why are you so troubled with +vapours and blue devils?'</p> + +<p>'Nowhy!' said Devereux, with a grim smile.</p> + +<p>'My dear Devereux, I say, you mustn't talk in that wild way. You—you +talk like a ruined man!'</p> + +<p>'And I so comfortable!'</p> + +<p>'Why, to be sure, Dick, you have had some little rubs, and, maybe, your +follies and your vexations; but, hang it, you are young; you can't get +experience—at least, so I've found it—without paying for it. You +mayn't like it just now; but it's well worth the cost. Your worries and +miscarriages, dear Richard, will make you steady.'</p> + +<p>'Steady!' echoed Devereux, like a man thinking of something far away.</p> + +<p>'Ay, Dick—you've sown your wild oats.'</p> + +<p>On a sudden, says the captain, 'My dear little Puddock,' and he took him +by the hand, with a sort of sarcastic flicker of a smile, and looked in +his face almost contemptuously; but his eyes and his voice softened +before the unconscious bonhomie of the true little gentleman. 'Puddock, +Puddock, did it never strike you, my boy, that Hamlet never strives to +speak a word of comfort to the forlorn old Dane? He felt it would not +do. Every man that's worth a button knows his own case best; and I know +the secrets of my own prison-house. Sown my wild oats! To be sure I +have, Puddock, my boy; and the new leaf I've turned over is just this; +I've begun to reap them; and they'll grow, my boy, and grow as long as +grass grows; and—Macbeth has his dagger, you know, and I've my +sickle—the handle towards my hand, that you can't see; and in the sweat +of my brow, I must cut down and garner my sheaves; and as I sowed, so +must I reap, and grind, and bake, the black and bitter grist of my +curse. Don't talk nonsense, little Puddock. Wasn't it Gay that wrote the +"Beggar's Opera?" Ay! Why don't you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> play Macheath? Gay!—Ay—a pleasant +fellow, and his poems too. He writes—don't you remember—he writes,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>'Puddock, throw up that window, the room's too hot—or stay never mind; +read a book, Puddock, you like it, and I'll stroll a little along the +path, and find you when I come back.'</p> + +<p>'Why it's dark,' remonstrated his visitor.</p> + +<p>'Dark? I dare say—yes, of course—very dark—but cool; the air is +cool.'</p> + +<p>He talked like a man who was thinking of something else; and Puddock +thought how strangely handsome he looked, with that pale dash of horror, +like King Saul when the evil spirit was upon him; and there was a +terrible misgiving in his mind. The lines of the old ballad that +Devereux used to sing with a sort of pathetic comicality were humming in +his ear,—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'He walked by the river, the river so clear—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river that runs through Kilkenny;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His name was Captain Wade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he died for that fair maid.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>and so following. What could he mean by walking, at that hour, alone, by +the river's brink? Puddock, with a sinking and flutter at his heart, +unperceived, followed him down stairs, and was beside him in the street.</p> + +<p>'The path by the river?' said Puddock.</p> + +<p>'The river—the path? Yes, Sir, the path by the river. I thought I left +you up stairs,' said Devereux, with an odd sort of sulky shrinking.</p> + +<p>'Why, Devereux, I may as well walk with you, if you don't object,' +lisped Puddock.</p> + +<p>'But I do object, Sir,' cried Devereux, suddenly, in a fierce high key, +turning upon his little comrade. 'What d'ye mean, Sir? You think I mean +to—to <i>drown</i> myself—ha, ha, ha! or what the devil's running in your +head? I'm not a madman, Sir, nor you a mad-doctor. Go home, Sir—or go +to—to where you will, Sir; only go your own way, and leave me mine.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, Devereux, you're very quick with me,' said Puddock, placing his +plump little hand on Devereux's arm, and looking very gently and gravely +in his face.</p> + +<p>Devereux laid his hand upon Puddock's collar with an agitated sort of +sneer. But he recollected himself, and that diabolical gloom faded from +his face, and he looked more like himself, and slid his cold hand +silently into little Puddock's; and so they stood for a while, by the +door-step, to the admiration of Mrs. Irons—whom Devereux's high tones +had called to her window.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Puddock, I don't think I'm well, and I don't know quite what I've been +saying. I ask your pardon. You've always been very good to me, Puddock. +I believe—I believe you're the only friend I have, and—Puddock, you +won't leave me.'</p> + +<p>So up stairs they went together; and Mrs. Irons, from what she had +overheard, considered herself justified in saying, that 'Captain +Devereux was for drowning himself in the Liffey, and would have done so +only for Lieutenant Puddock.' And so the report was set a-going round +the garrulous town of Chapelizod.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Dangerfield glided rapidly along the silent road towards the +Brass Castle, the little gate of his now leafless flower-garden being +already in sight, he saw a dark figure awaiting him under the bushes +which overhung it. It was Mr. Irons, who came forward, without speaking, +and lifted his hat respectfully, perhaps abjectly, and paused for +recognition.</p> + +<p>'Hey! Irons?' said Mr. Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'At your service, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Well, and what says his worship?' asked the gentleman, playfully.</p> + +<p>'I wanted to tell your honour that it won't make no odds, and I'll do +it.'</p> + +<p>'Of course. You're right. It does make no odds. He'll hang whatever you +do; and I tell you 'tis well he should, and only right <i>you</i> should +speak the truth, too—'twill make assurance doubly sure.'</p> + +<p>'At eight o'clock in the morning, Sir, I'll attend you,' said Irons, +with a sort of shiver.</p> + +<p>'Good! and I'll jot down your evidence, and we'll drive over to Mr. +Lowe's, to Lucan, and you shall swear before him. And, you understand—I +don't forget what I promised—you'll be a happier man every way for +having done your duty; and here's half-a-crown to spend in the Salmon +House.'</p> + +<p>Irons only moaned, and then said—</p> + +<p>'That's all, Sir. But I couldn't feel easy till it was off my mind.'</p> + +<p>'At eight o'clock I shall expect you. Good-night, Irons.'</p> + +<p>And with his hands in his pockets he watched Irons off the ground. His +visage darkened as for a while his steady gaze was turned toward Dublin. +He was not quite so comfortable as he might have been.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Black Dillon, at Mrs. Sturk's request, had stalked up stairs +to the patient's bed-side.</p> + +<p>'Had not I best send at once for Mr. Dangerfield?' she enquired.</p> + +<p>'No occasion, Ma'am,' replied the eminent but slightly fuddled +'Saw-bones,' spitting beside him on the floor 'until I see whether I'll +operate to-night. What's in that jug, Ma'am? Chicken-broth? That'll do. +Give him a spoonful. See—he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> swallows free enough;' and then Black +Dillon plucked up his eyelids with a roughness that terrified the +reverential and loving Mrs. Sturk, and examined the distorted pupils.</p> + +<p>'You see the cast in that eye, Ma'am; there's the pressure on the +brain.'</p> + +<p>Dillon was lecturing her upon the case as he proceeded, from habit, just +as he did the students in the hospital.</p> + +<p>'No convulsions, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, Sir, thank Heaven; nothing in the least—only quiet sleep, Sir; +just like that.'</p> + +<p>'Sleep, indeed—that's no sleep, Ma'am. Boo-hooh! I couldn't bawl that +way in his face, Ma'am, without disturbing him, Ma'am, if it was. Now +we'll get him up a bit—there, that's right—aisy. He was lying, Ma'am, +I understand, on his back, when they found him in the park, Ma'am—so +Mr. Dangerfield says—ay. Well, slip the cap off—backward—backward, +you fool; that'll do. Who plastered his head, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'Doctor Toole, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Toole—Toole—h'm—I see—hey—hi—tut! 'tis the devil's pair of +fractures, Ma'am. See—nearer—d'ye see, there's two converging +lines—d'ye see, Ma'am?' and he indicated their directions with the +silver handle of an instrument he held in his hand, 'and serrated at the +edges, I'll be bound.'</p> + +<p>And he plucked off two or three strips of plaster with a quick whisk, +which made poor little Mrs. Sturk wince and cry, 'Oh, dear, Sir!'</p> + +<p>'Threpan, indeed!' murmured Black Dillon, with a coarse sneer, 'did they +run the scalpel anywhere over the occiput, Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'I—I—truly, Sir—I'm not sure,' answered Mrs. Sturk, who did not +perfectly understand a word he said.</p> + +<p>The doctor's hair had not been cut behind. Poor Mrs. Sturk, expecting +his recovery every day, would not have permitted the sacrilege, and his +dishevelled cue lay upon his shoulders. With his straight surgical +scissors Black Dillon snipped off this sacred appendage before the good +lady knew what he was about, and cropped the back of his head down to +the closest stubble.</p> + +<p>'Will you send, if you please, Ma'am, for Doctor—Doctor—Thingumee?'</p> + +<p>'Doctor Toole?' enquired Mrs. Sturk.</p> + +<p>'Doctor Toole, Ma'am; yes,' answered the surgeon.</p> + +<p>He himself went down to the coach at the hall-door, and in a few minutes +returned with a case, and something in a cloth. From the cloth he took +an apparatus, like the cushioned back of a chair, with straps and +buckles attached to it, and a sort of socket, the back of which was +open, being intended to receive the head in.</p> + +<p>'Now, Ma'am, we'll prop him up comfortable with this, if you please.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p> + +<p>And having got it into place, and lowered by a screw, the cushions +intended to receive his head, and got the lethargic trunk and skull of +the Artillery doctor well-placed for his purpose, he took out a roll of +sticking-plaster and a great piece of lint, and laid them on the table, +and unlocked his box, which was a large one, and took out several +instruments, silver-mounted, straight and crooked, with awful +adaptations to unknown butcheries and tortures, and then out came +another—the veritable trepan—resembling the homely bit-and-brace, but +slender, sinister, and quaint, with a murderous sort of elegance.</p> + +<p>'You may as well order in half-a-dozen clean towels, if you please, +Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! Doctor, you're not going to have an operation to-night, gasped Mrs. +Sturk, her face quite white and damp, and her clasped hands trembling.</p> + +<p>'Twenty to one, Ma'am,' he replied with a slight hiccup, 'we'll have +nothing of the kind; but have them here, Ma'am, and some warm water for +fear of accidents—though maybe 'tis only for a dhrop of punch we'll be +wanting it,' and his huge, thirsty mouth grinned facetiously; and just +then Dr. Toole entered the room. He was confoundedly surprised when he +found Black Dillon there. Though bent on meeting him with hauteur and +proper reserve, on account of his damnable character, he was yet cowed +by his superior knowledge, so that Tom Toole's address was strangely +chequered with pomposity and alarm.</p> + +<p>Dillon's credentials there was, indeed, no disputing, so they sent for +Moore, the barber; and, while he was coming, they put the women out of +the room, and sat in consultation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH MR. MOORE THE BARBER ARRIVES, AND THE MEDICAL GENTLEMEN LOCK +THE DOOR.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he ladies were not much the wiser, though, I confess, they were not far +removed from the door. The great men inside talked indistinctly and +technically, and once Doctor Dillon was so unfeeling as to crack a +joke—they could not distinctly hear what—and hee-haw brutally over it. +And poor little Mrs. Sturk was taken with a great palpitation, and +looked as white as a ghost, and was, indeed, so obviously at the point +of swooning that her women would have removed her to the nursery, and +placed her on the bed, but that such a procedure would have obliged them +to leave the door of their sick master's room, just then a point of too +lively interest to be deserted. So they consoled their mistress, and +supported her with such strong moral cordials as compassionate persons +in their rank and circumstances are prompt to administer.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Ma'am, jewel, don't be takin' it to heart that way—though, dear +knows, 'tis no way surprisin' you would; for may I never sin if ever I +seen such a murtherin' steel gimblet as the red-faced docthor—I mane +the Dublin man—has out on the table beside the poor masther—'tid +frighten the hangman to look at it—an' six towels, too! Why, Ma'am +dear, if 'twas what they wor goin' to slaughter a bullock they wouldn't +ax more nor that.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! don't. Oh! Katty, Katty—don't, oh don't'</p> + +<p>'An' why wouldn't I, my darlin' misthress, tell you what's doin', the +way you would not be dhruv out o' your senses intirely if you had no +notion, Ma'am dear, iv what they're goin' to do to him?'</p> + +<p>At this moment the door opened, and Doctor Dillon's carbuncled visage +and glowing eyes appeared.</p> + +<p>'Is there a steady woman there—not a child, you know, Ma'am? +A—<i>you'll</i> do (to Katty). Come in here, if you please, and we'll tell +you what you're to do.'</p> + +<p>So, being nothing loath, she made her courtesy and glided in.</p> + +<p>'Oh! doctor,' gasped poor Mrs. Sturk, holding by the hem of his garment, +'do you think it will kill him?'</p> + +<p>'No, Ma'am—not to-night, at any rate,' he answered, drawing back; but +still she held him.</p> + +<p>'Oh! doctor, you think it <i>will</i> kill him?'</p> + +<p>'No, Ma'am—there's always some danger.'</p> + +<p>'Danger of what, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Fungus, Ma'am—if he gets over the chance of inflammation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> But, on the +other hand, Ma'am, we may do him a power of good; and see, Ma'am, 'twill +be best for you to go down or into the nursery, and we'll call you, +Ma'am, if need be—that is, if he's better, Ma'am, as we hope.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! Mr. Moore, it's you,' sobbed the poor woman, holding fast by the +sleeve of the barber, who that moment, with many reverences and 'your +servant, Ma'am,' had mounted to the lobby with the look of awestruck +curiosity, in his long, honest face, which the solemn circumstance of +his visit warranted.</p> + +<p>'You're the man we sent for?' demanded Dillon, gruffly.</p> + +<p>''Tis good Mr. Moore,' cried trembling little Mrs. Sturk, deprecating +and wheedling him instinctively to make him of her side, and lead him to +take part with her and resist all violence to her husband—flesh of her +flesh, and bone of her bone.</p> + +<p>'Why don't you spake, Sor-r-r? Are you the barber we sent for or no? +What ails you, man?' demanded the savage Doctor Dillon, in a suppressed +roar.</p> + +<p>'At your sarvice, Ma'am—Sir,' replied Moore, with submissive alacrity.</p> + +<p>'Come in here, then. Come in, will you?' cried the doctor, hauling him +in with his great red hand.</p> + +<p>'There now—there now—there—there,' he said gruffly, extending his +palm to keep off poor Mrs. Sturk.</p> + +<p>So he shut the door, and poor Mrs. Sturk heard him draw the bolt, and +felt that her Barney had passed out of her hands, and that she could do +nothing for him now but clasp her hands and gasp up her prayers for his +deliverance; and so great indeed was her anguish and panic, that she had +not room for the feminine reflection how great a brute Doctor Dillon +was.</p> + +<p>So she heard them walking this way and that, but could not distinguish +what they said, only she heard them talking; and once or twice a word +reached her, but not very intelligible, such as—</p> + +<p>''Twas Surgeon Beauchamp's—see that'</p> + +<p>'Mighty curious.'</p> + +<p>Then a lot of mumbling, and</p> + +<p>'Cruciform, of course.'</p> + +<p>This was said by Doctor Dillon, near the door, where he had come to take +an additional candle from the table that stood there; as he receded it +lost itself in mumble again, and then she heard quite plainly—</p> + +<p>'Keep your hand there.'</p> + +<p>And a few seconds after,</p> + +<p>'Hold it there and don't let it drip.'</p> + +<p>And then a little more mumbled dialogue, and she thought she heard—</p> + +<p>'Begin now.'</p> + +<p>And there was a dead silence of many seconds; and Mrs. Sturk felt as if +she must scream, and her heart beat at a gallop,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> and her dry, white +lips silently called upon her Maker for help, and she felt quite wild, +and very faint; and heard them speak brief, and low together, and then +another long silence; and then a loud voice, in a sort of shriek, cry +out that name—holy and awful—which we do not mix in tales like this. +It was Sturk's voice; and he cried in the same horrid shriek, +'Murder—mercy—Mr. Archer!'</p> + +<p>And poor Mrs. Sturk, with a loud hysterical cry, that quivered with her +agony, answered from without, and wildly rattled at the door-handle, and +pushed with all her feeble force to get in, in a kind of crescendo +screaming—'Oh, Barney—Barney—<i>Barney—sweetheart</i>—what are they +<i>doing</i>?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! blessed hour!—Ma'am—'tis the master himself that is talking;' and +with a very pale face the maid, who stood in the doorway beside her, +uttered her amazed thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>And the doctors' voices were now heard plainly enough soothing the +patient, and he seemed to have grown more collected; and she heard +him—she thought—repeat a snatch of a prayer, as a man might just +rescued from a shipwreck; and he said in a tone more natural in one so +sick and weak, 'I'm a dead man—he's done it—where is he?—he's +murdered me.'</p> + +<p>'Who?' demanded Toole's well-known voice.</p> + +<p>'Archer—the villain—Charles Archer.'</p> + +<p>'Give me the cup with the claret and water, and the spoon—there it is,' +said Dillon's rough bass tones.</p> + +<p>And she heard the maid's step crossing the floor, and then there was a +groan from Sturk.</p> + +<p>'Here, take another spoonful, and don't mind talking for a while. It's +doing mighty well. There, don't let him slip over—that's enough.'</p> + +<p>Just then Toole opened the door enough to put his head through, and +gently restraining poor Mrs. Sturk with his hand, he said with a +vigorous whisper—</p> + +<p>''Twill all go well, Ma'am, we hope, if he's not agitated; you must not +go in, Ma'am, nor talk to him—by-and-by you may see him, but he must be +quiet now; his pulse is very regular at present—but you see, Ma'am, we +can't be too cautious.'</p> + +<p>While Toole was thus discoursing her at the door, she heard Dr. Dillon +washing his hands, and Sturk's familiar voice, sounding so strange after +the long silence, say very languidly and slowly—</p> + +<p>'Take a pen, Sir—some one—take and write—write down what I say.'</p> + +<p>'Now, Ma'am, you see he's bent on talking,' said Toole, whose quick ear +caught the promise of a revelation. 'I must be at my post, Ma'am—the +bed post—hey! We may joke now, Ma'am, that the patient's recovered his +speech; and, you know, you mustn't come in—not till we tell you it's +safe—there now—rely on me—I give you my word of honour he's doing as +well as we could have hoped for.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> + +<p>And Toole shook her trembling little hand very cordially, and there was +a very good-natured twinkle in his eye.</p> + +<p>And Toole closed the door again, and they heard Sturk murmur something +more; and then the maid, who was within, was let out by Toole, and the +door closed and bolted again, and a sort of cooing and murmuring +recommenced.</p> + +<p>After a while, Toole, absolutely pale, and looking very stern, opened +the door, and, said he, in a quiet way—</p> + +<p>'Ma'am, may I send Katty down to the King's House, with a note to Mr.—a +note to the King's House, Ma'am—I thank you—and see, Katty, good girl, +ask to see the gentleman himself, and take his answer from his own +lips.'</p> + +<p>And he tore off the back of a letter, and pencilled on it these words—</p> + +<p>'<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Dr. Sturk has been successfully operated upon by +me and another gentleman; and being restored to speech and recollection, +but very weak, desires earnestly to see you, and make an important +disclosure to you as a justice of the peace.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">'I am, Sir, your very obedient, humble servant,</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 20em;">'Thomas Toole</span>.</p> + +<p>Upon this note he clapt a large seal with the Toole arms, and when it +was complete, placed it in the hands of Katty, who, with her riding-hood +on and her head within it teeming with all sorts of wild conjectures and +horrible images, and her whole soul in a whirl of curiosity, hurried +along the dark street, now and then glinted on by a gleam through a +shutter, or enlivened by the jingle of a harpsichord, or a snatch of +talk and laughter heard faintly through the windows, and along the +Dublin-road to the gate of the King's House. The hall-door of this +hospitable mansion stood open, and a flood of red candle-light fell upon +one side of the gray horse, saddle, and holster pipes, which waited the +descent of Mr. Lowe, who was shaking hands with the hospitable colonel +at the threshold.</p> + +<p>Katty was just in time, and the booted gentleman, in his surtout and +cape, strode back again into the light of the hall-door, and breaking +the seal, there read, with his clear cold eye, the lines which Toole had +pencilled, and thrusting it into his coat pocket, and receiving again +the fuddled butler's benedictions—he had given him half-a-crown—he +mounted his gray steed, and at a brisk trot, followed by his servant, +was, in little more than two minutes' time, at Dr. Sturk's door.</p> + +<p>Moore, the barber, <i>functus officio</i>, was now sitting in the hall, with +his razors in his pocket, expecting his fee, and smelling pleasantly of +the glass of whiskey which he had just drunk to the health and long life +of the master—God bless him—and all the family.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span></p> + +<p>Doctor Toole met Mr. Lowe on the lobby; he was doing the honours of the +ghastly eclaircissement, and bowed him up to the room, with many an +intervening whisper, and a sort of apology for Dillon, whom he treated +as quite unpresentable, and resolved to keep as much as practicable in +the background.</p> + +<p>But that gentleman, who exulted in a good stroke of surgery, and had no +sort of professional delicacy, calling his absent fathers and brethren +of the scalpel and forceps by confounded hard names when he detected a +blunder or hit a blot of theirs, met Mr. Lowe on the upper lobby.</p> + +<p>'Your servant, Sir,' said he, rubbing his great red hands with a moist +grin; 'you see what I've done. Pell's no surgeon, no more than +that—(Toole, he was going to say, but modified the comparison in +time)—that candlestick! to think of him never looking at the occiput; +and <i>he</i> found lying on his back—'twas well Mr. Dangerfield pitched on +me—though I say it—why <i>shouldn't</i> I say it—a depression, the size of +a shilling in the back of the head—a bit of depressed bone, you see, +over the cerebellum—the trepan has relieved him.'</p> + +<p>'And was it Mr. Dangerfield?' enquired Lowe, who was growing to admire +that prompt, cynical hero more and more every hour.</p> + +<p>'By gannies, it just was. He promised me five hundred guineas to make +him speak. What all them solemn asses could not compass, that's sweeping +in their thousands every quarter, thanks to a discerning public. Baugh! +He had heard of a rake-helly dog, with some stuff in his brain-pan, and +he came to me—and I done it—Black Dillon done it—ha, ha! that's for +the pack of them. Baugh!'</p> + +<p>Doctor Dillon knew that the profession slighted him; and every man's +hand against him, his was against every man.</p> + +<p>Sturk was propped up and knew Lowe, and was, in a ghastly sort of way, +glad to see him. He looked strangely pale and haggard, and spoke +faintly.</p> + +<p>'Take pen and ink,' said he.</p> + +<p>There were both and paper ready.</p> + +<p>'He would not speak till you came,' whispered Toole, who looked hotter +than usual, and felt rather small, and was glad to edge in a word.</p> + +<p>'An' don't let him talk too long; five minutes or so, and no more,' said +Doctor Dillon; 'and give him another spoonful now—and where's Mr. +Dangerfield?'</p> + +<p>'And do you really mean to say, Sir, he promised you a fee of +<i>five</i>—eh?' said Toole, who could not restrain his somewhat angry +curiosity.</p> + +<p>'Five hundred guineas—ha, ha, ha! be gannies, Sir, there's a power of +divarsion in that.'</p> + +<p>''Tis a munificent fee, and prompted by a fine public spirit. We are all +his debtors for it! and to you, Sir, too. He's an early<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> man, Sir, I'm +told. You'll not see him to-night. But, whatever he has promised is +already performed; you may rely on his honour.'</p> + +<p>'If you come out at nine in the morning, Dr. Dillon, you'll find him +over his letters and desk, in his breakfast parlour,' said Toole, who, +apprehending that this night's work might possibly prove a hit for the +disreputable and savage luminary, was treating him, though a good deal +stung and confounded by the prodigious amount of the fee, with more +ceremony than he did at first. 'Short accounts, you know,' said Dillon, +locking the lid of his case down upon his instruments. 'But maybe, as +you say, 'tis best to see him in the morning—them rich fellows is often +testy—ha! ha! An' a word with you, Dr. Toole,' and he beckoned his +brother aside to the corner near the door—and whispered something in +his ear, and laughed a little awkwardly, and Toole, very red and grave, +lent him—with many misgivings, two guineas.</p> + +<p>'An' see—don't let them give him too much of that—the chicken broth's +too sthrong—put some wather to that, Miss, i' you plaze—and give him +no more to-night—d'ye mind—than another half a wine-glass full of +clar't unless the docthor here tells you.'</p> + +<p>So Dr. Dillon took leave, and his fiery steeds, whirling him onward, +devoured, with their resounding hoofs, the road to Dublin, where he had +mentally devoted Toole's two guineas to the pagan divinities whose +worship was nightly celebrated at the old St. Columbkill.</p> + +<p>'We had best have it in the shape of a deposition, Sir, at once,' said +Lowe, adjusting himself at the writing-table by the bed-side, and taking +the pen in his fingers, he looked on the stern and sunken features of +the resuscitated doctor, recalled, as it were, from 'the caverns of the +dead and the gates of darkness,' to reveal an awful secret, and point +his cold finger at the head of the undiscovered murderer.</p> + +<p>'Tell it as shortly as you can, Sir, but without haste,' said Toole, +with his finger on his pulse. Sturk looked dismal and frightened, like a +man with the hangman at his elbow.</p> + +<p>'It was that d—d villain—Charles Archer—write that down—'twas a foul +blow—Sir, I'm murdered—I suppose.'</p> + +<p>And then came a pause.</p> + +<p>'Give me a spoonful of wine—I was coming out of town at dusk—this +evening—'</p> + +<p>'No, Sir; you're here some time, stunned and unconscious.'</p> + +<p>'Eh! how long?'</p> + +<p>'No matter, Sir, now. Just say the date of the night it happened.'</p> + +<p>Sturk uttered a deep groan.</p> + +<p>'Am I dying?' said he.</p> + +<p>'No, Sir, please goodness—far from it,' said Toole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Fracture?' asked Sturk, faintly.</p> + +<p>'Why—yes—something of the sort—indeed—altogether a fracture; but +going on mighty well, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Stabbed anywhere—or gunshot wound?' demanded Sturk.</p> + +<p>'Nothing of the kind, Sir, upon my honour.'</p> + +<p>'You think—I have a chance?' and Sturk's cadaverous face was moist with +the dews of an awful suspense.</p> + +<p>'Chance,' said Toole, in an encouraging tone, 'well, I suppose you have, +Sir—ha, ha! But, you know, you must not tire yourself, and we hope to +have you on your legs again, Sir, in a reasonable time.'</p> + +<p>'I'm very bad—the sight's affected,' groaned Sturk.</p> + +<p>'See, Sir, you tire yourself to no purpose. You're in good hands, +Sir—and all will go well—as we expect—Pell has been with you twice—'</p> + +<p>'H'm! Pell—that's good.'</p> + +<p>'And you're going on mighty well, Sir, especially to-night.'</p> + +<p>'Doctor, upon your honour, have I a chance?'</p> + +<p>'You have, Sir,—certainly—yes—upon my honour.'</p> + +<p>'Thank God!' groaned Sturk, turning up the whites of his eyes, and +lifting up two very shaky hands.</p> + +<p>'But you must not spoil it—and fatigue will do that for you,' remarked +Toole.</p> + +<p>'But, Sir, Sir—I beg pardon, Doctor Toole—but this case is not quite a +common one. What Doctor Sturk is about to say may acquire an additional +legal value by his understanding precisely the degree of danger in which +he lies. Now, Doctor Sturk, you must not be over much disturbed,' said +Lowe.</p> + +<p>'No, Sir—don't fear me—I'm not much disturbed,' said Sturk.</p> + +<p>'Well, Doctor Toole,' continued Lowe, 'we must depart a little here from +regular medical routine—tell Doctor Sturk plainly all you think.'</p> + +<p>'Why—a'—and Doctor Toole cleared his voice, and hesitated.</p> + +<p>'Tell him what you and Doctor Dillon think, Sir. Why, Doctor Dillon +spoke very plainly to me.'</p> + +<p>'I don't like his pulse, Sir. I think you had better not have agitated +him,' muttered Toole with an impatient oath.</p> + +<p>''Tis worse to keep his mind doubtful, and on the stretch,' said Lowe. +'Doctor Toole, Sir, has told you the bright side of the case. It is +necessary, making the deposition you propose, that you should know +t'other.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, of course—quite right—go on,' said Sturk faintly.</p> + +<p>'Why, you know,' said Toole, sniffing, and a little sulkily, 'you know, +Doctor Sturk, we, doctors, like to put the best foot foremost; but you +can't but be aware, that with the fractures—<i>two</i> fractures—along the +summit of the skull, and the operation by the trepan, behind your head, +just accomplished, there must be, of course, some danger.'</p> + +<p>'I see. Sir,' said Sturk, very quietly, but looking awfully cada<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span>verous; +'all I want to know is, how long you think I may live?'</p> + +<p>'You may recover altogether, Sir—you may—but, of course—you +may—there's a chance; and things might not go right,' said Toole, +taking snuff.</p> + +<p>'I see—Sir—'tis enough'—and there was a pause. 'I'd like to have the +sacrament, and pray with the clergyman a little—Lord help me!—and my +will—only a few words—I don't suppose there's much left me; but +there's a power of appointment—a reversion of £600, stock—I'm tired.'</p> + +<p>'Here, take this,' said Toole, and put half-a-dozen spoonsful of claret +and water into his lips, and he seemed to revive a little. 'There's no +immediate hurry—upon my honour, Doctor Sturk, there isn't,' said Toole. +'Just rest aisy a bit; you're disturbed a good deal, Sir; your pulse +shows it; and you need not, I assure you, upon my conscience and +honour—'tis quite on the cards you may recover.'</p> + +<p>And as he spoke, Toole was dropping something from a phial into a +wine-glass—sal volatile—ether—I can't say; but when Dr. Sturk +swallowed it there was a 'potter-carrier's' aroma about the room.</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause for a while, and Toole kept his fingers on his +pulse; and Sturk looked, for some time, as if he were on the point of +fainting, which, in his case, might have proved very like dying.</p> + +<p>'Have you the claret bottle in the room?' demanded Toole, a little +flurried; for Sturk's pulses were playing odd pranks, and bounding and +sinking in a dance of death.</p> + +<p>'The what, Sir?' asked the maid.</p> + +<p>'The <i>wine</i>, woman—this instant,' said the doctor, with a little stamp.</p> + +<p>So, the moment he had the bottle, he poured out half a large glass, and +began spooning it into Sturk's white parted lips.</p> + +<p>Lowe looked on very uneasily; for he expected, as Toole did also, +prodigious revelations; though each had a suspicion that he divined +their nature tolerably clearly.</p> + +<p>'Give him some more,' said Toole, with his fingers on the sick man's +wrist, and watching his countenance. 'D—— it, don't be afraid—more, +some more—more!'</p> + +<p>And so the Artillery doctor's spirit revived within him; though with +flickerings and tremblings; and he heaved some great sighs, and moved +his lips. Then he lay still for a while; and after that he spoke.</p> + +<p>'The pen, Sir,—write,' he said. 'He met me in the Butcher's Wood; he +said he was going to sleep in town,' and Sturk groaned dismally; 'and he +began talking on business—and turned and walked a bit with me. I did +not expect to see him there—he was frank—and spoke me fair. We were +walking slowly. He looked up in the sky with his hands in his coat +pockets and was a step, or so, in advance of me; and he turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> short—I +didn't know—I had no more fear than you—and struck me a blow with +something he had in his hand. He rose to the blow on his toes—'twas so +swift, I had no time—I could not see what he struck with, 'twas like a +short bit of rope.'</p> + +<p>'Charles Archer? Do you know him, Dr. Toole?' asked Lowe. Toole shook +his head.</p> + +<p>'Charles Archer!' he repeated, looking at Sturk; 'where does he live?' +and he winked to Toole, who was about speaking, to hold his peace.</p> + +<p>'Here—in this town—Chapelizod, up the river, a bit, with—with +a—changed name,' answered Sturk. And at the name he mentioned, Lowe and +Toole, in silence and steadfastly, exchanged a pale, grim glance that +was awful to see.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIX.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH A CERTAIN SONGSTER TREATS THE COMPANY TO A DOLOROUS BALLAD +WHEREBY MR. IRONS IS SOMEWHAT MOVED.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>t seemed that Mr. Dangerfield had taken Zekiel Irons's measure pretty +exactly. The clerk had quite made up his mind to take the bold step +urged upon him by that gentleman. He was a slow man. When one idea had +fairly got into his head there was no room there for another. Cowardly +and plotting; but when his cowardice was wrought upon to a certain +pitch, he would wax daring and fierce from desperation.</p> + +<p>He walked down to the village from the little gate of the Brass Castle, +where he had talked with Mr. Dangerfield, appointing eight o'clock next +morning for making the deposition; late now for all purposes; but to +nail him to a line of <i>vivá voce</i> evidence when he should come to be +examined on Charles Nutter's approaching trial. The whole way along he +walked with the piece of silver, which Mr. Paul Dangerfield had given +him, griped tight in his crooked fingers, in his breeches' pocket—no +change in his grim and sinister face—no turn of the head—no side +glance of the eye—all dark, rigid, and tense.</p> + +<p>The mechanism of long habit brought him round the corner to the door of +the Salmon House, the 'public' facing, but with the length of the street +interposing, the Phœnix, whose lights were visible through and under +the branches of the village tree. His mind wandered back to the Mills +with a shock, and glided stealthily past the Brass Castle without +dwelling there, and he looked down the street. Over the bridge at the +Elms, lay death in its awful purity. At his left, in the Gray Stone +House, was Doctor Sturk—the witness with sealed lips—the victim of +Charles Archer's mysterious prowess; and behind lay the church-yard,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> +and the quiet little church with that vault and nameless coffin. +Altogether, the suggestions and associations about him were not cheerful +or comfortable. He squeezed the silver—Dangerfield's little +remembrance—with a furious strain, and ground his teeth.</p> + +<p>'I'm like a man surrounded. I wish I was out of it all!' he muttered, +with a care-worn glance.</p> + +<p>So he entered the public-house.</p> + +<p>There was not much business doing. Three friends, Smithfield dealers, or +some such folk, talking loudly over their liquor of prices and +prospects; and one fat fellow, by the fire, smoking a pipe, with a large +glass of punch at his elbow.</p> + +<p>'Ah, then, Mr. Irons, an' is it yourself that's in it? and where in the +world wor ye all this time?' said the landlady.</p> + +<p>'Business, Ma'am, business, Mrs. Molloy.'</p> + +<p>'An' there's your chair waitin' for you beside the fire, Mr. Irons, this +month an' more—a cowld evening—and we all wondherin' what in the wide +world was gone widg ye—this I do'no how long.'</p> + +<p>'Thank ye, Ma'am—a pipe and a glass o' punch.'</p> + +<p>Irons was always a man of few words, and his laconics did not strike +Mistress Molloy as anything very strange. So she wiped the little table +at his side, and with one foot on the fender, and his elbow on his knee, +he smoked leisurely into the fire-place.</p> + +<p>To look at his face you would have supposed he was thinking; but it was +only that sort of foggy vacuity which goes by the name of 'a brown +study.' He never thought very clearly or connectedly; and his apathetic +reveries, when his mood was gloomy, were furnished forth in a barren and +monotonous way, with only two or three frightful figures, and a dismal +scenery that seldom shifted.</p> + +<p>The three gentlemen at the table called for more liquor, and the stout +personage, sitting opposite to Irons, dropped into their talk, having +smoked out his pipe, and their conversation became more general and +hilarious; but Irons scarce heard it. Curiosity is an idle minx, and a +soul laden like the clerk's has no entertainment for her. But when one +of the three gentlemen who sat together—an honest but sad-looking +person with a flaxen wig, and a fat, florid face—placing his hand in +the breast of his red plush waistcoat, and throwing himself back in his +chair, struck up a dismal tune, with a certain character of psalmody in +it, the clerk's ear was charmed for a moment, and he glanced on the +singer and sipped some punch; and the ballad, rude and almost rhymeless, +which he chanted had an undefined and unpleasant fascination for Irons. +It was thus:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'A man there was near Ballymooney,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was guilty of a deed o' blood,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thravellin' alongside iv ould Tim Rooney.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">He kilt him in a lonesome wood.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'He took his purse, and his hat and cravat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And stole his buckles and his prayer-book, too;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And neck-and-heels, like a cruel savage,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His corpus through the wood he drew.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'He pult him over to a big bog-hole,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sunk him undher four-foot o' wather,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And built him down wid many a thumpin' stone.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And slipt the bank out on the corpus afther.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Here the singer made a little pause, and took a great pull at the +beer-can, and Irons looked over his shoulder at the minstrel; but his +uneasy and malignant glance encountered only the bottom of the vessel; +and so he listened for more, which soon came thus:—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'An' says he, "Tim Rooney, you're there, my boy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kep' down in the bog-hole wid the force iv suction,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' tisn't myself you'll throuble or annoy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To the best o' my opinion, to the resurrection."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'With that, on he walks to the town o' Drumgoole,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sot by the fire in an inn was there;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sittin' beside him, says the ghost—"You fool!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis myself's beside ye, Shamus, everywhere."'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>At this point the clerk stood up, and looked once more at the songster, +who was taking a short pull again, with a suspicious, and somewhat angry +glance. But the unconscious musician resumed—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'"Up through the wather your secret rises;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The stones won't keep it, and it lifts the mould,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' it tracks your footsteps, and yoar fun surprises</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' it sits at the fire beside you black and cowld.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'"At prayers, at dances, or at wake or hurling;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At fair, or funeral, or where you may;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At your going out, and at your returning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis I'll be with you to your dying day."'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>'Is there much more o' that?' demanded Irons, rather savagely.</p> + +<p>The thirsty gentleman in the red plush waistcoat was once more, as he +termed it, 'wetting his whistle;' but one of his comrades responded +tartly enough—</p> + +<p>'I'd like there was—an' if you mislike it, neighbour, there's the +door.'</p> + +<p>If he expected a quarrel, however, it did not come; and he saw by +Irons's wandering eye, fierce as it looked, that his thoughts for the +moment were elsewhere. And just then the songster,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> having wiped his +mouth in his coat-sleeve, started afresh in these terms—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'"You'll walk the world with a dreadful knowledge,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a heavy heart and a frowning brow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thinking deeper than a man in college,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your eye will deaden, and your back will bow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'"And when the pariod iv your life is over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The frightful hour of judgment then will be;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, Shamus Hanlon, heavy on your shoulder,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'll lay my cowld hand, and you'll go wid me."'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>This awful ditty died away in the prolonged drone which still finds +favour in the ears of our Irish rustic musicians, and the company now +began to talk of congenial themes, murders, ghosts, and retributions, +and the horrid tune went dismally booming on in Mr. Irons's ear.</p> + +<p>Trifling, and apparently wholly accidental, as was this occurrence, the +musical and moral treat had a very permanent effect upon the fortunes of +Irons, and those of other persons who figure in our story. Mr. Irons had +another and another glass of punch. They made him only more malign and +saturnine. He sat in his corner by the fire, silent and dismal; and no +one cared what was passing in the brain behind that black and scowling +mask. He paid sternly and furiously, like a villain who has lost at +play; and without a 'good-night,' or any other leave taking, glided +ominously from the room; and the gentlemen who carried on the discourse +and convivialities of the Salmon House, followed him with a gibe or two, +and felt the pleasanter for the removal of that ungracious presence.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, Mr. Lowe stood on the hall-door step, and calling +to his man, gave him a little note and some silver, and a message—very +impressively repeated—and the groom touched his hat, and buttoned up +his coat about his neck, the wind being from the east, and he started, +at something very near a gallop, for Dublin.</p> + +<p>There was a man at the door of the Salmon House, who, with a taciturn +and saturnine excitement, watched the unusual bustle going on at the +door-steps of Doctor Sturk's dwelling. This individual had been drinking +there for a while; and having paid his shot, stood with his back to the +wall, and his hands in his pockets, profoundly agitated, and with a +chaos of violent and unshaped thoughts rising and rolling in his +darkened brain.</p> + +<p>After Lowe went into the house again, seeing the maid still upon the +steps, talking with Mr. Moore, the barber, who was making his lingering +adieux there, this person drew near, and just as the tonsor made his +final farewell, and strode down the street towards his own dwelling, he +presented himself in time to arrest the retreat of the damsel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p> + +<p>'By your leave, Mistress Katty,' said he, laying his hand on the iron +rail of the door-steps.</p> + +<p>'Oh, good jewel! an' is that yourself, Mr. Irons? And where in the world +wor you this month an' more?'</p> + +<p>'Business—nothin'—in Mullingar—an' how's the docthor to-night?'</p> + +<p>The clerk spoke a little thickly, as he commonly did on leaving the +Salmon House.</p> + +<p>'He's elegant, my dear—beyant the beyants—why, he's sittin' up, +dhrinking chicken-broth, and talking law-business with Mr. Lowe.'</p> + +<p>'He's talkin'!'</p> + +<p>'Ay is he, and Mr. Lowe just this minute writ down all about the way he +come by the breakin' of his skull in the park, and we'll have great +doings on the head of it; for the master swore to it, and Doctor +Toole——'</p> + +<p>'An'who done it?' demanded Irons, ascending a step, and grasping the +iron rail.</p> + +<p>'I couldn't hear—nor no one, only themselves.'</p> + +<p>'An' who's that rode down the Dublin road this minute?'</p> + +<p>'That's Mr. Lowe's man; 'tis what he's sent him to Dublin wid a note.'</p> + +<p>'I see,' said Irons, with a great oath, which seemed to the maid wholly +uncalled for; and he came up another step, and held the iron rail and +shook it, like a man grasping a battle-axe, and stared straight at her, +with a look so strange, and a visage so black, that she was +half-frightened.</p> + +<p>'A what's the matther wid you, Misther Irons?' she demanded.</p> + +<p>But he stared on in silence, scowling through her face at vacancy, and +swaying slightly as he griped the metal banister.</p> + +<p>'I <i>will</i>,' he muttered, with another most unclerklike oath, and he took +Katty by the hand, and shook it slowly in his own cold, damp grasp as he +asked, with the same intense and forbidding look,</p> + +<p>'Is Mr. Lowe in the house still?'</p> + +<p>'He is, himself and Doctor Toole, in the back parlour.'</p> + +<p>'Whisper him, Katty, this minute, there's a man has a thing to tell +him.'</p> + +<p>'What about?' enquired Katty.</p> + +<p>'About a great malefactor.'</p> + +<p>Katty paused, with her mouth open, expecting more.</p> + +<p>'Tell him now; at once, woman; you don't know what delay may cost.'</p> + +<p>He spoke impetuously, and with a bitter sort of emphasis, like a man in +a hurry to commit himself to a course, distrusting his own resolution.</p> + +<p>She was frightened at his sudden fierceness, and drew back into the hall +and he with her, and he shut the door with a clang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> behind him, and then +looked before him, stunned and wild, like a man called up from his bed +into danger.</p> + +<p>'Thank God. I'm in for it,' muttered he, with a shudder and a sardonic +grin, and he looked for a moment something like that fine image of the +Wandering Jew, given us by Gustave Doreé, the talisman of his curse +dissolved, and he smiling cynically in the terrible light of the +judgment day.</p> + +<p>The woman knocked at the parlour door, and Lowe opened it.</p> + +<p>'Who's here?' he asked, looking at Irons, whose face he remembered, +though he forgot to whom it belonged.</p> + +<p>'I'm Zekiel Irons, the parish-clerk, please your worship, and all I want +is ten minutes alone with your honour.'</p> + +<p>'For what purpose?' demanded the magistrate, eyeing him sharply.</p> + +<p>'To tell you all about a damned murder.'</p> + +<p>'Hey—why—who did it?'</p> + +<p>'Charles Archer,' he answered; and screwed up his mouth with a +convulsive grimace, glaring bloodlessly at the justice.</p> + +<p>'Ha! Charles Archer! I think we know something already about that.'</p> + +<p>'I don't think you do, though; and by your leave, you'll promise, if I +bring it home to him, you'll see me safe through it. 'Tis what I'm the +only witness living that knows all about it.'</p> + +<p>'Well, what is it about?'</p> + +<p>'The murder of Mr. Beauclerc, that my Lord Dunoran was tried and found +guilty for.'</p> + +<p>'Why, all very good; but that did not happen in Ireland.'</p> + +<p>'No. At Newmarket, the "Pied Horse."'</p> + +<p>'Ay, in England. I know, and that's out of our jurisdiction.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care. I'll go to London if you like—to +Bow-street—anywhere—so as I make sure to hang him; for my life is +worse than death while he's at this side of the grave—and I'd rather be +in my coffin—I would—than live within five miles of him. Anyway, +you'll hear what I have to say, and to <i>swear</i>, and send me safe across +the water to Bow-street, or wherever else you think best; for, if he has +his liberty, and gets sight o' me again, I'm a dead man.'</p> + +<p>'Come in here, Mr. Irons, and take a chair,' said the justice.</p> + +<p>Doctor Toole was in the room, in a balloon-backed chair, regaling +himself with a long pipe, and Mr. Lowe shut the door.</p> + +<p>'We have another deposition, doctor, to take; Mr. Irons, here, is +prepared to swear informations of very singular importance.'</p> + +<p>'Irons, hollo! from what planet did you drop to-night?'</p> + +<p>'Mullingar, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Nothing about the burning of the old woman at Tyrrell's Pass, eh?'</p> + +<p>'No—'tis an old story. I don't care what comes of it, I'm innocent, +only you'll say I kept it too long to myself. But you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> can't touch my +life. I'm more afeard of him than you, and with good cause; but I think +he's in a corner now, and I'll speak out and take my chance, and you +mustn't allow me to be murdered.'</p> + +<p>By this time Lowe had procured writing materials, and all being ready, +he and the curious and astonished doctor heard a story very like what we +have already heard from the same lips.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XC.</h2> + +<h4>MR. PAUL DANGERFIELD HAS SOMETHING ON HIS MIND, AND CAPTAIN DEVEREUX +RECEIVES A MESSAGE.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img048.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'M'" /></div><p>r. Dangerfield having parted with Irons, entered the little garden or +shrubbery, which skirted on either side the short gravel walk, which +expanded to a miniature court-yard before the door of the Brass Castle. +He flung the little iron gate to with a bitter clang; so violent that +the latch sprang from its hold, and the screaking iron swung quivering +open again behind him.</p> + +<p>Like other men who have little religion, Mr. Paul Dangerfield had a sort +of vague superstition. He was impressible by omens, though he scorned +his own weakness, and sneered at, and quizzed it sometimes in the +monologues of his ugly solitude. The swinging open of the outer gate of +his castle sounded uncomfortably behind him, like an invitation to +shapeless danger to step in after him. The further he left it behind +him, the more in his spirit was the gaping void between his two little +piers associated with the idea of exposure, defencelessness, and +rashness. This feeling grew so strong, that he turned about before he +reached his hall-door, and, with a sensation akin to fury, retraced the +fifteen or twenty steps that intervened, and grasped the cold iron with +the fiercest tension of his sinews, as if it had resented his first +violence by a dogged defiance of his wishes, and spluttering a curse +between his teeth, he dashed it to again—and again, as once more it +sprang open from the shock.</p> + +<p>'Who's master <i>now</i>?' snarled Mr. Paul Dangerfield, through his clenched +teeth, and smiting the senseless iron with a vindictive swoop of his +cane. I fancy his face at this moment had some of the peculiar lines and +corrugations which we observe in that of Retzsch's Mephistopheles, when +he gripes the arm of Faust to drag him from Margaret's cell. So he stood +behind his iron grating, glaring and grinning defiance into the +darkness, with his fingers clenched hard upon his cane.</p> + +<p>Black Dillon's failure was a blow to the progress of his plans. It +incensed him. 'That d——d outcast! That <i>he</i> should presume so to treat +a man who could master him so easily at any game, and buy and sell him +body and soul, and had actually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> bargained to give him five hundred +guineas—the needy, swinish miscreant! and paid him earnest beside—the +stupid cheat! Drink—dice—women! Why, five hundred guineas made him +free of his filthy paradise for a twelvemonth, and the leprous oaf could +not quit his impurities for an hour, and keep the appointment that was +to have made him master of his heart's desires.'</p> + +<p>At his hall-door he paused, listening intently, with his spectacles +glimmering toward Chapelizod, for the sound of a distant step; but there +was no messenger afoot. He heard only the chill sigh of the air through +the leafless branches.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield had not his key with him; and he beat an unnecessarily +loud and long tattoo upon his door, and before it could possibly have +been answered, he thundered a second through the passages.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jukes knew the meaning of that harsh and rabid summons. 'There was +something on the master's mind.' His anxieties never depressed him as +they did other men, but strung up his energies to a point of mental +tension and exasperation which made him terrible to his domestics. It +was not his acts—his conduct was always under control, but chiefly his +looks, and accents, and an influence that seemed to take possession of +him at such times that rendered him undefinably formidable to his +servants.</p> + +<p>'Ha!—mighty obleeging (he so pronounced the word)—let in at last—cold +outside, Ma'am. You've let out the fire I suppose?'</p> + +<p>His tones were like the bark of a wolf, and there was a devilish smirk +in his white face, as he made her a mock salutation, and glided into his +parlour. The fire was bright enough, however, as Mrs. Jukes was much +relieved to see; and dropping a courtesy she enquired whether he would +like a dish of tea, or anything?</p> + +<p>'No, Ma'am!' he snarled.</p> + +<p>'Would he like his dressing-gown and slippers?'</p> + +<p>'No, Ma'am,' again. So she dropped another courtesy, and sneaked away to +the kitchen, with short, noiseless steps, and heard Mr. Dangerfield shut +the door sharply.</p> + +<p>His servants were afraid of him. They could not quite comprehend him. +They knew it was vain trying to deceive him, and had quite given up +lying and prevaricating. Neither would he stand much talking. When they +prattled he brought them to the point sternly; and whenever a real +anxiety rested on his mind he became pretty nearly diabolical. On the +whole, however, they had a strange sort of liking for him. They were +proud of his wealth, and of his influence with great people. And though +he would not allow them to rob, disobey, or deceive him, yet he used +them handsomely, paid like a prince, was a considerate master, and made +them comfortable.</p> + +<p>Now Mr. Dangerfield poked up his fire and lighted his candles. Somehow, +the room looked smaller he thought than it had ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> seemed before. He +was not nervous—nothing could bring him to that; but his little +altercation with the iron gate, and some uncomfortable thoughts had +excited him. It was an illusion merely—but the walls seemed to have +closed in a foot or two, and the ceiling to have dropped down +proportionably, and he felt himself confined and oppressed.</p> + +<p>'My head's a little bit heated—<i>ira furo brevis</i>,' and he sneered a +solitary laugh, more like himself, and went out into his tiny hall, and +opened the door, and stood on the step for air, enjoying the cold wind +that played about his temples. Presently he heard the hollow clink of +two pair of feet walking toward the village. The pedestrians were +talking eagerly; and he thought, as they passed the little iron gate of +his domain, he heard his own name mentioned, and then that of Mervyn. I +dare say it was mere fancy; but, somehow, he did not like it, and he +walked swiftly down to the little gate by the road side—it was only +some twenty yards—keeping upon the grass that bounded it, to muffle the +sound of his steps. This white phantom noiselessly stood in the shadow +of the road side. The interlocutors had got a good way on, and were +talking loud and volubly. But he heard nothing that concerned him from +either again, though he waited until their steps and voices were lost in +the distance.</p> + +<p>The cool air was pleasant about his bare temples, and Mr. Paul +Dangerfield waited a while longer, and listened, for any sound of +footsteps approaching from the village, but none such was audible; and +beginning to feel a little chilly, he entered his domicile again, shut +the hall-door, and once more found himself in the little parlour of the +Brass Castle.</p> + +<p>His housekeeper heard his harsh voice barking down the passage at her, +and rising with a start from her seat, cried,</p> + +<p>'At your service, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'At a quarter to twelve o'clock fetch me a sandwich, and a glass of +absynthe, and meanwhile, don't disturb me.'</p> + +<p>And she heard him enter his little parlour, and shut the door.</p> + +<p>'There's something to vex, but nothing to threaten—nothing. It's all +that comical dream—curse it! What tricks the brain plays us! 'Tis fair +it should though. We work it while we please, and it plays when it may. +The slave has his saturnalia, and flouts his tyrant. Ha, ha! 'tis time +these follies were ended. I've something to do to-night.'</p> + +<p>So Mr. Dangerfield became himself again, and applied himself keenly to +his business.</p> + +<p>When I first thought of framing the materials which had accumulated in +my hands into a narrative, dear little Lily Walsingham's death was a +sore trouble to me. 'Little' Lily I call her, but though slight, she was +not little—rather tall, indeed.</p> + +<p>It was, however, the term I always heard connected with her pretty name +in my boyhood, when the old people, who had re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span>membered her very long +ago, mentioned her, as they used, very kindly, a term of endearment that +had belonged to her, and in virtue of the childlike charm that was about +her, had grown up with her from childhood. I had plans for mending this +part of the record, and marrying her to handsome Captain Devereux, and +making him worthy of her; but somehow I could not. From very early times +I had known the sad story. I had heard her beauty talked about in my +childhood; the rich, clear tints, the delicate outlines, those tender +and pleasant dimples, like the wimpling of a well; an image so pure, and +merry, and melancholy withal, had grown before me, and in twilight +shadows visited the now lonely haunts of her brief hours; even the old +church, in my evening rambles along the uplands of the park, had in my +eyes so saddened a grace in the knowledge that those slender bones lay +beneath its shadows, and all about her was so linked in my mind with +truth, and melancholy, and altogether so sacred, that I could not trifle +with the story, and felt, even when I imagined it, a pang, and a +reproach, as if I had mocked the sadness of little Lily's fate; so, +after some ponderings and trouble of mind I gave it up, and quite +renounced the thought.</p> + +<p>And, after all, what difference should it make? Is not the generation +among whom her girlish lot was cast long passed away? A few years more +or less of life. What of them now? When honest Dan Loftus cited those +lines from the 'Song of Songs,' did he not make her sweet epitaph? Had +she married Captain Devereux, what would her lot have been? She was not +one of those potent and stoical spirits, who can survive the wreck of +their best affections, and retort injury with scorn. In forming that +simple spirit, Nature had forgotten arrogance and wrath. She would never +have fought against the cruelty of changed affections if that or the +treasons of an unprincipled husband had come. His love would have been +her light and life, and when that was turned away, like a northern +flower that has lost its sun, she would have only hung her pretty head, +and died, in her long winter. So viewing now the ways of wisdom from a +distance, I think I can see they were the best, and how that fair, young +mortal, who seemed a sacrifice, was really a conqueror.</p> + +<p>Puddock and Devereux on this eventful night, as we remember, having +shaken hands at the door-steps, turned and went up stairs together, very +amicably again, to the captain's drawing-room.</p> + +<p>So Devereux, when they returned to his lodgings, had lost much of his +reserve, and once on the theme of his grief, stormed on in gusts, and +lulls, and thunder, and wild upbraidings, and sudden calms; and the +good-natured soul of little Puddock was touched, and though he did not +speak, he often dried his eyes quietly, for grief is conversant not with +self, but with the dead, and whatever is generous moves us.</p> + +<p>'There's no one stirring now, Puddock—I'll put my cloak<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> about me and +walk over to the Elms, to ask how the rector is to-night,' said +Devereux, muffling himself in his military mantle.</p> + +<p>It was only the restlessness of grief. Like all other pain, grief is +haunted with the illusion that change means relief; motion is the +instinct of escape. Puddock walked beside him, and they went swiftly and +silently together.</p> + +<p>When they reached the other side of the bridge, and stood under the +thorn-hedge fronting the leafless elms, Devereux was irresolute.</p> + +<p>'Would you wish <i>me</i> to enquire?' asked Puddock. Devereux held him +doubtfully by the arm for a moment or two, and then said gently—</p> + +<p>'No, I thank you, Puddock—I'll go—yes—I'll go myself;' and so Captain +Devereux went up to the door.</p> + +<p>John Tracy, at the steps, told him that he thought his master wished to +speak with him; but he was not quite sure. The tall muffled figure +therefore waited at the door while John went in to tell his master, and +soon returned to say that Doctor Walsingham would be much obliged to him +to step into the study.</p> + +<p>When the doctor saw Devereux, he stood up to meet him.</p> + +<p>'I hope, Sir,' said Devereux, very humbly, 'you have forgiven me.'</p> + +<p>The doctor took his hand and shook it very hard, and said, 'There's +nothing—we're both in sorrow. Everyone—everyone is sorry, Sir, but you +more.'</p> + +<p>Devereux did not say anything, being moved, as I suppose. But he had +drawn his cloak about his face, and was looking down.</p> + +<p>'There was a little message—only a word or two,' said the doctor; 'but +everything of hers is sacred.'</p> + +<p>He turned over some papers in his desk, and chose one. It was in Lily's +pretty handwriting.</p> + +<p>'I am charged with this little message. Oh, my darling!' and the old man +cried bitterly.</p> + +<p>'Pray, read it—you will understand it—'tis easily read. What a pretty +hand it was!'</p> + +<p>So Devereux took the little paper, and read just the words which +follow:—</p> + +<p>'My beloved father will, I hope, if he thinks it right, tell Captain +Richard Devereux that I was not so unkind and thankless as I may have +seemed, but very grateful for his preference, of which I know, in many +ways, how unworthy I was. But I do not think we could have been happy; +and being all over, it is a great comfort to friends who are separated +here, that there is a place where all may meet again, if God will; and +as I did not see or speak with him since my dear father brought his +message, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> wished that so much should be said, and also to say a kind +good-bye, and give him all good wishes.</p> + +<p>'<span class="smcap">LILIAS.</span>'</p> + +<p>'Friday evening.'</p> + + +<p>Captain Richard Devereux read this simple little record through, and +then he said:—</p> + +<p>'Oh, Sir, may I have it—isn't it mine?'</p> + +<p>We who have heard those wondrous aërial echoes of Killarney, when the +breath has left the bugle and its cadences are silent, take up the +broken links of the lost melody with an answer far away, sad and +celestial, real, yet unreal, the fleeting yet lingering spirit of music, +that is past and over, have something in memory by which we can +illustrate the effect of these true voices of the thoughts and +affections that have perished, returning for a few charmed moments +regretfully and sweetly from the sea of eternal silence.</p> + +<p>And so that sad and clear farewell, never repeated, was long after, in +many a lonely night, answered by the voice of Devereux.</p> + +<p>'Did she—did she know how I loved her? Oh, never, never! I'll never +love any but you. Darling, darling—you can't die. Oh, no, no, no! Your +place knows you still; your place is here—here—here.'</p> + +<p>And he smote his breast over that heart which, such as it was, cherished +a pure affection for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCI.</h2> + +<h4>CONCERNING CERTAIN DOCUMENTS WHICH REACHED MR. MERVYN, AND THE WITCHES' +REVELS AT THE MILLS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p> would be ashamed to say how, soon after Dangerfield had spoken to Mr. +Mervyn in the church-yard on the Sunday afternoon, when he surprised him +among the tombstones, the large-eyed young gentleman, with the long +black hair, was at his desk, and acting upon his suggestion. But the +<i>Hillsborough</i> was to sail next day; and Mr. Mervyn's letter, containing +certain queries, and an order for twenty guineas on a London house, +glided in that packet with a favouring breeze from the Bay of Dublin, on +its way to the London firm of Elrington Brothers.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the day whose events I have been describing in the +last half-dozen chapters, Mr. Mervyn received his answer, which was to +the following effect:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Having made search for the Paper which you enquire +after, we have Found one answering your description in a General +way; and pursuant to your request and Direction, beg leave to +forward you a Copy thereof, together with a copy of a letter +concerning it, received by the same post from Sir Philip Drayton, +of Drayton Hall, Sometime our Client, and designed in Part to +explain his share in the matter. Your order for twenty guineas, on +Messrs. Trett and Penrose, hath come to hand, and been duly +honoured, and we thankfully Accept the same, in payment for all +trouble had in this matter.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 18em;">'&c., &c., &c.'</span></p></div> + +<p>The formal document which it enclosed said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'This is to certify that Charles Archer, Esq., aged, as shortly +before his death he reported himself, thirty-five years, formerly +of London, departed this life, on the 4th August, 1748, in his +lodgings, in the city of Florence, next door to the "Red Lion," and +over against the great entrance of the Church of the Holy Cross, in +the which, having conformed to the holy Roman faith, he is +buried.—Signed this 12th day of August, 1748.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 12em;">'Philip Drayton</span>, Baronet.<br /> +<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 12em;">'Gaetano Meloni</span>, M.D.<br /> +<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 12em;">'Robert Smith</span>, Musician.<br /> +</p> + +<p>'We three having seen the said Charles Archer during his sickness, +and after his decease.'</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then followed the copy of the baronet's letter to his attorneys, which +was neither very long nor very business-like.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'Why the plague don't you make the scoundrel, Jekyl, pay? His +mother's dead only t'other day, and he must be full of money. I've +scarce a marvedy in hand, now; so let him have a writ in his, drat +him. About that certificate, I'm almost sorry I signed it. I've bin +thinking 'tis like enough I may be troubled about it. So you may +tell 'em I know no more only what is there avouched. No more I do. +He played at a faro-table here, and made a very pretty figure. But +I hear now from Lord Orland that there are many bad reports of him. +He was the chief witness against that rogue, Lord Dunoran, who +swallowed poison in Newgate, and, they say, leaned hard against +him, although he won much money of him, and swore with a +blood-thirsty intention. But that is neither here nor there; I mean +ill reports of his rogueries at play, and other doings, which, had +I sooner known, my name had not bin to the paper. So do not make a +noise about it, and maybe none will ask for't. As for Jack Jekyl, +why not take the shortest way with him. You're very pitiful +fellows; but I wish o' my conscience you'd take some pity o' me, +and not suffer me to be bubbled,' &c., &c.</p></div> + +<p>There was only a sentence or two more, referring in the same strain to +other matters of business, of which, in the way of litigation, he seemed +to have no lack, and the letter ended.</p> + +<p>'I'll go direct to London and see these people, and thence to Florence. +Gaetano Meloni—he may be living—who knows? He will remember the priest +who confessed him. A present to a religious house may procure—in a +matter of justice, and where none can be prejudiced, for the case is +very special—a dispensation, if he be the very Charles Archer—and he +may—why not?—have disclosed all on his death-bed. First, I shall see +Mr. Dangerfield—then those attorneys; and next make search in Florence; +and, with the aid of whatever I can glean there, and from Irons, +commence in England the intensest scrutiny to which a case was ever yet +subjected.'</p> + +<p>Had it not been so late when he found this letter on his return, he +would have gone direct with it to the Brass Castle; but that being quite +out of the question, he read it again and again. It is wonderful how +often a man will spell over and over the same commonplace syllables, if +they happen to touch a subject vitally concerning himself, and what +theories and speculations he will build upon the accidental turn of a +phrase, or the careless dash of a pen.</p> + +<p>As we see those wild animals walk their cages in a menagerie, with the +fierce instincts of suppressed action rolling in the vexed eye and +vibrating in every sinew, even so we behold this hero of the flashing +glance and sable locks treading, in high excitement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> the floor of the +cedar parlour. Every five minutes a new hope—a new conjecture, and +another scrutiny of the baronet's letter, or of the certificate of +Archer's death, and hour after hour speeding by in the wild chase of +successive chimeras.</p> + +<p>While Mr. Justice Lowe's servant was spurring into town at a pace which +made the hollow road resound, and struck red flashes from the stones, up +the river, at the Mills, Mistress Mary Matchwell was celebrating a sort +of orgie. Dirty Davy and she were good friends again. Such friendships +are subject to violent vicissitudes, and theirs had been interrupted by +a difference of opinion, of which the lady had made a note with a brass +candlestick over his eye. Dirty Davy's expressive feature still showed +the green and yellow tints of convalescence. But there are few +philosophers who forgive so frankly as a thorough scoundrel, when it is +his interest to kiss and be friends. The candlestick was not more +innocent of all unpleasant feeling upon the subject than at that moment +was Dirty Davy.</p> + +<p>Dirty Davy had brought with him his chief clerk, who was a facetious +personage, and boozy, and on the confidential footing of a common +rascality with his master, who, after the fashion of Harry V. in his +nonage, condescended in his frolics and his cups to men of low estate; +and Mary Matchwell, though fierce and deep enough, was not averse on +occasion, to partake of a bowl of punch in sardonic riot, with such +agreeable company.</p> + +<p>Charles Nutter's unexpected coming to life no more affected Mary +Matchwell's claim than his supposed death did her spirits. Widow or +wife, she was resolved to make good her position, and the only thing she +seriously dreaded was that an intelligent jury, an eminent judge, and an +adroit hangman, might remove him prematurely from the sphere of his +conjugal duties, and forfeit his worldly goods to the crown.</p> + +<p>Next morning, however, a writ or a process of some sort, from which +great things were expected, was to issue from the court in which her +rights were being vindicated. Upon the granting of this, Mistress +Matchwell and Dirty Davy—estranged for some time, as we have +said,—embraced. She forgot the attorney's disrespectful language, and +he the lady's brass candlestick, and, over the punch-bowl of oblivion +and vain glory, they celebrated their common victory.</p> + +<p>Under advice, M. M. had acquiesced, pending her vigorous legal +proceedings, in poor little Sally Nutter's occupying her bed-room in the +house for a little while longer. The beleagured lady was comforted in +her strait by the worthy priest, by honest Dr. Toole, and not least, by +that handsome and stalworth nymph, the daring Magnolia. That blooming +Amazon was twice on the point of provoking the dismal sorceress, who +kept her court in the parlour of the Mills, to single combat. But +fortune willed it otherwise, and each time the duel had been interrupted +in its formal inception, and had gone no further than that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> spirited +prologue in which the female sex so faithfully preserve the tradition of +those thundering dialogues which invariably precede the manual business +of the Homeric fray.</p> + +<p>This was the eve of a great triumph and a memorable gala. Next morning, +Sally Nutter was to be scalped, roasted, and eaten up, and the night was +spent in savage whoopings, songs and dances. They had got a reprobate +blind fiddler into the parlour, where their punch-bowl steamed—a most +agreeable and roistering sinner, who sang indescribable songs to the +quaver of his violin, and entertained the company with Saturnalian +vivacity, jokes, gibes, and wicked stories. Larry Cleary, thou man of +sin and music! methinks I see thee now. Thy ugly, cunning, pitted face, +twitching and grinning; thy small, sightless orbs rolling in thy devil's +merriment, and thy shining forehead red with punch.</p> + +<p>In the kitchen things were not more orderly; M. M.'s lean maid was making +merry with the bailiff, and a fat and dreadful trollop with one +eye—tipsy, noisy, and pugnacious.</p> + +<p>Poor little Sally Nutter and her maids kept dismal vigil in her +bed-room. But that her neighbours and her lawyer would in no sort permit +it, the truth is, the frightened little soul would long ago have made +herself wings, and flown anywhere for peace and safety.</p> + +<p>It is remarkable how long one good topic, though all that may be said +upon it has been said many scores of times, will serve the colloquial +purposes of the good folk of the kitchen or the nursery. There was +scarcely half-an-hour in the day during which the honest maids and their +worthy little mistress did not discuss the dreadful Mary Matchwell. They +were one and all, though in different degrees, indescribably afraid of +her. Her necromantic pretensions gave an indistinctness and poignancy to +their horror. She seemed to know, by a diabolical intuition, what +everybody was about—she was so noiseless and stealthy, and always at +your elbow when you least expected. Those large dismal eyes of hers, +they said, glared green in the dark like a cat's; her voice was +sometimes so coarse and deep, and her strength so unnatural, that they +were often on the point of believing her to be a man in disguise. She +was such a blasphemer, too; and could drink what would lay a trooper +under the table, and yet show it in nothing but the superintensity of +her Satanic propensities. She was so malignant, and seemed to bear to +all God's creatures so general a malevolence, that her consistent and +superlative wickedness cowed and paralysed them. The enigma grew more +horrible every day and night, and they felt, or fancied, a sort of +influence stealing over them which benumbed their faculty of resistance, +and altogether unstrung their nerves.</p> + +<p>The grand compotation going on in the parlour waxed louder and wilder as +the night wore on. There were unseen guests there, elate and inspiring, +who sat with the revellers—phantoms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> who attend such wassail, and keep +the ladle of the punch-bowl clinking, the tongue of the songster glib +and tuneful, and the general mirth alive and furious. A few honest folk, +with the gift of a second sight in such matters, discover their uncanny +presence—leprous impurity, insane blasphemy, and the stony grin of +unearthly malice—and keep aloof.</p> + +<p>To heighten their fun, this jovial company bellowed their abominable +ballads in the hall, one of them about 'Sally M'Keogh,' whose sweetheart +was hanged, and who cut her throat with his silver-mounted razor, and +they hooted their gibes up the stairs. And at last Mary Matchwell, +provoked by the passive quietude of her victim, summoned the three +revellers from the kitchen, and invaded the upper regions at their +head—to the unspeakable terror of poor Sally Nutter—and set her demon +fiddler a scraping, and made them and Dirty Davy's clerk dance a frantic +reel on the lobby outside her bed-room door, locked and bolted inside, +you may be sure.</p> + +<p>In the midst of this monstrous festivity and uproar, there came, all on +a sudden, a reverberating double-knock at the hall-door, so loud and +long that every hollow, nook, and passage of the old house rang again. +Loud and untimely as was the summons, it had a character, not of riot, +but of alarm and authority. The uproar was swallowed instantly in +silence. For a second only the light of the solitary candle shone upon +the pale, scowling features of Mary Matchwell, and she quenched its wick +against the wall. So the Walpurgis ended in darkness, and the company +instinctively held their breaths.</p> + +<p>There was a subdued hum of voices outside, and a tramping on the crisp +gravel, and the champing and snorting of horses, too, were audible.</p> + +<p>'Does none o' yez see who's in it?' said the blind fiddler.</p> + +<p>'Hold your tongue,' hissed Mary Matchwell with a curse, and visiting the +cunning pate of the musician with a smart knock of the candlestick.</p> + +<p>'I wisht I had your thumb undher my grinder,' said the fiddler, through +his teeth, 'whoever you are.'</p> + +<p>But the rest was lost in another and a louder summons at the hall-door, +and a voice of authority cried sternly,</p> + +<p>'Why don't you open the door?—hollo! there—I can't stay here all +night.'</p> + +<p>'Open to him, Madam, I recommend you,' said Dirty Davy, in a hard +whisper; 'will I go?'</p> + +<p>'Not a step; not a word;' and Mary Matchwell griped his wrist.</p> + +<p>But a window in Mrs. Nutter's room was opened, and Moggy's voice cried +out—</p> + +<p>'Don't go, Sir; for the love o' goodness, don't go. Is it Father Roach +that's in it?'</p> + +<p>''Tis I, woman—Mr. Lowe—open the door, I've a word or two to say.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCII.</h2> + +<h4>THE WHER-WOLF.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'A'" /></div><p>bout a quarter of an hour before this, Mr. Paul Dangerfield was packing +two trunks in his little parlour, and burning letters industriously in +the fire, when his keen ear caught a sound at which a prophetic instinct +within him vibrated alarm. A minute or two before he had heard a +stealthy footstep outside. Then he heard the cook walk along the +passage, muttering to herself, to the hall-door, where there arose a +whispering. He glanced round his shoulder at the window. It was barred. +Then lifting the table and its load lightly from before him, he stood +erect, fronting the door, and listening intently. Two steps on tip-toe +brought him to it, and he placed his fingers on the key. But he +recollected a better way. There was one of those bolts that rise and +fall perpendicularly in a series of rings, and bar or open the door by a +touch to a rope connected with it by a wire and a crank or two.</p> + +<p>He let the bolt softly drop into its place; the rope was within easy +reach, and with his spectacles gleaming white on the door, he kept +humming a desultory tune, like a man over some listless occupation.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paul Dangerfield was listening intently, and stepped as softly as a +cat. Then, with a motion almost elegant, he dropt his right hand lightly +into his coat-pocket, where it lay still in ambuscade.</p> + +<p>There came a puffing night air along the passage, and rattled the door; +then a quiet shutting of the hall-door, and a shuffling and breathing +near the parlour.</p> + +<p>Dangerfield, humming his idle tune with a white and sharpening face, and +a gaze that never swerved, extended his delicately-shaped fingers to the +rope, and held it in his left hand. At this moment the door-handle was +suddenly turned outside, and the door sustained a violent jerk.</p> + +<p>'Who's there?' demanded the harsh, prompt accents of Dangerfield, +suspending his minstrelsy. 'I'm busy.'</p> + +<p>'Open the door—we've a piece of intelligence to gi'e ye.'</p> + +<p>'Certainly—but don't be tedious.' (He drew the string, and the bolt +shot up). 'Come in, Sir.'</p> + +<p>The door flew open; several strange faces presented themselves on the +threshold, and at the same instant, a stern voice exclaimed—</p> + +<p>'Charles Archer, I arrest you in the king's name.'</p> + +<p>The last word was lost in the stunning report of a pistol, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> the +foremost man fell with a groan. A second pistol already gleamed in +Dangerfield's hand, and missed. With a spring like a tiger he struck the +hesitating constable in the throat, laying his scalp open against the +door-frame, and stamping on his face as he fell; and clutching the third +by the cravat, he struck at his breast with a knife, already in his +hand. But a pistol-shot from Lowe struck his right arm, scorching the +cloth; the dagger and the limb dropped, and he staggered back, but +recovered his equilibrium, and confronted them with a white skull-like +grin, and a low 'ha, ha, ha!'</p> + +<p>It was all over, and the silver spectacles lay shattered on the floor, +like a broken talisman, and a pair of gray, strangely-set, wild eyes +glared upon them.</p> + +<p>The suddenness of his assault, his disproportioned physical strength and +terrific pluck, for a second or two, confounded his adversaries; but he +was giddy—his right arm dead by his side. He sat down in a chair +confronting them, his empty right hand depending near to the floor, and +a thin stream of blood already trickling down his knuckles, his face +smiling, and shining whitely with the damp of anguish, and the cold low +'ha, ha, ha!' mocking the reality of the scene.</p> + +<p>'Heinous old villain!' said Lowe, advancing on him.</p> + +<p>'Well, gentlemen, I've shown fight, eh?—and now I suppose you want my +watch, and money, and keys—eh?'</p> + +<p>'Read the warrant, Sir,' said Lowe, sternly.</p> + +<p>'Warrant! hey—warrant?—why, this is something new—will you be so good +as to give me a glass of water—thank you—hold the paper a moment +longer—I can't get this arm up.' With his left hand he set down the +tumbler-glass, and then held up the warrant.</p> + +<p>'Thank ye. Well, this warrant's for Charles Archer.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Alias</i> Paul Dangerfield—if you read, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you—yes—I see—that's news to me. Oh! Mr. Lowe—I did not see +<i>you</i>—I haven't hurt you, I hope? Why the plague do you come at these +robbing hours? We'd have all fared better had you come by daylight.'</p> + +<p>Lowe did not take the trouble to answer him.</p> + +<p>'I believe you've <i>killed</i> that constable in the exercise of his duty, +Sir; the man's dead,' said Lowe, sternly.</p> + +<p>'Another gloss on my text; why invade me like housebreakers?' said +Dangerfield with a grim scoff.</p> + +<p>'No violence, Sirrah, on your peril—the prisoner's wounded,' said Lowe, +catching the other fellow by the collar and thrusting him back: he had +gathered himself up giddily, and swore he'd have the scoundrel's life.</p> + +<p>'Well, gentlemen, you have made a <i>false</i> arrest, and shot me while +defending my person—<i>you</i>—four to one!—and caused the death of your +accomplice; what more do you want?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You must accompany us to the county gaol, Sir; where I'll hand in your +committal.'</p> + +<p>'Dr. Toole, I presume, may dress my arm?'</p> + +<p>'Certainly, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Good! what more?'</p> + +<p>'There's a coach at the door, you'll please to step in, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Good, Sir, again; and now permit me to make a remark. I submit, Sir, to +all this violence, and will go with you, under protest, and with a +distinct warning to you, Mr. Lowe, and to your respectable body-guard of +prize-fighters and ruffians—how many?—two, four, five, six, upon my +honour, counting the gentleman upon the floor, and yourself, Sir—seven, +pitted against one old fellow, ha, ha, ha!—a distinct warning, Sir, +that I hold you accountable for this outrage, and all its consequences.'</p> + +<p>'See to that man; I'm afraid he has killed him,', said Lowe.</p> + +<p>He was not dead, however, but, as it seemed, suffering intense pain, and +unable to speak except in a whisper. They got him up with his back to +the wall.</p> + +<p>'You issue a warrant against another man whom I believe to be dead, and +execute it upon <i>me</i>—rather an Irish proceeding, Sir; but, perhaps, if +not considered impertinent, you will permit me to enquire what is the +particular offence which that other person has committed, and for which +you have been pleased to shoot me?'</p> + +<p>'You may read it on the warrant, Sir; 'tis for a murderous assault on +Doctor Sturk.'</p> + +<p>'Hey? better and better! why, I'm ready to pay five hundred guineas to +make him speak; and you'll soon find how expensive a blunder you've +committed, Sir,' observed Dangerfield, with a glare of menace through +his hollow smile.</p> + +<p>'I'll stand that hazard, Sir,' rejoined Lowe, with a confident sneer.</p> + +<p>The dreadful sounds of the brief scuffle had called up the scared and +curious servants. The smell of the pistol-smoke, the sight of blood, the +pale faces of the angry and agitated men, and the spectacle of their +master, mangled, ghastly, and smiling, affrighted Mrs. Jukes; and the +shock and horror expressed themselves in tears and distracted +lamentations.</p> + +<p>'I must have your keys, Sir, if you please,' said Mr. Lowe.</p> + +<p>'A word first—here, Jukes,' he addressed his housekeeper; 'stop that, +you fool!' (she was blubbering loudly) ''tis a mistake, I tell you; I +shall be back in an hour. Meanwhile, here are my keys; let Mr. Lowe, +there, have them whenever he likes—all my papers, Sir (turning to +Lowe). I've nothing, thank Heaven! to conceal. Pour some port wine into +that large glass.'</p> + +<p>And he drank it off, and looked better; he appeared before on the point +of fainting.</p> + +<p>'I beg pardon, gentlemen—will you drink some wine?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I thank you, no, Sir. You'll be good enough to give me those keys' (to +the housekeeper).</p> + +<p>'Give them—certainly,' said Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Which of them opens the chest of drawers in your master's bed-chamber +facing the window?' He glanced at Dangerfield, and thought that he was +smiling wider, and his jaws looked hollower, as he repeated—</p> + +<p>'If she does not know it, I'll be happy to show it you.'</p> + +<p>With a surly nod, Mr. Lowe requited the prisoner's urbanity, and +followed Mrs. Jukes into her master's bed-chamber; there was an +old-fashioned oak chest of drawers facing the window.</p> + +<p>'Where's Captain Cluffe?' enquired Lowe.</p> + +<p>'He stopped at his lodgings, on the way,' answered the man; 'and said +he'd be after us in five minutes.'</p> + +<p>'Well, be good enough, Madam, to show me the key of these drawers.'</p> + +<p>So he opened the drawers in succession, beginning at the top, and +searching each carefully, running his fingers along the inner edges, and +holding the candle very close, and grunting his disappointment as he +closed and locked each in its order.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Doctor Toole was ushered into the little parlour, +where sat the disabled master of the Brass Castle. The fussy little +mediciner showed in his pale, stern countenance, a sense of the shocking +reverse and transformation which the great man of the village had +sustained.</p> + +<p>'A rather odd situation you find me in, Doctor Toole,' said white Mr. +Dangerfield, in his usual harsh tones, but with a cold moisture shining +on his face; 'under <i>duresse</i>, Sir, in my own parlour, charged with +murdering a gentleman whom I have spent five hundred guineas to bring to +speech and life, and myself half murdered by a justice of the peace and +his discriminating followers, ha, ha, ha! I'm suffering a little pain, +Sir; will you be so good as to lend me your assistance?'</p> + +<p>Toole proceeded to his task much more silently than was his wont, and +stealing, from time to time, a glance at his noticeable patient with the +wild gray eyes, as people peep curiously at what is terrible and +repulsive.</p> + +<p>''Tis broken, of course,' said Dangerfield.</p> + +<p>'Why, yes, Sir,' answered Toole; 'the upper arm—a bullet, Sir. H'm, +ha—yes; it lies only under the skin, Sir.'</p> + +<p>And with a touch of the sharp steel it dropped into the doctor's +fingers, and lay on a bloody bit of lint on the table by the +wine-glasses. Toole applied his sticking-plaster, and extemporised a set +of splints, and had the terrified cook at his elbow tearing up one of +her master's shirts into strips for bandages; and so went on neatly and +rapidly with his shifty task.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Cluffe had arrived. He was a little bit huffed and +grand at being nailed as an evidence, upon a few words carelessly, or, +if you will, confidentially dropped at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> own mess-table, where Lowe +chanced to be a guest; and certainly with no suspicion that his little +story could in any way be made to elucidate the mystery of Sturk's +murder. He would not have minded, perhaps, so much, had it not been that +it brought to light and memory again the confounded ducking sustained by +him and Puddock, and which, as an officer and a very fine fellow, he +could not but be conscious was altogether an undignified reminiscence.</p> + +<p>'Yes, the drawers were there, he supposed; those were the very ones; he +stooped but little; it must have been the top one, or the next to it. +The thing was about as long as a drumstick, like a piece of whip handle, +with a spring in it; it bent this way and that, as he dried it in the +towel, and at the butt it was ribbed round and round with metal +rings—devilish heavy.'</p> + +<p>So they examined the drawers again, took everything out of them, and +Captain Cluffe, not thinking it a soldier-like occupation, tacitly +declined being present at it, and, turning on his heel, stalked out of +the room.</p> + +<p>'What's become of it, Ma'am?' said Lowe, suddenly and sternly, turning +upon Mrs. Jukes, and fixing his eyes on hers. There was no guilty +knowledge there.</p> + +<p>'He never had any such thing that I know of,' she answered stoutly; 'and +nothing could be hid from me in these drawers, Sir; for I had the key, +except when it lay in the lock, and it must ha' been his horsewhip; it +has some rings like of leather round it, and he used to lay it on these +drawers.'</p> + +<p>Cluffe was, perhaps, a little bit stupid, and Lowe knew it; but it was +the weakness of that good magistrate to discover in a witness for the +crown many mental and moral attributes which he would have failed to +recognise in him had he appeared for the prisoner.</p> + +<p>'And where's that whip, now?' demanded Lowe.</p> + +<p>'By the hall-door, with his riding-coat, Sir,' answered the bewildered +housekeeper.</p> + +<p>'Go on, if you please, Ma'am, and let me see it.'</p> + +<p>So to the hall they went, and there, lying across the pegs from which +Mr. Dangerfield's surtout and riding-coat depended, there certainly was +a whip with the butt fashioned very much in the shape described by +Captain Cluffe; but alas, no weapon—a mere toy—leather and cat-gut.</p> + +<p>Lowe took it in his hand, and weighing it with a look of disgust and +disappointment, asked rather impatiently—</p> + +<p>'Where's Captain Cluffe?'</p> + +<p>The captain had gone away.</p> + +<p>'Very well, I see,' said Lowe, replacing the whip; 'that will do. The +hound!'</p> + +<p>Mr. Lowe now re-entered the little parlour, where the incongruous crowd, +lighted up with Mr. Dangerfield's wax lights, and several kitchen +candles flaring in greasy brass sticks, were assist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span>ing at the treatment +of the master of the castle and the wounded constables.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir,' said Mr. Dangerfield, standing erect, with his coat sleeve +slit, and his arm braced up in splints, stiff and helpless in a sling, +and a blot of blood in his shirt sleeve, contrasting with the white +intense smirk of menace upon his face; 'if you have quite done with my +linen and my housekeeper, Sir, I'm ready to accompany you under protest, +as I've already said, wherever you design to convey my mangled person. I +charge you, Sir, with the safety of my papers and my other property +which you constrain me to abandon in this house; and I think you'll rue +this night's work to the latest hour of your existence.'</p> + +<p>'I've done, and will do my duty, Sir,' replied Lowe, with dry decision.</p> + +<p>'You've committed a d——d outrage; duty? ha, ha, ha!'</p> + +<p>'The coach is at the door, hey?' asked Lowe</p> + +<p>'I say, Sir,' continued Dangerfield, with a wolfish glare, and speaking +in something like a suppressed shriek, 'you <i>shall</i> hear my warning and +my protest, although it should occupy the unreasonable period of two +whole minutes of your precious time. You half murder, and then arrest me +for the offence of another man, and under the name of a man who has been +dead and buried full twenty years. I can prove it; the eminent London +house of Elrington Brothers can prove it; the handwriting of the late +Sir Philip Drayton, Baronet, of Drayton Hall, and of two other +respectable witnesses to a formal document, can prove it; dead and +rotten—<i>dust</i>, Sir. And in your stupid arrogance, you blundering +Irishman, you dare to libel me—your superior in everything—with his +villainous name, and the imputation of his crimes—to violate my house +at the dead of night—to pistol me upon my own floor—and to carry me +off by force, as you purpose, to a common gaol. Kill Dr. Sturk, indeed! +Are you mad, Sir? <i>I</i> who offered a fee of five hundred guineas even to +bring him to speech! <i>I</i> who took the best medical advice in <i>London</i> on +his behalf; <i>I</i> who have been his friend only too much with my Lord +Castlemallard, and who, to stay his creditors, and enable his family to +procure for him the best medical attendance, and to afford him, in +short, the best chance of recovery and life, have, where <i>you</i> neither +lent or bestowed a shilling—poured out my money as profusely as you, +Sir, have poured out my blood, every drop of which, Sir, shall cost you +a slice of your estate. But even without Sturk's speaking one word, I've +evidence which escaped <i>you</i>, conceited blockhead, and which, though the +witness is as mad almost as yourself, will yet be enough to direct the +hand of justice to the right man. There <i>is</i> a Charles, Sir, whom all +suspect, who awaits trial, judgment, and death in this case, the +wretched Charles Nutter of the Mills, Sir, whose motive is patent, and +on whose proceedings a light will, I believe, be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> thrown by the evidence +of Zekiel Irons, whatever that evidence may be worth.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care to tell you, Sir, that 'tis partly on the evidence of that +same Zekiel Irons that I've arrested <i>you</i>,' said Mr. Justice Lowe.</p> + +<p>'Zekiel Irons, <i>me</i>! What Zekiel Irons charge me with the crime which he +was here, not two hours since, fastening on oath upon Charles Nutter! +Why, Sir, he asked me to bring him to your residence in the morning, +that he might swear to the information which he repeated in my presence, +and of which there's a note in that desk. 'Pon my life, Sir, 'tis an +agreeable society, this; bedlam broke loose—the mad directing the mad, +and both falling foul of the sane. One word from Doctor Sturk, Sir, will +blast you, so soon as, please Heaven, he shall speak.'</p> + +<p>'He <i>has</i> spoken, Sir,' replied Lowe, whose angry passions were roused +by the insults of Dangerfield, and who had, for the moment, lost his +customary caution.</p> + +<p>'Ha!' cried Dangerfield, with a sort of gasp, and a violent smirk, the +joyousness of which was, however, counteracted by a lurid scowl and a +wonderful livid glare in his wild eyes; 'ha! he has? Bravo, Sir, +bravissimo!' and he smirked wider and wider, and beat his uninjured hand +upon the table, like a man applauding the <i>denouement</i> of a play. 'Well, +Sir; and notwithstanding his declaration, you arrest me upon the +monstrous assertion of a crazy clerk, you consummate blockhead!'</p> + +<p>''Twon't do, Sir, you sha'n't sting me by insult into passion; nor +frighten me by big words and big looks into hesitation. My duty's clear, +and be the consequences what they may, I'll carry the matter through.'</p> + +<p>'Frighten you! ha, ha, ha!' and Dangerfield glared at his bloody +shirt-sleeve, and laughed a chilly sneer; 'no, Sir, but I'll punish you, +with Doctor Sturk's declaration against the babble of poor Zekiel Irons. +I'll quickly close your mouth.'</p> + +<p>'Sir, I never made it a practice yet to hide evidence from a prisoner. +Why should I desire to put you out of the world, if you're innocent? +Doctor Sturk, Sir, has denounced you distinctly upon oath. Charles +Archer, going by the name of Paul Dangerfield, and residing in this +house, called the "Brass Castle," as the person who attempted to murder +him in the Butcher's Wood.'</p> + +<p>'<i>What</i>, Sir? Doctor Sturk denounce <i>me</i>! Fore heaven, Sir—it seems to +me you've all lost your wits. Doctor Sturk!—? Doctor Sturk charge <i>me</i> +with having assaulted him! why—curse it, Sir—it can't possibly be—you +can't believe it; and, if he said it, the man's raving still.'</p> + +<p>'He has said it, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Then, Sir, in the devil's name, didn't it strike you as going rather +fast to shoot me on my own hearth-stone—<i>me</i>, knowing all you do about +me—with no better warrant than the talk of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> man with a shattered +brain, awakening from a lethargy of months? Sir, though the laws afford +no punishment exemplary enough for such atrocious precipitation, I +promise you I'll exact the last penalty they provide; and now, Sir, take +me where you will; I can't resist. Having shot me, do what you may to +interrupt my business; to lose my papers and accounts; to prevent my +recovery, and to blast my reputation—Sir, I shall have compensation for +all.'</p> + +<p>So saying, Dangerfield, with his left hand, clapt his cocked hat on, and +with a ghastly smile nodded a farewell to Mrs. Jukes, who, sobbing +plentifully, had placed his white surtout, cloakwise over his shoulders, +buttoning it about his throat. The hall-door stood open; the candles +flared in the night air, and with the jaunty, resolute step of a man +marching to victory and revenge, he walked out, and lightly mounted to +his place. She saw the constables get in, and one glimpse more of the +white grim face she knew so well, the defiant smirk, the blood-stained +shirt-sleeve, and the coach-door shut. At the crack of the whip and the +driver's voice, the horses scrambled into motion, the wheels revolved, +and the master of the Brass Castle and the equipage glided away like a +magic lantern group, from before the eyes and the candle of the weeping +Mrs. Jukes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH DOCTOR TOOLE AND DIRTY DAVY CONFER IN THE BLUE-ROOM.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he coach rumbled along toward Dublin at a leisurely jog. +Notwithstanding the firm front Mr. Lowe had presented, Dangerfield's +harangue had affected him unpleasantly. Cluffe's little bit of +information respecting the instrument he had seen the prisoner lay up in +his drawer on the night of the murder, and which corresponded in +description with the wounds traced upon Sturk's skull, seemed to have +failed. The handle of Dangerfield's harmless horsewhip, his mind misgave +him, was all that would come of <i>that</i> piece of evidence; and it was +impossible to say there might not be something in all that Dangerfield +had uttered. Is it a magnetic force, or a high histrionic vein in some +men, that makes them so persuasive and overpowering, and their passion +so formidable? But, with Dangerfield's presence, the effect of his +plausibilities and his defiance passed away. The pointed and consistent +evidence of Sturk, perfectly clear as he was upon every topic he +mentioned, and the corroborative testimony of Irons, equally distinct +and damning—the whole case blurred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> and disjointed, and for a moment +grown unpleasantly hazy and uncertain in the presence of that white +sorcerer, readjusted itself now that he was gone, and came out in iron +and compact relief—impregnable.</p> + +<p>'Run boys, one of you, and open the gate of the Mills,' said Lowe, whose +benevolence, such as it was, expanded in his intense feeling of relief. +''Twill be good news for poor Mistress Nutter. She'll see her husband in +the morning.'</p> + +<p>So he rode up to the Mills, and knocked his alarm, as we have seen and +heard, and there told his tidings to poor Sally Nutter, vastly to the +relief of Mistress Matchwell, the Blind Fiddler, and even of the sage, +Dirt Davy; for there are persons upon the earth to whom a sudden summons +of any sort always sounds like a call to judgment, and who, in any such +ambiguous case, fill up the moments of suspense with wild conjecture, +and a ghastly summing-up against themselves; can it be this—or that—or +the other old, buried, distant villainy, that comes back to take me by +the throat?</p> + +<p>Having told his good news in a few dry words to Mrs. Sally, Mr. Lowe +superadded a caution to the dark lady down stairs, in the face of which +she, being quite reassured by this time, grinned and snapped her +fingers, and in terms defied, and even cursed the tall magistrate +without rising from the chair in which she had re-established herself in +the parlour. He mounted his hunter again, and followed the coach at a +pace which promised soon to bring him up with that lumbering conveyance; +for Mr. Lowe was one of those public officers who love their work, and +the tenant of the Brass Castle was no common prisoner, and well worth +seeing, though at some inconvenience, safely into his new lodging.</p> + +<p>Next morning, you may be sure, the news was all over the town of +Chapelizod. All sorts of cross rumours and wild canards, of course, were +on the wind, and every new fact or fib borne to the door-step with the +fresh eggs, or the morning's milk and butter, was carried by the eager +servant into the parlour, and swallowed down with their toast and tea by +the staring company.</p> + +<p>Upon one point all were agreed: Mr. Paul Dangerfield lay in the county +gaol, on a charge of having assaulted Dr. Sturk with intent to kill him. +The women blessed themselves, and turned pale. The men looked queer when +they met one another. It was altogether so astounding—Mr. Dangerfield +was so rich—so eminent—so moral—so charitable—so above temptation. +It had come out that he had committed, some said three, others as many +as fifteen secret murders. All the time that the neighbours had looked +on his white head in church as the very standard of probity, and all the +prudential virtues rewarded, they were admiring and honouring a masked +assassin. They had been bringing into their homes and families an +undivulged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> and terrible monster. The wher-wolf had walked the homely +streets of their village. The ghoul, unrecognised, had prowled among the +graves of their church-yard. One of their fairest princesses, the lady +of Belmont, had been on the point of being sacrificed to a vampire. +Horror, curiosity, and amazement, were everywhere.</p> + +<p>Charles Nutter, it was rumoured, was to be discharged on bail early, and +it was mooted in the club that a deputation of the neighbours should +ride out to meet him at the boundaries of Chapelizod, welcome him there +with an address, and accompany him to the Mills as a guard of honour; +but cooler heads remembered the threatening and unsettled state of +things at that domicile, and thought that Nutter would, all things +considered, like a quiet return best; which view of the affair was, +ultimately, acquiesced in.</p> + +<p>For Mary Matchwell, at the Mills, the tidings which had thrown the town +into commotion had but a solitary and a selfish interest. She was glad +that Nutter was exculpated. She had no desire that the king should take +his worldly goods to which she intended helping herself: otherwise he +might hang or drown for ought she cared. Dirty Davy, too, who had quaked +about his costs, was greatly relieved by the turn which things had +taken; and the plain truth was that, notwithstanding his escape from the +halter, things looked very black and awful for Charles Nutter and his +poor little wife, Sally.</p> + +<p>Doctor Toole, at half-past nine, was entertaining two or three of the +neighbours, chiefly in oracular whispers, by the fire in the great +parlour of the Phœnix, when he was interrupted by Larry, the waiter, +with—</p> + +<p>'Your horse is at the door, docther' (Toole was going into town, but was +first to keep an appointment at Doctor Sturk's with Mr. Lowe), 'and,' +continued Larry, 'there's a fat gentleman in the blue room wants to see +you, if you plase.'</p> + +<p>'Hey?—ho! let's see then,' said little Toole, bustling forth with an +important air. 'The blue room, hey?'</p> + +<p>When he opened the door of that small apartment there stood a stout, +corpulent, rather seedy and dusty personage, at the window, looking out +and whistling with his hat on. He turned lazily about as Toole entered, +and displayed the fat and forbidding face of Dirty Davy.</p> + +<p>'Oh! I thought it might be professionally, Sir,' said Toole, a little +grandly; for he had seen the gentleman before, and had, by this time, +found out all about him, and perceived he had no chance of a fee.</p> + +<p>'It <i>is</i> professionally, Sir,' quoth Dirty Davy, 'if you'll be so +obleeging as to give me five minutes.'</p> + +<p>With that amiable egotism which pervades human nature, it will be +observed, each gentleman interpreted 'professionally' as referring to +his own particular calling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span></p> + +<p>So Toole declared himself ready and prepared to do his office, and Dirty +Davy commenced.</p> + +<p>'You know me, I believe, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Mr. David O'Reegan, as I believe,' answered Toole.</p> + +<p>'The same, Sir,' replied Davy. 'I'm on my way, Sir, to the Mills, where +my client, Mrs. Nutter (here Toole uttered a disdainful grunt), resides; +and I called at your house, doctor, and they sent me here; and I am +desirous to prove to you, Sir, as a friend of Miss Sarah Harty, styling +herself Mrs. Nutter, that my client's rights are clear and irresistible, +in order that you may use any interest you may have with that +ill-advised faymale—and I'm told she respects your advice and opinion +highly—to induce her to submit without further annoyance; and I tell +you, in confidence, she has run herself already into a very sarious +predicament.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, I'll be happy to hear you,' answered Toole.</p> + +<p>''Tis no more, Sir, than I expected from your well-known candour,' +replied Dirty Davy, with the unctuous politeness with which he treated +such gentlemen as he expected to make use of. 'Now, Sir, I'll open our +case without any reserve or exaggeration to you, Sir, and that, Doctor +Toole, is what I wouldn't do to many beside yourself. The facts is in a +nutshell. We claim our conjugal rights. Why, Sir? Because, Sir, we +married the oppugnant, Charles Nutter, gentleman, of the Mills, and so +forth, on the 7th of April, Anno Domini, 1750, in the Church of St. +Clement Danes, in London, of which marriage this, Sir, is a verbatim +copy of the certificate. Now, Sir, your client—I mane your +friend—Misthress Mary Harty, who at present affects the state and +usurps the rights of marriage against my client—the rightful Mrs. +Nutter, performed and celebrated a certain pretended marriage with the +same Charles Nutter, in Chapelizod Church, on the 4th of June, 1758, +seven years and ten months, wanting three days, subsequent to the +marriage of my client. Well, Sir, I see exactly, Sir, what you'd ask: +"Is the certificate genuine?"'</p> + +<p>Toole grunted an assent.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, upon that point I have to show you this,' and he handed him +a copy of Mr. Luke Gamble's notice served only two days before, to the +effect that, having satisfied himself by enquiring on the spot of the +authenticity of the certificate of the marriage of Charles Nutter of the +Mills, and so forth, to Mary Duncan, his client did not mean to dispute +it. 'And, Sir, further, as we were preparing evidence in support of my +client's and her maid's affidavit, to prove her identity with the Mary +Duncan in question, having served your client—I mane, Sir, asking your +pardon again—your friend, with a notice that such corroboratory +evidence being unnecessary, we would move the court, in case it were +pressed for, to give us the costs of procuring it, Mr. Luke Gamble +fortwith struck, on behalf of his client,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> and admitted the sufficiency +of the evidence. Now, Sir, I mention these things, not as expecting you +to believe them upon my statement, you see, but simply to enquire of Mr. +Gamble whether they be true or no; and if true, Sir, upon his admission, +then, Sir, I submit we're entitled to your good offices, and the +judicious inthurfarence of the Rev. Mr. Roach, your respectable priest, +Sir.'</p> + +<p>'My friend, Sir, not my priest. I'm a Churchman, Sir, as everybody +knows.'</p> + +<p>'Of course, Sir—I ask your pardon again, Doctor Toole—Sir, your friend +to induce your client—<i>-friend</i> I mane again, Sir—Mistress Sarah +Harty, formerly housekeeper of Mr. Charless (so he pronounced it) +Nutther, gentleman, of the Mills, and so forth, to surrendher quiet and +peaceable possession of the premises and chattels, and withdraw from her +tortuous occupation dacently, and without provoking the consequences, +which must otherwise follow in the sevarest o' forms;' or, as he +pronounced it, 'fawrums.'</p> + +<p>'The sevarest o' grandmothers. Humbug and flummery! Sir,' cried Toole, +most unexpectedly incensed, and quite scarlet.</p> + +<p>'D'ye mane I'm a liar, Sir? Is that what you mane?' demanded Dirty Davy, +suddenly, like the doctor, getting rid of his ceremonious politeness.</p> + +<p>'I mane what I mane, and that's what I mane,' thundered Toole, +diplomatically.</p> + +<p>'Then, tell your <i>friend</i> to prepare for consequences,' retorted Dirty +Davy, with a grin.</p> + +<p>'And make my compliments to your client, or conjuror, or wife, or +whatever she is, and tell her that whenever she wants her dirty work +done, there's plenty of other Dublin blackguards to be got to do it, +without coming to Docther Thomas Toole, or the Rev. Father Roach.'</p> + +<p>Which sarcasm he delivered with killing significance, but Dirty Davy had +survived worse thrusts than that.</p> + +<p>'She's a conjuror, is she? I thank you, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'You're easily obliged, Sir,' says Toole.</p> + +<p>'We all know what that manes. And these documents <i>sworn</i> to by my +client and myself, is a pack o' lies! Betther and betther! I thank ye +again, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'You're welcome, my honey,' rejoined Toole, affectionately.</p> + +<p>'An' you live round the corner. I know your hall-door, Sir—a light +brown, wid a brass knocker.'</p> + +<p>'Which is a fine likeness iv your own handsome face, Sir,' retorted +Toole.</p> + +<p>'An' them two documents, Sir, is a fabrication and a forgery, backed up +wid false affidavits?' continued Mr. O'Reegan.</p> + +<p>'Mind that, Larry,' says the doctor, with a sudden inspiration +addressing the waiter, who had peeped in; 'he admits that them two +documents you see there, is forgeries, backed up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> with false affidavits; +you heard him say so, and I'll call you to prove it.'</p> + +<p>'<i>You lie!</i>' said Dirty Davy, precipitately, for he was quite +disconcerted at finding his own sophistical weapons so unexpectedly +turned against him.</p> + +<p>'You scum o' the airth!' cried Toole, hitting him, with his clenched +fist, right upon the nose, so vigorous a thump, that his erudite head +with a sonorous crash hopped off the wainscot behind it; 'you lying +scullion!' roared the doctor, instantaneously repeating the blow, and +down went Davy, and down went the table with dreadful din, and the +incensed doctor bestrode his prostrate foe with clenched fists and +flaming face, and his grand wig all awry, and he panting and scowling.</p> + +<p>'Murdher, murdher, <i>murdher!</i>' screamed Dirty Davy, who was not much of +a Spartan, and relished nothing of an assault and battery but the costs +and damages.</p> + +<p>'You—you—you'</p> + +<p>'Murdher—help—help—murdher—murdher!'</p> + +<p>'Say it again, you cowardly, sneaking, spying viper; say it <i>again</i>, +can't you?'</p> + +<p>It was a fine tableau, and a noble study of countenance and attitude.</p> + +<p>'Sich a bloody nose I never seen before,' grinned Larry rubbing his +hands over the exquisite remembrance. 'If you only seed him, flat on his +back, the great ould shnake, wid his knees and his hands up bawling +murdher; an' his big white face and his bloody nose in the middle, like +nothin' in nature, bedad, but the ace iv hearts in a dirty pack.'</p> + +<p>How they were separated, and who the particular persons that interposed, +what restoratives were resorted to, how the feature looked half an hour +afterwards, and what was the subsequent demeanour of Doctor Toole, upon +the field of battle, I am not instructed; my letters stop short at the +catastrophe, and run off to other matters.</p> + +<p>Doctor Toole's agitations upon such encounters did not last long. They +blew off in a few thundering claps of bravado and defiance in the second +parlour of the Phœnix, where he washed his hands and readjusted his +wig and ruffles, and strutted forth, squaring his elbows, and nodding +and winking at the sympathising waiters in the inn hall; and with a half +grin at Larry—</p> + +<p>'Well, Larry, I think I showed him Chapelizod, hey?' said the doctor, +buoyantly, to that functionary, and marched diagonally across the broad +street toward Sturk's house, with a gait and a countenance that might +have overawed an army.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIV.</h2> + +<h4>WHAT DOCTOR STURK BROUGHT TO MIND, AND ALL THAT DOCTOR TOOLE HEARD AT +MR. LUKE GAMBLE'S.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img097.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'J'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'J'" /></div><p>ust as he reached Sturk's door, wagging his head and strutting +grimly—and, palpably, still in debate with Dirty Davy—his thoughts +received a sudden wrench in a different direction by the arrival of Mr. +Justice Lowe, who pulled up his famous gray hunter at the steps of the +house by the church-yard.</p> + +<p>'You see, Doctor Toole, it won't do, waiting. The thing's too +momentous.'</p> + +<p>And so they walked up stairs and into the drawing-room, and sent their +compliments to Mrs. Sturk, who came down in <i>deshabille</i>, with her +things pinned about her, and all over smiles. Poor little woman! Toole +had not observed until now how very thin she had grown.</p> + +<p>'He's going on delightfully, gentlemen; he drank a whole cup of tea, +weak of course, Doctor Toole, as you bid me; and he eat a slice of +toast, and liked it, and two Naples biscuits, Mr. Lowe, and I know he'll +be delighted to see you.'</p> + +<p>'Very good, Madam, <i>very</i> good,' said Toole.</p> + +<p>'And he's looking better already. He waked out of that sweet sleep not +ten minutes after you left this morning.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, he was sleeping very quietly,' said Toole to Lowe. 'May we go up, +Ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! he'll be overjoyed, gentlemen, to see you, and 'twill do him an +infinity of good. I can scarce believe my eyes. We've been tidying the +study, the maid and I, and airing the cushions of his chair;' and she +laughed a delighted little giggle. 'And even the weather has taken up +such beautiful sunshine; everything favourable.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Doctor Sturk,' said Toole, cheerily, 'we have a good account of +you—a vastly good account, doctor; and, by St. George, Sir, we've been +tidying—'</p> + +<p>He was going to say the study, but little Mrs. Sturk put her finger to +her lip in a wonderful hurry, raising her eyebrows and drawing a breath +through her rounded lips, in such sort as arrested the sentence; for she +knew how Barney's wrath always broke out when he thought the women had +been in his study, and how he charged every missing paper for a month +after upon their cursed meddling. But Sturk was a good deal gentler now, +and had a dull and awful sort of apathy upon him; and I think it was all +one to him whether the women had been in the study or not. So Toole said +instead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>'We've been thinking of getting you down in a little while, doctor, if +all goes pleasantly; 'tis a lovely day, and a good omen—see how the sun +shines in at the curtain.'</p> + +<p>But there was no responsive sunshine upon Sturk's stern; haggard face, +as he said very low—still looking on the foot-board—'I thank you, +doctor.'</p> + +<p>So after a few more questions, and a little bit of talk with Mrs. Sturk, +they got that good lady out of the room, and said Lowe to the patient—</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry to trouble you, Dr. Sturk, but there's a weighty matter at +which you last night hinted; and Dr. Toole thought you then too weak; +and in your present state, I would not now ask you to speak at any +length, were the matter of less serious moment.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir,' said Sturk, but did not seem about to speak any more; and +after a few seconds, Lowe continued.</p> + +<p>'I mean, Dr. Sturk, touching the murder of Mr. Beauclerc, which you then +said was committed by the same Charles Archer, who assaulted you in the +park.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, Sir,' said Sturk.</p> + +<p>'The same murder of which Lord Dunoran was adjudged guilty.'</p> + +<p>Sturk moved his lips with a sort of nod.</p> + +<p>'And, Doctor Sturk, you remember you then said you had yourself <i>seen</i> +Charles Archer do that murder.'</p> + +<p>Sturk lifted his hand feebly enough to his forehead, and his lips moved, +and his eyes closed. They thought he was praying—possibly he was; so +they did not interrupt him; and he said, all on a sudden, but in a low +dejected way, and with many pauses—</p> + +<p>'Charles Archer. I never saw another such face; 'tis always before me. +He was a man that everybody knew was dangerous—a damnable profligate +besides—and, as all believed, capable of anything, though nobody could +actually bring anything clearly home to him but his bloody duels, which, +however, were fairly fought. I saw him only thrice in my life before I +saw him here. In a place, at Newmarket, where they played hazard, was +once; and I saw him fight Beau Langton; and I saw him murder Mr. +Beauclerc. I saw it all!' And the doctor swore a shuddering oath.</p> + +<p>'I lay in the small room or closet, off the chamber in which he slept. I +was suffering under a bad fracture, and dosed with opium. 'Tis all very +strange, Sir. I saw everything that happened. I saw him stab Beauclerc. +Don't question me; it tires me. I think 'twas a dagger. It looked like a +small bayonet I'll tell you how—all, by-and-by.'</p> + +<p>He sipped a little wine and water, and wiped his lips with a very +tremulous handkerchief.</p> + +<p>'I never spoke of it, for I could not. The whole of that five<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> minutes' +work slipped from my mind, and was gone quite and clean when I awoke. +What I saw I could not interrupt. I was in a cataleptic state, I +suppose. I could not speak; but I saw like a lynx, and heard every +whisper. When I awakened in the morning I remembered nothing. I did not +know I had a secret. The knowledge was sealed up until the time came. A +sight of Charles Archer's face at any time would have had, as I suppose, +the same effect. When I saw him here, the first time, it was at the +general's at Belmont; though he was changed by time, and carefully +disguised, all would not do. I felt the sight of him was fatal. I was +quite helpless; but my mind never stopped working upon it till—till—'</p> + +<p>Sturk groaned.</p> + +<p>'See now,' said Toole, 'there's time enough, and don't fatigue yourself. +There, now, rest quiet a minute.'</p> + +<p>And he made him swallow some more wine; and felt his pulse and shook his +head despondingly at Lowe, behind his back.</p> + +<p>'How is it?' said Sturk, faintly.</p> + +<p>'A little irritable—that's all,' said Toole.</p> + +<p>''Till one night, I say,'—Sturk resumed, after a minute or two, 'it +came to me all at once, awake—I don't know—or in a dream; in a moment +I had it all. 'Twas like a page cut out of a book—lost for so many +years.' And Sturk moaned a despairing wish to Heaven that the secret had +never returned to him again.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir—like a page cut out of a book, and never missed till 'twas +found again; and then sharp and clear, every letter from first to last. +Then, Sir—then—thinking 'twas no use at that distance of time taking +steps to punish him, I—I foolishly let him understand I knew him. My +mind misgave me from the first. I think it was my good angel that warned +me. But 'tis no use now. I'm not a man to be easily frightened. But it +seemed to me he was something altogether worse than a man, and +like—like Satan; and too much for me every way. If I was wise I'd have +left him alone. But 'tis no good fretting now. It was to be. I was too +outspoken—'twas always my way—and I let him know; and—and you see, he +meant to make away with me. He tried to take my life, Sir; and I think +he has done it. I'll never rise from this bed, gentlemen. I'm done for.'</p> + +<p>'Come, Doctor Sturk, you mustn't talk that way, Pell will be out this +evening, and Dillon may be—though faith! I don't quite know that Pell +will meet him—but we'll put our heads together, and deuce is in it or +we'll set you on your legs again.'</p> + +<p>Sturk was screwing his lips sternly together, and the lines of his gruff +haggard face were quivering, and a sullen tear or two started down from +his closed eye.</p> + +<p>'I'm—I'm a little nervous, gentlemen—I'll be right just now I'd like +to see the—the children, if they're in the way, that's all—by-and-by, +you know.'</p> + +<p>'I've got Pell out, you see—not that there's any special need<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span>—you +know; but he was here before, and it wouldn't do to offend him; and +he'll see you this afternoon.'</p> + +<p>'I thank you, Sir,' said Sturk, in the same dejected way.</p> + +<p>'And, Sir,' said Lowe, 'if you please, I'll get this statement into the +shape of a deposition or information, for you see 'tis of the vastest +imaginable importance, and exactly tallies with evidence we've got +elsewhere, and 'twouldn't do, Sir, to let it slip.'</p> + +<p>And Toole thought he saw a little flush mount into Sturk's sunken face, +and he hastened to say—</p> + +<p>'What we desire, Dr. Sturk, is to be able to act promptly in this case +of my Lord Dunoran. Measures must be taken instantly, you see, for 'tis +of old standing, and not a day to be lost, and there's why Mr. Lowe is +so urgent to get your statement in white and black.'</p> + +<p>'And sworn to,' added Mr. Lowe.</p> + +<p>'I'll swear it,' said Sturk, in the same sad tones.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Sturk came in, and Toole gave leave for chicken broth at twelve +o'clock, about two table-spoonsful, and the same at half-past one, when +he hoped to be back again. And on the lobby he gave her, with a cheery +countenance, all the ambiguous comfort he could. And Lowe asked Mrs. +Sturk for more pens and paper, and himself went down to give his man a +direction at the door, and on the way, in the hall, Toole looking this +way and that, to see they weren't observed, beckoned him into the front +parlour, and, said he, in a low key—</p> + +<p>'The pulse is up a bit, not very much, but still I don't like it—and +very hard, you see—and what we've to dread, you know's inflammation; +and he's so shocking low, my dear Sir, we must let him have wine and +other things, or we'll lose him that way; and you see it's a mighty +unpleasant case.'</p> + +<p>And coming into the hall, in a loud confident voice he cried—'And I'll +be here again by half-past one o'clock.'</p> + +<p>And so he beckoned to the boy with his horse to come up, and chatted in +the interim with Mr. Lowe upon the steps, and told him how to manage him +if he grew exhausted over his narrative; and then mounting his nag, and +kissing his hand and waving his hat to Mrs. Sturk, who was looking out +upon him from Barney's window, he rode away for Dublin.</p> + +<p>Toole, on reaching town, spurred on to the dingy residence of Mr. Luke +Gamble. It must be allowed that he had no clear intention of taking any +step whatsoever in consequence of what he might hear. But the little +fellow was deuced curious; and Dirty Davy's confidence gave him a sort +of right to be satisfied.</p> + +<p>So with his whip under his arm, and a good deal out of breath, for the +stairs were steep, he bounced into the attorney's sanctum.</p> + +<p>'Who's <i>that? Is</i> that?—Why, bless my soul and body! 'tis yourself,' +cried Toole, after an astonished pause of a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> seconds at the door, +springing forward and grasping Nutter by both hands, and shaking them +vehemently, and grinning very joyously and kindly the while.</p> + +<p>Nutter received him cordially, but a little sheepishly. Indeed, his +experiences of life, and the situations in which he had found himself +since they had last met, were rather eccentric and instructive than +quite pleasant to remember. And Nutter, in his way, was a proud fellow, +and neither liked to be gaped at nor pitied.</p> + +<p>But Toole was a thorough partisan of his, and had been urgent for +permission to see him in gaol, and they knew how true he had been to +poor Sally Nutter, and altogether felt very much at home with him.</p> + +<p>So sitting in that twilight room, flanked with piles of expended briefs, +and surrounded with neatly docketed packets of attested copies, notices, +affidavits, and other engines of legal war—little Toole having expended +his congratulations, and his private knowledge of Sturk's revelations, +fell upon the immediate subject of his visit.</p> + +<p>'That rogue, Davy O'Reegan, looked in on me not an hour ago, at the +Phœnix' (and he gave them a very spirited, but I'm afraid a somewhat +fanciful description of the combat.) 'And I'm afraid he'll give us a +deal of trouble yet. He told me that the certificate—'</p> + +<p>'Ay—here's a copy;' and Luke Gamble threw a paper on the table before +him.</p> + +<p>'That's it—Mary Duncan—1750—the very thing—the rascal! Well, he +said, you know, but I knew better, that you had admitted the certificate +formally.'</p> + +<p>'So I have. Sir,' said. Mr. Gamble, drily, stuffing his hands into his +breeches' pockets, and staring straight at Toole with elevated eyebrows, +and as the little doctor thought, with a very odd expression in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>'You <i>have</i>, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'I have!' and then followed a little pause, and Mr. Gamble said—</p> + +<p>'I did so, Sir, because there's no disputing it—and—and I think, +Doctor Toole, I know something of my business.'</p> + +<p>There was another pause, during which Toole, flushed and shocked, turned +his gaze from Gamble to Nutter.</p> + +<p>''Tis a true bill, then?' said Toole, scarcely above his breath, and +very dismally.</p> + +<p>A swarthy flush covered Nutter's dark face. The man was ashamed.</p> + +<p>''Tis nigh eighteen years ago, Sir,' said Nutter embarrassed, as he well +might be. 'I was a younger man, then, and was bit, Sir, as many another +has been, and that's all.'</p> + +<p>Toole got up, stood before the fire-place, and hung his head, with +compressed lips, and there was a silence, interrupted by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> hard man +of the law, who was now tumbling over his papers in search of a +document, and humming a tune as he did so.</p> + +<p>'It may be a good move for Charles Nutter, Sir, but it looks very like a +checkmate for poor Sally,' muttered Toole angrily.</p> + +<p>Mr. Luke Gamble either did not hear him, or did not care a farthing what +he said; and he hummed his tune very contentedly.</p> + +<p>'And I had, moreover,' said he, 'to make another admission for the same +reason, videlicet, that Mary Matchwell, who now occupies a portion of +the Mills, the promovent in this suit, and Mary Duncan mentioned in that +certificate, are one and the same person. Here's our answer to their +notice, admitting the fact.'</p> + +<p>'I thank you,' said Toole again, rather savagely, for a glance over his +shoulder had shown him the attorney's face grinning with malicious +amusement, as it seemed to him, while he readjusted the packet of papers +from which he had just taken the notice; 'I saw it, Sir, your brother +lawyer, Mr. O'Reegan, Sir, showed it me this morning.'</p> + +<p>And Toole thought of poor little Sally Nutter, and all the wreck and +ruin coming upon her and the Mills, and began to con over his own +liabilities, and to reflect seriously whether, in some of his brisk +altercations on her behalf with Dirty Davy and his client, he might not +have committed himself rather dangerously; and especially the +consequences of his morning's collision with Davy grew in darkness and +magnitude very seriously, as he reflected that his entire statement had +turned out to be true, and that he and his client were on the winning +side.</p> + +<p>'It seems to me, Sir, you might have given some of poor Mrs. Nutter's +friends at Chapelizod a hint of the state of things. I, Sir, and Father +Roach—we've meddled, Sir, more in the business—than—than—but no +matter now—and all under a delusion, Sir. And poor Mistress Sally +Nutter—<i>she</i> doesn't seem to trouble you much, Sir.'</p> + +<p>He observed that the attorney was chuckling to himself still more and +more undisguisedly, as he slipped the notice back again into its place.</p> + +<p>'You gentlemen of the law think of nothing, Sir, but your clients. I +suppose 'tis a good rule, but it may be pushed somewhat far. And what do +you propose to do for poor Mistress Sally Nutter?' demanded Toole, very +sternly, for his blood was up.</p> + +<p>'She has heard from us this morning,' said Mr. Gamble, grining on his +watch, 'and she knows all by this time, and 'tisn't a button to her.'</p> + +<p>And the attorney laughed in his face; and Nutter who had looked sulky +and uncomfortable, could resist no longer, and broke into a queer +responsive grin. It seemed to Toole like a horrid dream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a tap at the door just at this moment.</p> + +<p>'Come in,' cried Mr. Gamble, still exploding in comfortable little +bursts of half-suppressed laughter.</p> + +<p>'Oh! 'tis you? Very good, Sir,' said Mr. Gamble, sobering a little. He +was the same lanky, vulgar, and slightly-squinting gentleman, pitted +with the small-pox, whom Toole had seen on a former occasion. And the +little doctor thought he looked even more cunning and meaner than +before. Everything had grown to look repulsive, and every face was +sinister now; and the world began to look like a horrible masquerade, +full of half-detected murderers, traitors, and miscreants.</p> + +<p>'There isn't a soul you can trust—'tis enough to turn a man's head; +'tis sickening, by George!' grumbled the little doctor, fiercely.</p> + +<p>'Here's a gentleman, Sir,' said Gamble, waving his pen towards Toole, +with a chuckle, 'who believes that ladies like to recover their +husbands.'</p> + +<p>The fellow grew red, and grinned a sly uneasy grin, looking stealthily +at Toole, who was rapidly growing angry.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Sir, and one who believes, too, that gentlemen ought to protect +their wives,' added the little doctor hotly.</p> + +<p>'As soon as they know who they are,' muttered the attorney to his +papers.</p> + +<p>'I think, gentlemen, I'm rather in your way,' said Toole with a gloomy +briskness; 'I think 'tis better I should go. I—I'm somewhat amazed, +gentlemen, and I—I wish you a good-morning.'</p> + +<p>And Toole made them a very stern bow, and walked out at the wrong door.</p> + +<p>'This way, by your leave, doctor,' said Mr. Gamble, opening the right +one; and at the head of the stairs he took Toole by the cuff, and said +he—</p> + +<p>'After all, 'tis but just the wrong Mrs. Nutter should give place to the +right; and if you go down to the Mills to-morrow, you'll find she's by +no means so bad as you think her.'</p> + +<p>But Toole broke away from him sulkily, with—</p> + +<p>'I wish you a good-morning, Sir.'</p> + +<p>It was quite true that Sally Nutter was to hear from Charles and Mr. +Gamble that morning; for about the time at which Toole was in conference +with those two gentlemen in Dublin, two coaches drew up at the Mills.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gamble's conducting gentleman was in one, and two mysterious +personages sat in the other.</p> + +<p>'I want to see Mrs. Nutter,' said Mr. Gamble's emissary.</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Nutter's in the parlour, at your service,' answered the lean maid +who had opened the door, and who recognising in that gentleman an +adherent of the enemy, had assumed her most impertinent leer and tone on +the instant.</p> + +<p>The ambassador looked in and drew back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, then, 'tisn't the mistress you want, but the master's old +housekeeper; ask <i>her</i>.'</p> + +<p>And she pointed with her thumb towards Molly, whose head was over the +banister.</p> + +<p>So, as he followed that honest hand-maiden up stairs, he drew from his +coat-pocket a bundle of papers, and glanced at their endorsements, for +he had a long exposition to make, and then some important measures to +execute.</p> + +<p>Toole had to make up for lost time; and as he rode at a smart canter +into the village, he fancied he observed the signs of an unusual +excitement there. There were some faces at the windows, some people on +the door-steps; and a few groups in the street; they were all looking in +the Dublin direction. He had a nod or two as he passed. Toole thought +forthwith of Mr. David O'Reegan—people generally refer phenomena to +what most concerns themselves—and a dim horror of some unknown summary +process dismayed him; but his hall-door shone peaceably in the sun, and +his boy stood whistling on the steps, with his hands in his pockets. +Nobody had been there since, and Pell had not yet called at Sturk's.</p> + +<p>'And what's happened—what's the neighbours lookin' after?' said Toole, +as his own glance followed the general direction, so soon as he had +dismounted.</p> + +<p>''Twas a coach that had driven through the town, at a thundering pace, +with some men inside, from the Knockmaroon direction, and a lady that +was screeching. She broke one of the coach windows in Martin's-row, and +the other—<i>there</i>, just opposite the Phœnix.' The glass was +glittering on the road. 'She had rings on her hand, and her knuckles +were bleeding, and it was said 'twas poor Mrs. Nutter going away with +the keepers to a mad-house.'</p> + +<p>Toole turned pale and ground his teeth, looking towards Dublin.</p> + +<p>'I passed it myself near Island-bridge; I did hear screeching, but I +thought 'twas from t'other side of the wall. There was a fellow in an +old blue and silver coat with the driver—eh?'</p> + +<p>'The same,' said the boy; and Toole, with difficulty swallowing down his +rage, hurried into the house, resolved to take Lowe's advice on the +matter, and ready to swear to poor Sally's perfect sanity—'the +crature!—the villains!'</p> + +<p>But now he had only a moment to pull off his boots, to get into his +grand costume, and seize his cane and his muff, too—for he sported one; +and so transformed and splendid, he marched down the paved +<i>trottoir</i>—Doctor Pell happily not yet arrived—to Sturk's house. There +was a hackney coach near the steps.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCV.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH DOCTOR PELL DECLINES A FEE, AND DOCTOR STURK A PRESCRIPTION.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>n entering the front parlour from whence, in no small excitement, there +issued the notes of a course diapason, which he fancied was known to +him, he found Mr. Justice Lowe in somewhat tempestuous conference with +the visitor.</p> + +<p>He was, in fact, no other than Black Dillon; black enough he looked just +now. He had only a moment before returned from a barren visit to the +Brass Castle, and was in no mood to be trifled with.</p> + +<p>''Twasn't <i>I</i>, Sir, but Mr. Dangerfield, who promised you five hundred +guineas,' said Mr. Lowe, with a dry nonchalance.</p> + +<p>'Five hundred fiddles,' retorted Doctor Dillon—his phrase was coarser, +and Toole at that moment entering the door, and divining the situation +from the doctor's famished glare and wild gestures, exploded, I'm sorry +to say in a momentary burst of laughter, into his cocked hat. 'Twas +instantly stifled, however; and when Dillon turned his flaming eyes upon +him, the little doctor made him a bow of superlative gravity, which the +furious hero of the trepan was too full of his wrongs to notice in any +way.</p> + +<p>'I was down at his house, bedad, the "Brass Castle," if you plase, and +not a brass farthin' for my pains, nothing there but an ould woman, as +ould and as ugly as himself, or the divil—be gannies! An' he's +levanted, or else tuck for debt. Brass Castle! brass <i>forehead</i>, bedad. +Brass, like Goliath, from head to heels; an' by the heels he's laid, +I'll take my davy, considherin' at his laysure which is strongest—a +brass castle or a stone jug. An' where, Sir, am I to get my five hundred +guineas—where, Sir?' he thundered, staring first in Lowe's face, then +in Toole's, and dealing the table a lusty blow at each interrogatory.</p> + +<p>'I think, Sir,' said Lowe, anticipating Toole, 'you'd do well to +consider the sick man, Sir.' The noise was certainly considerable.</p> + +<p>'I don't know, Sir, that the sick man's considherin' me much,' retorted +Doctor Dillon. 'Sick man—sick grandmother's aunt! If you can't speak +like a man o' sense, <i>don't</i> spake, at any rate, like a justice o' the +pace. Sick man, indeed! why there's not a crature livin' barrin' a +natural eediot, or an apothecary, that doesn't know the man's dead; he's +<i>dead</i>, Sir; but 'tisn't so with me, an' I can't get on without vittles, +and vittles isn't to be had without money; that's logic, Mr. Justice; +that's a medical fact<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> Mr. Docthor. An' how am I to get my five hundred +guineas? I say, <i>you</i> and <i>you</i>—the both o' ye—that prevented me of +going last night to his brass castle—brass snuff-box—there isn't room +to stand in it, bedad—an' gettin' my money. I hold you both liable to +me—one an' t'other—the both o' ye.'</p> + +<p>'Why, Sir,' said Lowe, ''tis a honorarium.'</p> + +<p>''Tis no such thing, Sir; 'tis a contract,' thundered Dillon, pulling +Dangerfield's note of promise from his pocket, and dealing it a mighty +slap with the back of his hand.</p> + +<p>'Contract or no, Sir, there's nobody liable for it but himself.'</p> + +<p>'We'll try that, Sir; and in the meantime, what the divil am I to do, +I'd be glad to know; for strike me crooked if I have a crown piece to +pay the coachman. Trepan, indeed; I'm nately trepanned myself.'</p> + +<p>'If you'll only listen, Sir, I'll show you your case is well enough. Mr. +Dangerfield, as you call him, has not left the country; and though he's +arrested, 'tisn't for debt. If he owes you the money, 'tis your own +fault if you don't make him pay it, for I'm credibly informed he's worth +more than a hundred thousand pounds.'</p> + +<p>'And where is he, Sir?' demanded Black Dillon, much more cheerfully and +amicably. 'I hope I see you well, Doctor Toole.'</p> + +<p>That learned person acknowledged the somewhat tardy courtesy, and Lowe +made answer:</p> + +<p>'He lies in the county gaol, Sir, on a serious criminal charge; but a +line from me, Sir, will, I think, gain you admission to him forthwith.'</p> + +<p>'I'll be much obliged for it, Sir,' answered Dillon. 'What o'clock is +it?' he asked of Toole; for though it is believed he owned a watch, it +was sometimes not about him; and while Lowe scribbled a note, Toole +asked in a dignified way—</p> + +<p>'Have you seen our patient, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Not I. Didn't I see him last night? The man's dead. He's in the last +stage of exhaustion with an inflammatory pulse. If you feed him up he'll +die of inflammation; and if you don't he'll die of wakeness. So he lies +on the fatal horns of a dilemma, you see; an' not all the men in +Derry'll take him off them alive. He's gone, Sir. Pell's coming, I hear. +I'd wait if I could; but I must look afther business; and there's no +good to be done here. I thank you, Mr. Lowe—Sir—your most obedient +servant, Doctor Toole.' And with Lowe's note in his breeches' pocket, he +strode out to the steps, and whistled for his coachman, who drove his +respectable employer tipsily to his destination.</p> + +<p>I dare say the interview was characteristic; but I can find no account +of it. I am pretty sure, however, that he did not get a shilling. So at +least he stated in his declaration, in the action against Lowe, in which +he, or rather his attorney, was nonsuited, with grievous loss of costs. +And judging by the sort of esteem in which Mr. Dangerfield held Black +Dillon, I fancy that few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> things would have pleased him better in his +unfortunate situation than hitting that able practitioner as hard as +might be.</p> + +<p>Just as he drove away, poor little Mrs. Sturk looked in.</p> + +<p>'Is there anything, Ma'am?' asked Toole, a little uneasily.</p> + +<p>'Only—only, I think he's just a little frightened—he's so nervous you +know—by that Dublin doctor's loud talking—and he's got a kind of +trembling—a shivering.'</p> + +<p>'Eh—a shivering, Ma'am?' said Toole. 'Like a man that's taken a cold, +eh?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, he hasn't got cold—I'm sure—there's no danger of that. It's only +nervous; so I covered him up with another pair of blankets, and gave him +a hot drink.'</p> + +<p>'Very good, Ma'am; I'll follow you up in a minute.'</p> + +<p>'And even if it was, you know he shakes off cold in no time, he has such +a fine constitution.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Ma'am—that's true—very good, Ma'am. I'll be after you.'</p> + +<p>So up stairs went Mrs. Sturk in a fuss.</p> + +<p>'That's it,' said Toole so soon as they were alone, nodding two or three +times dejectedly, and looking very glum. 'It's set in—the +inflammation—it's set in, Sir. He's gone. That's the rigor.'</p> + +<p>'Poor gentleman,' said Lowe, after a short pause, 'I'm much concerned +for him, and for his family.'</p> + +<p>''Tis a bad business,' said Toole, gloomily, like a man that's +frightened. And he followed Mrs. Sturk, leaving Lowe adjusting his +papers in the parlour.</p> + +<p>Toole found his patient laden with blankets, and shivering like a man in +an ague, with blue sunken face. And he slipped his hand under the +clothes, and took his pulse, and said nothing but—'Ay—ay—ay'—quietly +to himself, from time to time, as he did so; and Sturk—signing, as well +as he could, that he wanted a word in his ear—whispered, as well as his +chattering teeth would let him,</p> + +<p>'You know what <i>this</i> is.'</p> + +<p>'Well—well—there now, there; drink some of this,' said Toole, a little +flurried, and trying to seem cool.</p> + +<p>'I think he's a little bit better, doctor,' whispered poor little Mrs. +Sturk, in Toole's ear.</p> + +<p>'Twill pass away. Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>Toole was standing by the bedside, looking rather woefully and +frightened on Sturk's face, and patting and smoothing the coverlet with +the palm of his stumpy, red hand; and whispering to himself from time to +time, 'Yes, yes,' although with rather a troubled and helpless air.</p> + +<p>Just then came the roll of a coach to the door, and a long peal at the +knocker; and little Toole ran down to meet the great Doctor Pell in the +hall. He was in, in a moment, and turned aside with Toole into the +drawing-room. And Toole's voice was heard pretty volubly. It was only a +conference of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> about two minutes. And Dr. Pell said in his usual <i>tall</i> +way, as they came out—</p> + +<p>'How long ago, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'About ten—no, hardly so much—<i>eight</i> minutes ago,' answered Toole, as +he followed that swift phantom up the stairs.</p> + +<p>'Your most obedient, Ma'am,' said the slim and lofty doctor, +parenthetically saluting the good lady; and he stood by the bedside, +having laid his muff on the chair.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, and how do you feel? There now, that will do, Sir; don't +mind speaking; <i>I</i> see. And he put his hand under the clothes, and laid +it on Sturk's arm, and slid it down to his hand, and felt his pulse.</p> + +<p>'And he's been near ten minutes this way?' said the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Oh, he was a great deal worse; 'tis a vast deal better now; isn't it, +Doctor Toole?'</p> + +<p>'The rigor is subsiding, then. Has he had a sweat, Ma'am?' said Pell.</p> + +<p>'Oh, no—nothing like—quite nice and cool, doctor—and no fever; nice +quiet sleep; and his appetite wonderful; tell him, Doctor Toole.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, Ma'am—Doctor Pell knows; I told him all, Ma'am,' said Toole, +who was looking with a blank and dismal sort of contemplation upon +Sturk's fallen countenance.</p> + +<p>'Well, Ma'am,' said Pell, as he looked on his watch, 'this rigor, you +see, will soon pass away, and you're doing everything we could wish, and +(for he found he had time to scribble a prescription), we'll just order +him a trifle. Good-day, Sir. Your most obedient, Ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'Pen and ink in the drawing-room, Doctor Pell,' said Toole, +reverentially.</p> + +<p>'Oh! no, <i>no</i>, Madam, excuse me,' murmured Doctor Pell, gently pressing +back Mrs. Sturk's fee, the residuum of Dangerfield's bounty, with his +open palm.</p> + +<p>'Oh, but Doctor Pell,' urged she, in a persuasive aside, half behind +him, in the shadow of the doorway.</p> + +<p>'Pray, Madam, no more—pardon me,' and Doctor Pell, with a peremptory +bow, repelled his fee.</p> + +<p>Why do physicians take their honest earnings in this clandestine +way—transacted like favours, secret, sweet, and precious; and pocketed +in dark corners, and whispers, like the wages of sin? Cold Doctor Pell +here refused a very considerable fee. He could on occasion behave +handsomely; but I can't learn that blustering, hilarious Doctor Rogerson +ever refused his.</p> + +<p>And the doctor descended, not hastily, but very swiftly, and was in the +drawing-room, and the door shut.</p> + +<p>'Gone, poor gentleman!' said Toole, in an under tone—his phraseology +became refined in Pell's presence; he'd have said 'poor devil,' or 'poor +dog,' if he had been with Doctor Rogerson.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span></p> + +<p>Pell held the pen in his thin lips, while he tore off half-a-sheet of +paper, and only shook his head funereally.</p> + +<p>So, taking the pen in his fingers, he said, 'We'll give him so and so, +if you approve.'</p> + +<p>'Very good, Sir,' said Toole, deferentially; and Pell, not seeming to +hear, dashed off a few spattered lines, with necromantic circles and +zigzags at the end of each.</p> + +<p>When Sturk afterwards saw that paper in the fingers of the maid, being +very weak, he did not care to speak; but he signed with a little motion +of his head, and she leaned down to listen.</p> + +<p>'Recipe?' whispered the doctor; 'put it—in—the fire;' and he shut his +eyes—tired.</p> + +<p>Pell, looking again at his watch, was Doctor Toole's very obedient +servant, and was waylaid by poor little Mrs. Sturk on the lobby.</p> + +<p>'Well, Madam, we've put our heads together, and ordered a little matter, +and that rigor—that shivering fit—will subside; and we trust he'll be +easier then; and you've a very competent adviser in Doctor a—a——'</p> + +<p>'Toole,' suggested the eager little woman.</p> + +<p>'Doctor Toole, Madam, and he'll direct whatever may be necessary; and +should he wish to consult again, you can send for me; but he's quite +competent, Madam, and he'll tell you all we think.'</p> + +<p>He had got to the end of the stairs while talking, and made his adieux, +and glided down and out; and before poor little Mrs. Sturk bethought her +how little she had got from him, she heard the roll of his coach wheels +whirling him back again to Dublin. I believe few doctors grow so +accustomed to the ghastly <i>eclaircissement</i> as not very willingly to +shirk it when they may.</p> + +<p>Toole shrank from it, too, and dodged, and equivocated, and evaded all +he could; but he did admit there was an unfavourable change; and when he +had gone—promising to be back at four o'clock—poor little Mrs. Sturk +broke down—all alone in the drawing-room—and cried a passionate flood +of tears; and thinking she was too long away, dried her eyes quickly, +and ran up, and into Barney's room with a smile on; and she battled with +the evil fear; and hope, that faithful angel that clings to the last, +hovered near her with blessed illusions, until an hour came, next day, +in the evening, about four o'clock, when from Barney's room there came a +long, wild cry. It was 'his poor foolish little Letty'—the long +farewell—and the 'noble Barney' was gone. The courtship and the married +days—all a faded old story now; and a few days later, reversed arms, +and muffled drums, and three volleys in the church-yard, and a little +file of wondering children, dressed in black, whom the old general +afterwards took up in his arms, one by one, very kindly, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> kissed, +and told them they were to come and play in Belmont whenever they liked, +and to eat fruit in the garden, and a great deal more; for all which a +poor little lady, in a widow's cap, and a lonely room, hard-by, was very +grateful.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVI.</h2> + +<h4>ABOUT THE RIGHTFUL MRS. NUTTER OF THE MILLS, AND HOW MR. MERVYN RECEIVED +THE NEWS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img009.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'L'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'L'" /></div><p>ittle Doctor Toole came out feeling rather queer and stunned from +Sturk's house. It was past three o'clock by this time, and it had +already, in his eyes, a changed and empty look, as his upturned eye for +a moment rested upon its gray front, and the window-panes glittering in +the reddening sun. He looked down the street towards the turnpike, and +then up it, towards Martin's-row and the Mills. And he bethought him +suddenly of poor Sally Nutter, and upbraided himself, smiting the point +of his cane with a vehement stab upon the pavement, for having forgotten +to speak to Lowe upon her case. Perhaps, however, it was as well he had +not, inasmuch as there were a few not unimportant facts connected with +that case about which he was himself in the dark.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gamble's conducting clerk had gone up stairs to Mrs. Nutter's door, +and being admitted, had very respectfully asked leave to open, for that +lady's instruction, a little statement which he was charged to make.</p> + +<p>This was in substance, that Archibald Duncan, Mary Matchwell's husband, +was in Dublin, and had sworn informations against her for bigamy; and +that a warrant having been issued for her arrest upon that charge, the +constables had arrived at the Mills for the purpose of executing it, and +removing the body of the delinquent, M. M., to the custody of the +turnkey; that measures would be taken on the spot to expel the persons +who had followed in her train; and that Mr. Charles Nutter himself would +arrive in little more than an hour, to congratulate his good wife, +Sally, on the termination of their troubles, and to take quiet +possession of his house.</p> + +<p>You can imagine how Sally Nutter received all this, with clasped hands +and streaming eyes, looking in the face of the man of notices and +attested copies, unable to speak—unable quite to believe. But before he +came to the end of his dry and delightful narrative, a loud yell and a +scuffle in the parlour were heard; a shrilly clamour of warring voices; +a dreadful crash of glass: a few curses and oaths in basses and +barytones; and some laughter from the coachmen, who viewed the fray +from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> outside through the window; and a brief, wild, and garrulous +uproar, which made little Sally Nutter—though by this time used to +commotion—draw back with her hands to her heart, and hold her breath. +It was the critical convulsion; the evil spirit was being eliminated, +and the tenement, stunned, bruised, and tattered, about to be at peace.</p> + +<p>Of Charles Nutter's doings and adventures during the terrible interval +between his departure on the night of Mary Matchwell's first visit to +the Mills, and his return on this evening to the same abode, there is a +brief outline, in the first person, partly in answer to questions, and +obviously intended to constitute a memorandum for his attorney's use. I +shall reprint it with your leave—as it is not very long—verbatim.</p> + +<p>'When that woman, Sir, came out to the Mills,' says this document, 'I +could scarce believe my eyes; I knew her temper; she was always damnably +wicked; but I had found out all about her long ago; and I was amazed at +her audacity. What she said was true—we <i>were</i> married; or rather, we +went through the ceremony, at St. Clement Danes, in London, in the year +'50. I could not gainsay that; but I well knew what she thought was +known but to herself and another. She had a husband living then. We +lived together little more than three months. We were not a year parted +when I found out all about him; and I never expected more trouble from +her.</p> + +<p>'I knew all about him then. But seventeen years bring many changes; and +I feared he might be dead. He was a saddler in Edinburgh, and his name +was Duncan. I made up my mind to go thither straight. Next morning the +<i>Lovely Betty</i>, packet, was to sail for Holyhead. I took money, and set +out without a word to anybody. The wretch had told my poor wife, and +showed her the certificate, and so left her half mad.</p> + +<p>'I swore to her 'twas false. I told her to wait a bit and she would see. +That was everything passed between us. I don't think she half understood +what I said, for she was at her wits' ends. I was scarce better myself +first. 'Twas a good while before I resolved on this course, and saw my +way, and worse thoughts were in my head; but so soon as I made up my +mind to this I grew cool. I don't know how it happened that my +foot-prints by the river puzzled them; 'twas all accident; I was +thinking of no such matter; I did not go through the village, but +through the Knockmaroon gate; 'twas dark by that time; I only met two +men with a cart—they did not know me—Dublin men, I think. I crossed +the park in a straight line for Dublin; I did not meet a living soul; +'twas dark, but not very dark. When I reached the Butcher's Wood, all on +a sudden, I heard a horrid screech, and two blows quick, one after the +other, to my right, not three score steps away—heavy blows—they +sounded like the strokes of a man beating a carpet.</p> + +<p>'With the first alarm, I hollo'd, and ran in the direction<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> shouting as +I went; 'twas as I ran I heard the second blow; I saw no one, and heard +no other sound; the noise I made myself in running might prevent it. I +can't say how many seconds it took to run the distance—not many; I ran +fast; I was not long in finding the body; his white vest and small +clothes showed under the shadow; he seemed quite dead. I thought when +first I took his hand, there was a kind of a quiver in his fingers; but +that was over immediately. His eyes and mouth were a bit open; the blood +was coming very fast, and the wounds on his head looked very +deep—frightful—as I conjectured they were done with a falchion (a name +given to a heavy wooden sword resembling a New Zealand weapon); there +was blood coming from one ear, and his mouth; there was no sign of life +about him, and I thought him quite dead. I would have lifted him against +a tree, but his head looked all in a smash, and I daren't move him. I +knew him for Dr. Sturk, of the Artillery; he wore his regimentals; I did +not see his hat; his head was bare when I saw him.</p> + +<p>'When I saw 'twas Doctor Sturk, I was frightened; he had treated me +mighty ill, and I resented it, which I did not conceal; and I thought +'twould look very much against me if I were any way mixed up in this +dreadful occurrence—especially not knowing who did it—and being alone +with the body so soon after 'twas done. I crossed the park wall +therefore; but by the time I came near Barrack-street, I grew uneasy in +my mind, lest Doctor Sturk should still have life in him, and perish for +want of help. I went down to the river-side, and washed my hands, for +there was blood upon 'em, and while so employed, by mischance I lost my +hat in the water and could not recover it. I stood for a while by the +river-bank; it was a lonely place; I was thinking of crossing there +first, I was so frightened; I changed my mind, however, and went round +by Bloody-bridge.</p> + +<p>'The further I went the more fearful I grew, lest Sturk should die for +want of help that I might send him; and although I thought him dead, I +got such a dread of this over me as I can't describe. I saw two soldiers +opposite the "Royal Oak" inn, and I told them I overheard a fellow speak +of an officer that lay wounded in the Butcher's Wood, not far from the +park-wall, and gave them half-a-crown to have search made, which they +promised, and took the money.</p> + +<p>'I crossed Bloody-bridge, and got into a coach, and so to Luke Gamble's. +I told him nothing of Sturk; I had talked foolishly to him, and did not +know what even he might think. I told him all about M. M.'s, that is Mary +Duncan's turning up; she went by that name in London, and kept a +lodging-house. I took his advice on the matter, and sailed next morning. +The man Archie Duncan had left Edinburgh, but I traced him to Carlisle +and thence to York, where I found him. He was in a very poor way, and +glad to hear that Demirep was in Dublin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> and making money. When I came +back I was in the <i>Hue-and-Cry</i> for the assault on Sturk.</p> + +<p>'I took no precaution, not knowing what had happened; but 'twas night +when we arrived, Duncan and I, and we went straight to Gamble's and he +concealed me. I kept close within his house, except on one night, when I +took coach. I was under necessity, as you shall hear, to visit +Chapelizod. I got out in the hollow of the road by the Knockmaroon pond, +in the park; an awful night it was—the night of the snow-storm, when +the brig was wrecked off the Black Rock, you remember. I wanted to get +some papers necessary to my case against Mary Duncan. I had the key of +the glass door; the inside fastening was broke, and there was no trouble +in getting in. But the women had sat up beyond their hour, and saw me. I +got the papers, however, and returned, having warned them not to speak. +I ventured out of doors but once more, and was took on a warrant for +assaulting Sturk. 'Twas the women talking as they did excited the +officer's suspicions.</p> + +<p>'I have lain in prison since. The date of my committal and discharge +are, I suppose, there.'</p> + +<p>And so ends this rough draft, with the initials, I think, in his own +hands, C. N., at the foot.</p> + +<p>At about half-past four o'clock Nutter came out to the Mills in a coach. +He did not drive through Chapelizod; he was shy, and wished to feel his +way a little. So he came home privily by the Knockmaroon Park-gate. Poor +little Sally rose into a sort of heroine. With a wild cry, and 'Oh, +Charlie!' she threw her arms about his neck; and the 'good little +crayture,' as Magnolia was wont to call her, had fainted. Nutter said +nothing, but carried her in his arms to the sofa, and himself sobbed +very violently for about a minute, supporting her tenderly. She came to +herself very quickly, and hugged her Charlie with such a torrent of +incoherent endearments, welcomes, and benedictions as I cannot at all +undertake to describe. Nutter didn't speak. His arms were about her, and +with wet eyes, and biting his nether-lip, and smiling, he looked into +her poor little wild, delighted face with an unspeakable world of +emotion and affection beaming from the homely lines and knots of that +old mahogany countenance; and the maids smiling, blessing, courtesying, +and welcoming him home again, added to the pleasant uproar which amazed +even the tipsy coachman from the hall.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Charlie, I have you fast, my darling. Oh! but it's wonderful; you, +yourself—my Charlie, your own self—never, never, oh! <i>never</i> to part +again!' and so on.</p> + +<p>And so for a rapturous hour, it seemed as if they had passed the dark +valley, and were immortal; and no more pain, sorrow, or separation for +them. And, perhaps, these blessed illusions are permitted now and again +to mortals, like momentary gleams of paradise, and distant views of the +delectable mountains, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> cheer poor pilgrims with a foretaste of those +meetings beyond the river, where the separated and beloved shall +embrace.</p> + +<p>It is not always that the person most interested in a rumour is first to +hear it. It was reported in Chapelizod, early that day, that Irons, the +clerk, had made some marvellous discovery respecting Lord Dunoran, and +the murder of which an English jury had found that nobleman guilty. Had +people known that Mervyn was the son of that dishonoured peer—as in +that curious little town they would, no doubt, long since have, at +least, suspected, had he called himself by his proper patronymic +Mordaunt—he would not have wanted a visitor to enlighten him +half-an-hour after the rumour had began to proclaim itself in the +streets and public haunts of the village. No one, however, thought of +the haughty and secluded young gentleman who lived so ascetic a life at +the Tiled House, and hardly ever showed in the town, except in church on +Sundays; and who when he rode on his black hunter into Dublin, avoided +the village, and took the high-road by Inchicore.</p> + +<p>When the report did reach him, and he heard that Lowe, who knew all +about it, was at the Phœnix, where he was holding a conference with a +gentleman from the Crown Office, half wild with excitement, he hurried +thither. There, having declared himself to the magistrate and his +companion, in that little chamber where Nutter was wont to transact his +agency business, and where poor Sturk had told down his rent, guinea by +guinea, with such a furious elation, on the morning but one before he +received his death-blow, he heard, with such feelings as may be +imagined, the magistrate read aloud, not only the full and clear +information of Irons, but the equally distinct deposition of Doctor +Sturk, and was made aware of the complete identification of the +respectable and vivacious Paul Dangerfield with the dead and damned +Charles Archer!</p> + +<p>On hearing all this, the young man rode straight to Belmont, where he +was closeted with the general for fully twenty minutes. They parted in a +very friendly way, but he did not see the ladies. The general, however, +no sooner bid him farewell at the door-steps than he made his way to the +drawing-room, and, big with his amazing secret, first, in a very grave +and almost agitated way, told little 'Toodie,' as he called his +daughter, to run away and leave him together with Aunt Rebecca, which +being done, he anticipated that lady's imperious summons to explain +himself by telling her, in his blunt, soldierly fashion, the wondrous +story.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky was utterly confounded. She had seldom before in her life +been so thoroughly taken in. What a marvellous turn of fortune! What a +providential deliverance and vindication for that poor young Lord +Dunoran! What an astounding exposure of that miscreant Mr. Dangerfield!</p> + +<p>'What a blessed escape the child has had!' interposed the general with a +rather testy burst of gratitude.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And how artfully she and my lord contrived to conceal their +engagement!' pursued Aunt Rebecca, covering her somewhat confused +retreat.</p> + +<p>But, somehow, Aunt Rebecca was by no means angry. On the contrary, +anyone who knew her well would have perceived that a great weight was +taken off her mind.</p> + +<p>The consequences of Dangerfield's incarceration upon these awful +charges, were not confined altogether to the Tiled House and the +inhabitants of Belmont.</p> + +<p>No sooner was our friend Cluffe well assured that Dangerfield was in +custody of the gaoler, and that his old theory of a certain double plot +carried on by that intriguing personage, with the object of possessing +the hand and thousands of Aunt Rebecca, was now and for ever untenable, +than he wrote to London forthwith to countermand the pelican. The +answer, which in those days was rather long about coming, was not +pleasant, being simply a refusal to rescind the contract.</p> + +<p>Cluffe, in a frenzy, carried this piece of mercantile insolence off to +his lawyer. The stout captain was, however, undoubtedly liable, and, +with a heavy heart, he wrote to beg they would, with all despatch, sell +the bird in London on his account, and charge him with the difference. +'The scoundrels!—they'll buy him themselves at half-price, and charge +me a per centage besides; but what the plague better can I do?</p> + +<p>In due course, however, came an answer, informing Captain Cluffe that +his letter had arrived too late, as the bird, pursuant to the tenor of +his order, had been shipped for him to Dublin by the <i>Fair Venus</i>, with +a proper person in charge, on the Thursday morning previous. Good Mrs. +Mason, his landlady, had no idea what was causing the awful commotion in +the captain's room; the fitful and violent soliloquies; the stamping of +the captain up and down the floor; and the contusions, palpably, +suffered by her furniture. The captain's temper was not very pleasant +that evening, and he was fidgety and feverish besides, expecting every +moment a note from town to apprise him of its arrival.</p> + +<p>However, he walked up to Belmont a week or two after, and had a very +consolatory reception from Aunt Becky. He talked upon his old themes, +and upon the subject of Puddock, was, as usual, very friendly and +intercessorial; in fact, she showed at last signs of yielding.</p> + +<p>'Well, Captain Cluffe, tell him if he cares to come, he <i>may</i> come, and +be on the old friendly footing; but be sure you tell him he owes it all +to <i>you</i>.'</p> + +<p>And positively, as she said so, Aunt Rebecca looked down upon her fan; +and Cluffe thought looked a little flushed, and confused too; whereat +the gallant fellow was so elated that he told her all about the pelican, +discarding as unworthy of consideration, under circumstances so +imminently promising, a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> plan he had formed of keeping the bird +privately in Dublin, and looking out for a buyer.</p> + +<p>Poor little Puddock, on the other hand, had heard, more than a week +before this message of peace arrived, the whole story of Gertrude's +engagement to Lord Dunoran, as we may now call Mr. Mervyn, with such +sensations as may be conjectured. His heart, of course, was torn; but +having sustained some score of similar injuries in that region upon +other equally harrowing occasions, he recovered upon this with all +favourable symptoms, and his wounds healed with the first intention. He +wore his chains very lightly, indeed. The iron did not enter into his +soul; and although, of course, 'he could never cease but with his life +to dwell upon the image of his fleeting dream—the beautiful nymph of +Belmont,' I have never heard that his waist grew at all slimmer, or that +his sleep or his appetite suffered during the period of his despair.</p> + +<p>The good little fellow was very glad to hear from Cluffe, who patronised +him most handsomely, that Aunt Rebecca had consented to receive him once +more into her good graces.</p> + +<p>'And the fact is, Puddock, I think I may undertake to promise you'll +never again be misunderstood in that quarter,' said Cluffe, with a +mysterious sort of smile.</p> + +<p>'I'm sure, dear Cluffe, I'm grateful as I ought, for your generous +pleading on my poor behalf, and I do prize the good will of that most +excellent lady as highly as any, and owe her, beside, a debt of +gratitude for care and kindness such as many a mother would have failed +to bestow.'</p> + +<p>'Mother, indeed! Why, Puddock, my boy, you forget you're no chicken,' +said Cluffe, a little high.</p> + +<p>'And to-morrow I will certainly pay her my respects,' said the +lieutenant, not answering Cluffe's remark.</p> + +<p>So Gertrude Chattesworth, after her long agitation—often despair—was +tranquil at last, and blessed in the full assurance of the love which +was henceforth to be her chief earthly happiness.</p> + +<p>'Madam was very sly,' said Aunt Becky, with a little shake of her head, +and a quizzical smile; and holding up her folded fan between her finger +and thumb, in mimic menace as she glanced at Gertrude. 'Why, Mr. +Mordaunt, on the very day—the day we had the pleasant luncheon on the +grass—when, as I thought, she had given you your quietus—'twas quite +the reverse, and you had made a little betrothal, and duped the old +people so cleverly ever after.'</p> + +<p>'You have forgiven me, dear aunt,' said the young lady, kissing her very +affectionately, 'but I will never quite forgive myself. In a moment of +great agitation I made a hasty promise of secrecy, which, from the +moment 'twas made, was to me a never-resting disquietude, misery, and +reproach. If you, my dearest aunt, knew, as <i>he</i> knows, all the +anxieties, or rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> the terrors, I suffered during that agitating +period of concealment—'</p> + +<p>'Indeed, dear Madam,' said Mordaunt—or as we may now call him, Lord +Dunoran—coming to the rescue, ''twas all my doing; on me alone rests +all the blame. Selfish it hardly was. I could not risk the loss of my +beloved; and until my fortunes had improved, to declare our situation +would have been too surely to lose her. Henceforward I have done with +mystery. <i>I</i> will never have a secret from her, nor she from you.'</p> + +<p>He took Aunt Becky's hand. 'Am I, too, forgiven?'</p> + +<p>He held it for a second, and then kissed it.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky smiled, with one of her pleasant little blushes, and looked +down on the carpet, and was silent for a moment; and then, as they +afterwards thought a little oddly, she said,</p> + +<p>'That censor must be more severe than I, who would say that concealment +in matters of the heart is never justifiable; and, indeed, my dear,' she +added, quite in a humble way, 'I almost think you were right.'</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky's looks and spirits had both improved from the moment of this +<i>eclaircissement</i>. A load was plainly removed from her mind. Let us hope +that her comfort and elation were perfectly unselfish. At all events, +her heart sang with a quiet joy, and her good humour was unbounded. So +she stood up, holding Lord Dunoran's hand in hers, and putting her white +arm round her niece's neck, she kissed her again and again, very +tenderly, and she said—</p> + +<p>'How very happy, Gertrude, you must be!' and then she went quickly from +the room, drying her eyes.</p> + +<p>Happy indeed she was, and not least in the termination of that secrecy +which was so full of self-reproach and sometimes of distrust. From the +evening of that dinner at the King's House, when in an agony of jealousy +she had almost disclosed to poor little Lily the secret of their +engagement, down to the latest moment of its concealment, her hours had +been darkened by care, and troubled with ceaseless agitations.</p> + +<p>Everything was now going prosperously for Mervyn—or let us call him +henceforward Lord Dunoran. Against the united evidence of Sturk and +Irons, two independent witnesses, the crown were of opinion that no +defence was maintainable by the wretch, Archer. The two murders were +unambiguously sworn to by both witnesses. A correspondence, afterwards +read in the Irish House of Lords, was carried on between the Irish and +the English law officers of the crown—for the case, for many reasons, +was admitted to be momentous—as to which crime he should be first tried +for—the murder of Sturk, or that of Beauclerc. The latter was, in this +respect, the most momentous—that the cancelling of the forfeiture which +had ruined the Dunoran family depended upon it.</p> + +<p>'But are you not forgetting, Sir,' said Mr. Attorney in consul<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span>tation, +'that there's the finding of <i>felo de se</i> against him by the coroner's +jury?'</p> + +<p>'No, Sir,' answered the crown solicitor, well pleased to set Mr. +Attorney right. 'The jury being sworn, found only that he came by his +death, but whether by gout in his stomach, or by other disease, or by +poison, they had no certain knowledge; there was therefore no such +coroner's verdict, and no forfeiture therefore.'</p> + +<p>'And I'm glad to hear it, with all my heart. I've seen the young +gentleman, and a very pretty young nobleman he is,' said Mr. Attorney. +Perhaps he would not have cared if this expression of his good will had +got round to my lord.</p> + +<p>The result was, however, that their prisoner was to be first tried in +Ireland for the murder of Doctor Barnabas Sturk.</p> + +<p>A few pieces of evidence, slight, but sinister, also turned up. Captain +Cluffe was quite clear he had seen an instrument in the prisoner's hand +on the night of the murder, as he looked into the little bed-chamber of +the Brass Castle, so unexpectedly. When he put down the towel, he raised +it from the toilet, where it lay. It resembled the butt of a whip—was +an inch or so longer than a drumstick, and six or seven inches of the +thick end stood out in a series of circular bands or rings. He washed +the thick end of it in the basin; it seemed to have a spring in it, and +Cluffe thought it was a sort of loaded baton. In those days robbery and +assault were as common as they are like to become again, and there was +nothing remarkable in the possession of such defensive weapons. +Dangerfield had only run it once or twice hastily through the water, +rolled it in a red handkerchief, and threw it into his drawer, which he +locked. When Cluffe was shown the whip, which bore a rude resemblance to +this instrument, and which Lowe had assumed to be all that Cluffe had +really seen, the gallant captain peremptorily pooh-poohed it. 'Twas no +such thing. The whip-handle was light in comparison, and it was too long +to fit in the drawer.</p> + +<p>Now, the awful fractures which had almost severed Sturk's skull +corresponded exactly with the wounds which such an instrument would +inflict, and a tubular piece of broken iron, about two inches long, +exactly corresponding with the shape of the loading described by Cluffe, +was actually discovered in the sewer of the Brass Castle. It had been in +the fire, and the wood or whalebone was burnt completely away. It was +conjectured that Dangerfield had believed it to be lead, and having +burnt the handle, had broken the metal which he could not melt, and made +away with it in the best way he could. So preparations were pushed +forward, and Sturk's dying declaration, sworn to, late in the evening +before his dissolution, in a full consciousness of his approaching +death, was, of course, relied on, and a very symmetrical and logical +bill lay, neatly penned, in the Crown Office, awaiting the next +commission for the county.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH OBEDIAH ARRIVES.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img024.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'I'" /></div><p>n the meantime our worthy little Lieutenant Puddock—by this time quite +reconciled to the new state of things, walked up to Belmont, with his +head a great deal fuller—such and so great are human vagaries—of the +interview pending between him and Aunt Becky than of the little romance +which had exploded so unexpectedly about a fortnight ago.</p> + +<p>He actually saw Miss Gertrude and my Lord Dunoran walking side by side, +on the mulberry walk by the river; and though he looked and felt a +little queer, perhaps, a little absurd, he did not sigh, or murmur a +stanza, or suffer a palpitation; but walked up to the hall-door, and +asked for Miss Rebecca Chattesworth.</p> + +<p>Aunt Becky received him in the drawing-room. She was looking very pale, +and spoke very little, and very gently for her. In a reconciliation +between two persons of the opposite sexes—though the ages be wide +apart—there is almost always some little ingredient of sentiment.</p> + +<p>The door was shut, and Puddock's voice was heard in an indistinct +murmur, upon the lobby. Then there was a silence, or possibly, some +speaking in a still lower key. Then Aunt Becky was crying, and the +lieutenant's voice cooing through it. Then Aunt Becky, still crying, +said—</p> + +<p>'A longer time than <i>you</i> think for, lieutenant; two years, and +more—<i>always</i>! And the lieutenant's voice rose again; and she +said—'What a fool I've been!' which was again lost in Puddock's +accents; and the drawing-room door opened, and Aunt Rebecca ran up +stairs, with her handkerchief to her red nose and eyes, and slammed her +bed-room door after her like a boarding-school miss.</p> + +<p>And the general's voice was heard shouting 'luncheon' in the hall; and +Dominick repeated the announcement to Puddock, who stood, unusually pale +and very much stunned, with the handle of the open drawing-room door in +his hand, looking up toward the bed-room in an undecided sort of way, as +if he was not clear whether it was not his duty to follow Aunt Becky. On +being told a second time, however, that the general awaited him at +luncheon, he apprehended the meaning of the message, and went down to +the parlour forthwith.</p> + +<p>The general, and my lord Dunoran, and Miss Gertrude, and honest Father +Roach, were there; and Aunt Becky being otherwise engaged, could not +come.</p> + +<p>Puddock, at luncheon, was abstracted—frightened—silent, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> the most +part; talking only two or three sentences during that sociable meal, by +fits and starts; and he laughed once abruptly at a joke he did not hear. +He also drank three glasses of port.</p> + +<p>Aunt Rebecca met him with her hood on in the hall. She asked him, with a +faltering sort of carelessness, looking very hard at the clock, and +nearly with her back to him—</p> + +<p>'Lieutenant, will you take a turn in the garden with me?'</p> + +<p>To which Puddock, with almost a start—for he had not seen her till she +spoke—and, upon my word, 'tis a fact, with a blush, too—made a sudden +smile, and a bow, and a suitable reply in low tones; and forth they +sallied together, and into the garden, and up and down the same walk, +for a good while—a long while—people sometimes don't count the +minutes—with none but Peter Brian, the gardener, whom they did not see, +to observe them.</p> + +<p>When they came to the white wicket-door of the garden, Aunt Rebecca +hastily dropped his arm, on which she had leaned; and together they +returned to the house very affably; and there Aunt Becky bid him +good-bye in a whisper, a little hastily; and Puddock, so soon as he +found Dominick, asked for the general.</p> + +<p>He had gone down to the river; and Puddock followed. As he walked along +the court, he looked up; there was a kind of face at the window. He +smiled a great deal and raised his hat, and placed it to his heart, and +felt quite bewildered, like a man in a dream; and in this state he +marched down to the river's bank.</p> + +<p>They had not been together for a full minute when the stout general +threw back his head, looking straight in his face; and then he stepped +first one, then another, fat little pace backward, and poked his cane +right at the ribs of the plump little lieutenant, then closing with him, +he shook both Puddock's hands in both his, with a hearty peal of +laughter.</p> + +<p>Then he took Puddock under his arm. Puddock had to stoop to pick up his +hat which the general had dislodged. And so the general walks him slowly +towards the house; sometimes jogging his elbow a little under his ribs; +sometimes calling a halt and taking his collar in his finger and thumb, +thrusting him out a little, and eyeing him over with a sort of swagger, +and laughing and coughing, and whooping, and laughing again, almost to +strangulation; and altogether extraordinarily boisterous, and hilarious, +and familiar, as Cluffe thought, who viewed this spectacle from the +avenue.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sterling would not have been quite so amused at a similar freak of +Mrs. Hidleberg's—but our honest general was no especial worshipper of +money—he was rich, too, and his daughter, well dowered, was about to +marry a peer, and beside all this, though he loved 'Sister Becky,' her +yoke galled him; and I think he was not altogether sorry at the notion +of a little more liberty.</p> + +<p>At the same moment honest Peter Brien, having set his basket<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> of winter +greens down upon the kitchen-table, electrified his auditory by telling +them, with a broad grin and an oath, that he had seen Lieutenant Puddock +and Aunt Rebecca kiss in the garden, with a good smart smack, 'by the +powers, within three yards of his elbow, when he was stooping down +cutting them greens!' At which profanity, old Mistress Dorothy, Aunt +Rebecca's maid, was so incensed that she rose and left the kitchen +without a word. The sensation there, however, was immense; and Mistress +Dorothy heard the gabble and laughter fast and furious behind her until +she reached the hall.</p> + +<p>Captain Cluffe was asking for Aunt Rebecca when Puddock and the general +reached the hall-door, and was surprised to learn that she was not to be +seen. 'If she knew 'twas I,' he thought, 'but no matter.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, <i>we</i> could have told you that; eh, Puddock?' cried the general; +''tisn't everybody can see my sister to-day, captain; a very peculiar +engagement, eh, Puddock?' and a sly wink and a chuckle.</p> + +<p>Cluffe smiled a little, and looked rather conscious and queer, but +pleased with himself; and his eyes wandered over the front windows +hastily, to see if Aunt Becky was looking out, for he fancied there was +something in the general's quizzing, and that the lady might have said +more than she quite intended to poor little Puddock on the subject of +the gallant mediator; and that, in fact, he was somehow the theme of +some little sentimental disclosure of the lady's. What the plague else +could they both mean by quizzing Cluffe about her?</p> + +<p>Puddock and he had not gone half-way down the short avenue, when Cluffe +said, with a sheepish smile:</p> + +<p>'Miss Rebecca Chattesworth dropped something in her talk with you, +Puddock, I see that plain enough, my dear fellow, which the general has +no objection I should hear, and, hang it, I don't see any myself. I say, +I may as well hear it, eh? I venture to say there's no great harm in it.'</p> + +<p>At first Puddock was reserved, but recollecting that he had been left +quite free to tell whom he pleased, he made up his mind to unbosom; and +suggested, for the sake of quiet and a longer conversation, that they +should go round by the ferry.</p> + +<p>'No, I thank you, I've had enough of that; we can walk along as quietly +as you like, and turn a little back again if need be.'</p> + +<p>So slowly, side by side, the brother-officers paced toward the bridge; +and little Puddock, with a serious countenance and blushing cheeks, and +looking straight before him, made his astounding disclosure.</p> + +<p>Puddock told things in a very simple and intelligible way, and Cluffe +heard him in total silence; and just as he related the crowning fact, +that he, the lieutenant, was about to marry Miss Rebecca Chattesworth, +having reached the milestone by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> footpath, Captain Cluffe raised his +foot thereupon, without a word to Puddock, and began tugging at the +strap of his legging, with a dismal red grin, and a few spluttering +curses at the artificer of the article.</p> + +<p>'And the lady has had the condescension to say that she has liked me for +at least <i>two years</i>.'</p> + +<p>'And she hating you like poison, to my certain knowledge,' laughed +Captain Cluffe, very angrily, and swallowing down his feelings. So they +walked on a little way in silence, and Cluffe, who, with his face very +red, and his mouth a good deal expanded, and down in the corners, was +looking steadfastly forward, exclaimed suddenly,—</p> + +<p>'<i>Well</i>?'</p> + +<p>'I see, Cluffe,' said Puddock; 'you don't think it prudent—you think we +mayn't be happy?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Prudent</i>,' laughed Cluffe, with a variety of unpleasant meanings; and +after a while—'And the general knows of it?'</p> + +<p>'And approves it most kindly,' said Puddock.</p> + +<p>'What else can he do?' sneered Cluffe; ''tis a precious fancy—they +<i>are</i> such cheats! Why you might be almost her <i>grand</i>-son, my dear +Puddock, ha, ha, ha. 'Tis preposterous; you're sixteen years younger +than I.'</p> + +<p>'If you can't congratulate me, 'twould be kinder not to say anything, +Captain Cluffe; and nobody must speak in my presence of that lady but +with proper respect; and I—I thought, Cluffe, you'd have wished me +well, and shaken hands and said something—something—'</p> + +<p>'Oh, as for that,' said Cluffe, swallowing down his emotions again, and +shaking hands with Puddock rather clumsily, and trying to smile, 'I wish +you well, Heaven knows—everything good; why shouldn't I, by George? You +know, Puddock, 'twas I who brought you together. And—and—am I at +liberty to mention it?'</p> + +<p>Puddock thought it better the news should be proclaimed from Belmont.</p> + +<p>'Well, so I think myself,' said Cluffe, and relapsed into silence till +they parted, at the corner of the broad street of Chapelizod and Cluffe +walked at an astounding pace on to his lodgings.</p> + +<p>'Here's Captain Cluffe,' said Mrs. Mason, to a plump youth, who had just +made the journey from London, and was standing with the driver of a +low-backed car, and saluted the captain, who was stalking in without +taking any notice.</p> + +<p>'Little bill, if you please, captain.'</p> + +<p>'What is it?' demanded the captain, grimly.</p> + +<p>'Obediar's come, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Obediar!' said the captain. 'What the plague do you mean, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Obediar, Sir, is the name we give him. The pelican, Sir, from Messrs. +Hamburgh and Slighe.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span></p> + +<p>And the young man threw back a piece of green baize, and disclosed +Obediar, who blinked with a tranquil countenance upon the captain +through the wires of a strong wooden cage. I doubt if the captain ever +looked so angry before or since. He glared at the pelican, and ground +his teeth, and actually shook his cane in his fist; and if he had been +one bit less prudent than he was, I think Obediar would then and there +have slept with his fathers.</p> + +<p>Cluffe whisked himself about, and plucked open the paper.</p> + +<p>'And what the devil is all this for, Sir? ten—twelve pounds ten +shillings freightage and care on the way—and twenty-five, by George, +Sir—not far from forty pounds, Sir,' roared Cluffe.</p> + +<p>'Where'll I bring him to, Sir?' asked the driver.</p> + +<p>The captain bellowed an address we sha'n't print here.</p> + +<p>'Curse him—curse the brute! forty pounds!' and the captain swore +hugely, 'you scoundrel! Drive the whole concern out of that, Sir. Drive +him away, Sir, or by Jove, I'll break every bone in your body, Sir.'</p> + +<p>And the captain scaled the stairs, and sat down panting, and outside the +window he heard the driver advising something about putting the +captain's bird to livery, 'till sich time as he'd come to his sinses;' +and himself undertaking to wait opposite the door of his lodgings until +his fare from Dublin was paid.</p> + +<p>Though Cluffe was occasionally swayed by the angry passions, he was, on +the whole, in his own small way, a long-headed fellow. He hated law, +especially when he had a bad case; and accordingly he went down again, +rumpling the confounded bill in his hand, and told the man that he did +not blame <i>him</i> for it—though the whole thing was an imposition; but +that rather than have any words about it, he'd pay the account, and have +done with it; and he stared again in the face of the pelican with an +expression of rooted abhorrence and disgust, and the mild bird clapped +its bill, perhaps expecting some refreshment, and looking upon the +captain with a serene complacency very provoking under the +circumstances.</p> + +<p>'How the devil people can like such misshapen, idiotic-looking, selfish, +useless brutes; and, by George, it smells like a polecat—curse it! but +some people have deuced queer fancies in more matters than one. The +brute! on my soul, I'd like to shoot it.'</p> + +<p>However, with plenty of disputation over the items, and many oaths and +vows, the gallant captain, with a heavy and wrathful heart, paid the +bill; and although he had sworn in his drawing-room that he'd eat the +pelican before Aunt Rebecca should have it, he thought better also upon +this point too, and it arrived that evening at Belmont, with his +respectful compliments.</p> + +<p>Cluffe was soon of opinion that he was in absolute possession of his own +secret, and resolved to keep it effectually. He hinted that very evening +at mess, and afterwards at the club, that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> had been managing a very +nice and delicate bit of diplomacy which not a soul of them suspected, +at Belmont; and that by George, he thought they'd stare when they heard +it. He had worked like a lord chancellor to bring it about; and he +thought all was pretty well settled, now. And the Chapelizod folk, in +general, and Puddock, as implicitly as any, and Aunt Rebecca, for that +matter, also believed to their dying day that Cluffe had managed that +match, and been a true friend to little Puddock.</p> + +<p>Cluffe never married, but grew confoundedly corpulent by degrees, and +suffered plaguily from gout; but was always well dressed, and +courageously buckled in, and, I dare say, two inches less in girth, +thanks to the application of mechanics, than nature would have presented +him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVIII.</h2> + +<h4>IN WHICH CHARLES ARCHER PUTS HIMSELF UPON THE COUNTRY.</h4> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he excitement was high in Chapelizod when the news reached that a true +bill was found against Charles Archer for the murder of Barnabas Sturk. +Everywhere, indeed, the case was watched with uncommon interest; and +when the decisive day arrived, and the old judge, furrowed, yellow, and +cross, mounted the bench, and the jury were called over, and the +challenges began, and the grim, gentlemanlike person with the white +hair, and his right arm in a black silk sling, whispering to his +attorney and now and again pencilling, with his left hand, a line to his +counsel with that indescribable air of confidence and almost defiance, +pleaded to the indictment 'not guilty,' and the dreadful business of the +day began, the court was crowded as it seldom had been before.</p> + +<p>A short, clear, horrible statement unfolded the case for the crown. Then +the dying deposition of Sturk was put in evidence; then Irons the clerk +was put up, and told his tale doggedly and distinctly, and was not to be +shaken. 'No, it was not true that he had ever been confined in a mad +house.' 'He had never had delirium tremens.' 'He had never heard that +his wife thought him mad.' 'Yes, it was true he had pledged silver of +his master's at the Pied Horse at Newmarket' 'He knew it was a felony, +but it was the prisoner who put it into his head and encouraged him to +do it.' 'Yes, he would swear to that.' 'He had several times spoken to +Lord Dunoran, when passing under the name of Mervyn, on the subject of +his father being wronged.' 'He never had any promise from my lord, in +case he should fix the guilt of that murder on some other than his +father.' Our friend, Captain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> Cluffe, was called, and delivered his +evidence in a somewhat bluff and peremptory, but on the whole effective +way.</p> + +<p>Charles Nutter, after some whispered consultation, was also called, and +related what we have heard. 'Yes, he had been arrested for the murder of +Dr. Sturk, and now stood out on bail to answer that charge.' Then +followed some circumstances, one of which, the discovery of a piece of +what was presumed to be the weapon with which the murder was +perpetrated, I have already mentioned. Then came some evidence, curious +but quite clear, to show that the Charles Archer who had died at +Florence was <i>not</i> the Charles Archer who had murdered Beauclerc, but a +gentleman who had served in the army, and had afterwards been for two +years in Italy, in the employment of a London firm who dealt in works of +art, and was actually resident in <i>Italy</i> at the time when the Newmarket +murder occurred, and that the attempt to represent him as the person who +had given evidence against the late Lord Dunoran was an elaborate and +cunning contrivance of the prisoner at the bar. Then came the medical +evidence.</p> + +<p>Pell was examined, and delivered only half a dozen learned sentences; +Toole, more at length, made a damaging comparison of the fragment of +iron already mentioned, and the outline of the fractures in the deceased +man's head; and Dillon was questioned generally, and was not +cross-examined. Then came the defence.</p> + +<p>The points were, that Sturk was restored to speech by the determined +interposition of the prisoner at the bar, an unlikely thing if he was +ruining himself thereby! That Sturk's brain had been shattered, and not +cleared from hallucinations before he died; that having uttered the +monstrous dream, in all its parts incredible, which was the sole +foundation of the indictment against that every way respectable and +eminent gentleman who stood there, the clerk, Irons, having heard +something of it, had conceived the plan of swearing to the same story, +for the manifest purpose of securing thereby the favour of the young +Lord Dunoran, with whom he had been in conference upon this very subject +without ever once having hinted a syllable against Mr. Paul Dangerfield +until after Doctor Sturk's dream had been divulged; and the idea of +fixing the guilt of Beauclerc's murder upon that gentleman of wealth, +family, and station, occurred to his intriguing and unscrupulous mind.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield, in the dock nodded sometimes, or sneered or smirked +with hollow cheeks, or shook his head in unison with the passing +sentiment of the speaker, directing, through that hot atmosphere, now +darkening into twilight, a quick glance from time to time upon the +aspect of the jury, the weather-gauge of his fate, but altogether with a +manly, sarcastic, and at times a somewhat offended air, as though he +should say, ''Tis somewhat too good a jest that I, Paul Dangerfield, +Esq., a man of fashion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span> with my known character, and worth nigh two +hundred thousand pounds sterling, should stand here, charged with +murdering a miserable Chapelizod doctor!' The minutes had stolen away; +the judge read his notes by candle-light, and charged, with dry and +cranky emphasis, dead against that man of integrity, fashion, and +guineas; and did not appear a bit disturbed at the idea of hanging him.</p> + +<p>When the jury went in he had some soup upon the bench, and sipped it +with great noise. Mr. Dangerfield shook hands with his counsel, and +smirked and whispered. Many people there felt queer, and grew pale in +the suspense, and the general gaze was fixed upon the prisoner with a +coarse curiosity, of which he seemed resolutely unconscious; and five +minutes passed by and a minute or two more—it seemed a very long +time—the minute-hands of the watches hardly got on at all—and then the +door of the jury-room opened, and the gentlemen came stumbling in, +taking off their hats, and silence was called. There was no need; and +the foreman, with a very pale and frightened face, handed down the +paper.</p> + +<p>And the simple message sounded through the court—</p> + +<p>'Guilty!'</p> + +<p>And Mr. Dangerfield bowed, and lifted up a white, smiling countenance, +all over shining now with a slight moisture.</p> + +<p>Then there was some whispering among the conductors of the prosecution; +and the leader stood up to say, that, in consequence of a communication +from the law officers in England, where the prisoner was to be arraigned +on a capital indictment, involving serious consequences to others—for +the murder, he meant, of Mr. Beauclerc—the crown wished that he should +stand over for judgment until certain steps in that case had been taken +at the other side. Then the court enquired whether they had considered +so and so; and the leader explained and satisfied his lordship, who made +an order accordingly. And Mr. Dangerfield made a low bow, with a smirk, +to his lordship, and a nod, with the same, to his counsel; and he +turned, and the turnkey and darkness received him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield, or shall we say the villain, Charles Archer, with +characteristic promptitude and coolness, availed himself of the interval +to try every influence he could once have set in motion, and as it were +to gather his strength for a mighty tussle with the king of terrors, +when his pale fingers should tap at his cell door. I have seen two of +his letters, written with consummate plausibility and adroitness, and +which have given me altogether a very high idea of his powers. But they +were all received with a terrifying coldness or with absolute silence. +There was no reasoning against an intuition. Every human being felt that +the verdict was true, and that the judgment, when it came would be +right: and recoiled from the smiling gentleman, over whose white head +the hempen circle hung like a diabolical glory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> Dangerfield, who had +something of the Napoleonic faculty of never 'making pictures' to +himself, saw this fact in its literality, and acquiesced in it.</p> + +<p>He was a great favourite with the gaoler, whom, so long as he had the +command of his money, he had treated with a frank and convivial +magnificence, and who often sat up to one o'clock with him, and enjoyed +his stories prodigiously, for the sarcastic man of the world lost none +of his amusing qualities: and—the fatigues of his barren correspondence +ended—slept, and eat, and drank, pretty much as usual.</p> + +<p>This Giant Despair, who carried the keys at his girdle, did not often +get so swell a pilgrim into his castle, and was secretly flattered by +his familiarity, and cheered by his devilish gaiety, and was quite +willing to make rules bend a little, and the place as pleasant as +possible to his distinguished guest, and give him in fact, all his heart +could desire, except a chance of escape.</p> + +<p>'I've one move left—nothing very excellent—but sometimes, you know, a +scurvy card enough will win the trick. Between you and me, my good +friend, I have a thing to tell that 'twill oblige my Lord Dunoran very +much to hear. My Lord Townshend will want his vote. He means to prove +his peerage immediately and he may give a poor devil a lift, you +see—hey?</p> + +<p>So next day there came my Lord Dunoran and a magistrate, not Mr. +Lowe—Mr. Dangerfield professed a contempt for him, and preferred any +other. So it was Mr. Armstrong this time, and that is all I know of him.</p> + +<p>Lord Dunoran was more pale than usual; indeed he felt like to faint on +coming into the presence of the man who had made his life so +indescribably miserable, and throughout the interview he scarcely spoke +six sentences, and not one word of reproach. The villain was down. It +was enough.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dangerfield was, perhaps, a little excited. He talked more volubly +than usual, and once or twice there came a little flush over his pallid +forehead and temples. But, on the whole, he was very much the same +brisk, sardonic talker and polite gentleman whom Mr. Mervyn had so often +discoursed with in Chapelizod. On this occasion, his narrative ran on +uninterruptedly and easily, but full of horrors, like a satanic reverie.</p> + +<p>'Upon my honour, Sir,' said Paul Dangerfield, with his head erect, 'I +bear Mr. Lowe no ill-will. He is, you'll excuse me, a thief-catcher by +nature. He can't help it. He thinks he works from duty, public spirit, +and other fine influences; I know it is simply from an irrepressible +instinct. I do assure you, I never yet bore any man the least ill-will. +I've had to remove two or three, not because I hated them—I did not +care a button for any—but because their existence was incompatible with +my safety, which, Sir, is the first thing to me, as yours is to you. +Human laws we respect—ha, ha!—you and I, because they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> subserve our +convenience, and just so long. When they tend to our destruction, 'tis, +of course, another thing.'</p> + +<p>This, it must be allowed, was frank enough; there was no bargain here; +and what ever Mr. Dangerfield's plan might have been, it certainly did +not involve making terms with Lord Dunoran beforehand, or palliating or +disguising what he had done. So on he went.</p> + +<p>'I believe in luck, Sir, and there's the sum of my creed. I was wrong in +taking that money from Beauclerc <i>when</i> I did, 'twas in the midst of a +dismal run of ill-fortune. There was nothing unfair in taking it, +though. The man was a cheat. It was not really his, and no one could +tell to whom it belonged; 'twas no more his because I had found it in +his pocket than if I had found it in a barrel on the high seas. I killed +him to prevent his killing me. Precisely the same motive, though in your +case neither so reasonable nor so justifiable, as that on which, in the +name of justice, which means only the collective selfishness of my +fellow-creatures, you design in cool blood to put me publicly to death. +'Tis only that you, gentlemen, think it contributes to your safety. +That's the spirit of human laws. I applaud and I adopt it in my own +case. Pray, Sir' (to Mr. Armstrong), 'do me the honour to try this +snuff, 'tis real French rappee.</p> + +<p>'But, Sir, though I have had to do these things, which you or any other +man of nerve would do with a sufficient motive, I never hurt any man +without a necessity for it. My money I've made fairly, though in great +measure by play, and no man can say I ever promised that which I did not +perform. 'Tis quite true I killed Beauclerc in the manner described by +Irons. That was put upon me, and I could not help it. I did right. 'Tis +also true, I killed that scoundrel Glascock, as Irons related. Shortly +after, being in trouble about money and in danger of arrest, I went +abroad, and changed my name and disguised my person.</p> + +<p>'At Florence I was surprised to find a letter directed to Charles +Archer. You may suppose it was not agreeable. But, of course, I would +not claim it; and it went after all to him for whom it was intended. +There was actually there a Mr. Charles Archer, dying of a decline. Three +respectable English residents had made his acquaintance, knowing nothing +of him but that he was a sick countryman. When I learned all about it, +I, too, got an introduction to him; and when he died, I prevailed with +one of them to send a note signed by himself and two more to the London +lawyer who was pursuing me, simply stating that Charles Archer had died +in Florence, to their knowledge, they having seen him during his last +illness, and attended his funeral.</p> + +<p>'I told them that he had begged me to see this done, as family affairs +made it necessary; 'twas as well to use the event—and they did it +without difficulty. I do not know how the obituary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> announcement got +into the newspapers—it was not my doing—and naming him as the evidence +in the prosecution of my Lord Dunoran was a great risk, and challenged +contradiction, but none came. Sir Philip Drayton was one of the +signatures, and it satisfied the attorney.</p> + +<p>'When I came to Chapelizod, though, I soon found that the devil had not +done with me, and that I was like to have some more unpleasant work on +my hands. I did not know that Irons was above ground, nor he either that +I was living. We had wandered far enough asunder in the interval to make +the chances very many we should never meet again. Yet here we met, and I +knew him, and he me. But he's a nervous man, and whimsical.</p> + +<p>'He was afraid of me, and never used his secret to force money from me. +Still it was not pleasant. I did not know but that if I went away he +might tell it. I weighed the matter; 'tis true I thought there might +have come a necessity to deal with him; but I would not engage in +anything of the sort, without an absolute necessity. But Doctor Sturk +was different—a bull-headed, conceited fool. I thought I remembered his +face at Newmarket, and changed as it was, I was right, and learned all +about him from Irons. I saw his mind was at work on me, though he could +not find me out, and I could not well know what course a man like that +might take, or how much he might have seen or remembered. That was not +pleasant either.</p> + +<p>'I had taken a whim to marry; there's no need to mention names; but I +supposed I should have met no difficulty with the lady—relying on my +wealth. Had I married, I should have left the country.</p> + +<p>'However, it was not to be. It might have been well for all had I never +thought of it. For I'm a man who, when he once places an object before +him, will not give it up without trying. I can wait as well as strike, +and know what's to be got by one and t'other. Well, what I've once +proposed to myself I don't forego, and that helped to hold me where I +was.</p> + +<p>'The nature of the beast, Sturk, and his circumstances were dangerous. +'Twas necessary for my safety to make away with him. I tried it by +several ways. I made a quarrel between him and Toole, but somehow it +never came to a duel; and a worse one between him and Nutter, but that +too failed to come to a fight. It was to be, Sir, and my time had come. +What I long suspected arrived, and he told me in his own study he knew +me, and wanted money. The money didn't matter; of that I could spare +abundance, though 'tis the nature of such a tax to swell to +confiscation. But the man who gets a sixpence from you on such terms is +a tyrant and your master, and I can't brook slavery.</p> + +<p>'I owed the fellow no ill-will; upon my honour, as a gentleman; I +forgive him, as I hope he has forgiven me. It was all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> fair he should +try. We can't help our instincts. There's something wolfish in us all. I +was vexed at his d——d folly, though, and sorry to have to put him out +of the way. However, I saw I must be rid of him.</p> + +<p>'There was no immediate hurry. I could afford to wait a little. I +thought he would walk home on the night I met him. He had gone into town +in Colonel Strafford's carriage. It returned early in the afternoon +without him. I knew his habits; he dined at Keating's ordinary at four +o'clock; and Mercer, whom he had to speak with, would not see him, on +his bill of exchange business, in his counting-house. Sturk told me so; +and he must wait till half-past five at his lodgings. What he had to say +was satisfactory, and I allowed five minutes for that.</p> + +<p>'Then he might come home in a coach. But he was a close-fisted fellow +and loved a shilling; so it was probable he would walk. His usual path +was by the Star Fort, and through the thorn woods between that and the +Magazine. So I met him. I said I was for town, and asked him how he had +fared in his business; and turned with him, walking slowly as though to +hear. I had that loaded whalebone in my pocket, and my sword, but no +pistol. It was not the place for firearms; the noise would have made an +alarm. So I turned sharp upon him and felled him. He knew by an +intuition what was about to happen, for as the blow fell he yelled +"murder." That d——d fellow, Nutter, in the wood at our right, scarce a +hundred yards away, halloed in answer. I had but time to strike him two +blows on the top of his head that might have killed an ox. I felt the +metal sink at the second in his skull, and would have pinked him through +with my sword, but the fellow was close on me, and I thought I knew the +voice for Nutter's. I stole through the bushes swiftly, and got along +into the hollow under the Magazine, and thence on.</p> + +<p>'There was a slight fog upon the park, and I met no one. I got across +the park-wall, over the quarry, and so down by the stream at Coyles, and +on to the road near my house. No one was in sight, so I walked down to +Chapelizod to show myself. Near the village tree I met Dr. Toole. I +asked him if Nutter was in the club, and he said no—nor at home, he +believed, for his boy had seen him more than half-an-hour ago leave his +hall door, dressed for the road.</p> + +<p>'So I made as if disappointed, and turned back again, assured that +Nutter was the man. I was not easy, for I could not be sure that Sturk +was dead. Had I been allowed a second or two more, I'd have made sure +work of it. Still I was <i>nearly</i> sure. I could not go back now and +finish the business. I could not say whether he lay there any longer, +and if he did, how many men Nutter might have about him by this time. +So, Sir, the cast was made, I could not mend it, and must abide my +fortune be it good or ill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Not a servant saw me go out or return. I came in quietly, and went into +my bed-room and lighted a candle. 'Twas a blunder, a blot, but a +thousand to one it was not hit. I washed my hands. There was some blood +on the whalebone, and on my fingers. I rolled the loaded whalebone up in +a red handkerchief, and locked it into my chest of drawers, designing to +destroy it, which I did, so soon as the servants were in bed; and then I +felt a chill and a slight shiver;—'twas only that I was an older man. I +was cool enough, but a strain on the mind was more to me then than +twenty years before. So I drank a dram, and I heard a noise outside my +window. 'Twas then that stupid dog, Cluffe, saw me, as he swears.</p> + +<p>'Well, next day Sturk was brought home; Nutter was gone, and the +suspicion attached to him. That was well. But, though Pell pronounced +that he must die without recovering consciousness, and that the trepan +would kill him instantaneously, I had a profound misgiving that he might +recover speech and recollection. I wrote as exact a statement of the +case to my London physician—a very great man—as I could collect, and +had his answer, which agreed exactly with Doctor Pell's. 'Twas agreed on +all hands the trepan would be certain death. Days, weeks, or months—it +mattered not what the interval—no returning glimmer of memory could +light his death-bed. Still, Sir, I presaged evil. He was so long about +dying.</p> + +<p>'I'm telling you everything, you see. I offered Irons what would have +been a fortune to him—he was attending occasionally in Sturk's +sick-room, and assisting in dressing his wounds—to watch his +opportunity and smother him with a wet handkerchief. I would have done +it myself afterwards, on the sole opportunity that offered, had I not +been interrupted.</p> + +<p>'I engaged, with Mrs. Sturk's approval, Doctor Dillon. I promised him +five hundred guineas to trepan him. That young villain, I could prove, +bled Alderman Sherlock to death to please the alderman's young wife. +Who'd have thought the needy profligate would have hesitated to plunge +his trepan into the brain of a dying man—a corpse, you may say, +already—for five hundred guineas? I was growing feverish under the +protracted suspense. I was haunted by the apprehension of Sturk's +recovering his consciousness and speech, in which case I should have +been reduced to my present rueful situation; and I was resolved to end +that cursed uncertainty.</p> + +<p>'When I thought Dillon had forgot his appointment in his swinish vices, +I turned my mind another way. I resolved to leave Sturk to <i>nature</i>, and +clench the case against Nutter, by evidence I would have compelled Irons +to swear. As it turned out, <i>that</i> would have been the better way. Had +Sturk died without speaking, and Nutter hanged for his death, the +question could have opened no more, and Irons would have been nailed to +my interest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I viewed the problem every way. I saw the danger from the first, and +provided many expedients, which, one after the other, fortune +frustrated. I can't confidently say even now that it would have been +wiser to leave Sturk to die, as the doctors said he must. I had a +foreboding, in spite of all they could say, he would wake up before he +died and denounce me. If 'twas a mistake, 'twas a fated one, and I could +not help it.</p> + +<p>'So, Sir, you see I've nothing to blame myself for—though all has +broken down.</p> + +<p>'I guessed when I heard the sound at the hall-door of my house that +Sturk or Irons had spoken, and that they were come to take me. Had I +broken through them, I might have made my escape. It was long odds +against me, but still I had a chance—that's all. And the matter +affecting my Lord Dunoran's innocence, I'm ready to swear, if it can +serve his son—having been the undesigned cause of some misfortunes to +you, my lord, in my lifetime.'</p> + +<p>Lord Dunoran said nothing, he only bowed his head.</p> + +<p>So Dangerfield, when his statement respecting the murder of Beauclerc +had been placed clearly in writing, made oath of its truth, and +immediately when this was over (he had, while they were preparing the +statement, been walking up and down his flagged chamber), he grew all on +a sudden weak, and then very flushed, and they thought he was about to +take a fit; but speedily he recovered himself, and in five minutes' time +was much as he had been at the commencement.</p> + +<p>After my lord and Mr. Armstrong went away, he had the gaoler with him, +and seemed very sanguine about getting his pardon, and was very brisk +and chatty, and said he'd prepare his petition in the morning, and got +in large paper for drafting it on, and said, 'I suppose at the close of +this commission they will bring me up for judgment; that will be the day +after to-morrow, and I must have my petition ready.' And he talked away +like a man who had got a care off his mind, and is in high spirits; and +when grinning, beetle-browed Giant Despair shook his hand, and wished +him luck at parting, he stopped him, laying his white hand upon his +herculean arm, and, said he, 'I've a point to urge they don't suspect. +I'm sure of my liberty; what do you think of that—hey?' and he laughed. +'And when I get away what do you say to leaving this place and coming +after me? Upon my life, you must, Sir. I like you, and if you don't, rot +me, but I'll come and take you away myself.'</p> + +<p>So they parted in a sprightly, genial way; and in the morning the +turnkey called the gaoler up at an unseasonable hour, and told him that +Mr. Dangerfield was dead.</p> + +<p>The gaoler lay in the passage outside the prisoner's cell, with his bed +across the door, which was locked, and visited him at certain intervals. +The first time he went in there was nothing remarkable. It was but +half-an-hour after the gaoler had left.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> Mr. Dangerfield, for so he +chose to be called, was dozing very quietly in his bed, and just opened +his eyes, and nodded on awaking, as though he would say, 'Here I am,' +but did not speak.</p> + +<p>When, three hours later, the officer entered, having lighted his candle +at the lamp, he instantly recoiled. 'The room felt so queer,' said he, +'I thought I'd a fainted, and I drew back. I tried it again a bit +further in, and 'twas worse, and the candle almost went out—'twas as if +the devil was there. I drew back quick, and I called the prisoner, but +no word was there. Then I locks the door, and called Michael; and when +he came we called the prisoner again, but to no purpose. Then we opened +the door, and I made a rush, and smashed the glass of the window to let +in air. We had to wait outside a good while before we could venture in; +and when we did, there he was lying like a man asleep in his bed, with +his nightcap on, and his hand under his cheek, and he smiling down on +the flags, very sly, like a man who has won something cleverly. He was +dead, and his limbs cold by this time.'</p> + +<p>There was an inquest. Mr. Dangerfield 'looked very composed in death,' +says an old letter, and he lay 'very like sleep,' in his bed, 'his +fingers under his cheek and temple,' with the countenance turned 'a +little downward, as if looking upon something on the floor,' with an +'ironical smile;' so that the ineffaceable lines of sarcasm, I suppose, +were traceable upon that jaundiced mask.</p> + +<p>Some said it was a heart disease, and others an exhalation from the +prison floor. He was dead, that was all the jury could say for certain, +and they found 'twas 'by a visitation of God.' The gaoler, being a +superstitious fellow, was plaguily nervous about Mr. Dangerfield's +valediction, and took clerical advice upon it, and for several months +after became a very serious and ascetic character; and I do believe that +the words were spoken in reality with that sinister jocularity in which +his wit sported like church-yard meteors, when crimes and horrors were +most in his mind.</p> + +<p>The niece of this gaoler said she well remembered her uncle, when a very +old man, three years before the rebellion, relating that Mr. Dangerfield +came by his death in consequence of some charcoal in a warming pan he +had prevailed on him to allow him for his bed, he having complained of +cold. He got it with a design to make away with himself, and it was +forgotten in the room. He placed it under the bed, and waited until the +first call of the turnkey was over, and then he stuffed his surtout into +the flue of the small fire-place, which afforded the only ventilation of +his cell, and so was smothered. It was not till the winter following +that the gaoler discovered, on lighting a fire there, that the chimney +was stopped. He had a misgiving about the charcoal before, and now he +was certain. Of course, he said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> nothing about his suspicions at first, +nor of his discovery afterwards.</p> + +<p>So, sometimes in my musings, when I hear of clever young fellows taking +to wild courses, and audaciously rushing—where good Christians pray +they may not be led—into temptation, there rises before me, with +towering forehead and scoffing face, a white image smoking his pipe +grimly by a plutonic fire; and I remember the words of the son of +Sirach—'The knowledge of wickedness is not wisdom, neither at any time +the counsel of sinners prudence.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Irons, of course, left Chapelizod. He took with him the hundred +guineas which Mr. Dangerfield had given him, as also, it was said, a +handsome addition made to that fund by open-handed Dr. Walsingham; but +somehow, being much pressed for time, he forgot good Mistress Irons, who +remained behind and let lodgings pretty much as usual, and never heard +from that time forth anything very distinct about him; and latterly it +was thought was, on the whole, afraid rather than desirous of his +turning up again.</p> + +<p>Doctor Toole, indeed, related in his own fashion, at the Phœnix, some +years later, a rumour which, however, may have turned out to be no +better than smoke.</p> + +<p>'News of Zekiel, by Jove! The prophet was found, Sir, with a friend in +the neighbourhood of Hounslow, with a brace of pistols, a mask, a +handful of slugs, and a powder-horn in his pocket, which he first gave +to a constable, and then made his compliments to a justice o' the peace, +who gave him and his friend a note of commendation to my Lord Chief +Justice, and his lordship took such a fancy to both that, by George, he +sent them in a procession in his best one-horse coach, with a guard of +honour and a chaplain, the high-sheriff dutifully attending, through the +City, where, by the king's commands, they were invested with the grand +collar of the order of the hempen cravat, Sir, and with such an +attention to their comfort they were not required to descend from their +carriage, by George, and when it drove away they remained in an easy, +genteel posture, with their hands behind their backs, in a sort of an +ecstasy, and showed their good humour by dancing a reel together with +singular lightness and agility, and keeping it up till they were both +out of breath, when they remained quiet for about half an hour to cool, +and then went off to pay their respects to the President of the College +of Surgeons,' and so forth; but I don't think Irons had pluck for a +highwayman, and I can't, therefore, altogether, believe the story.</p> + +<p>We all know Aunt Rebecca pretty well by this time. And looking back upon +her rigorous treatment of Puddock, recorded in past chapters of this +tale, I think I can now refer it all to its true source.</p> + +<p>She was queer, quarrelsome, and sometimes nearly intolerable;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> but she +was generous and off-handed, and made a settlement, reserving only a +life interest, and nearly all afterwards to Puddock.</p> + +<p>'But in a marriage settlement,' said the attorney (so they called +themselves in those days), 'it is usual; and here his tone became so +gentle that I can't say positively what he uttered.'</p> + +<p>'Oh—a—<i>that</i>,' she said, 'a—well, you can speak to Lieutenant +Puddock, if you wish. I only say for myself a life estate; Lieutenant +Puddock can deal with the remainder as he pleases.' And Aunt Rebecca +actually blushed a pretty little pink blush. I believe she did not think +there was much practical utility in the attorney's suggestion, and if an +angel in her hearing had said of her what he once said of Sarah, she +would not have laughed indeed, but I think she would have shaken her +head.</p> + +<p>She was twenty years and upwards his senior; but I don't know which +survived the other, for in this life the battle is not always to the +strong.</p> + +<p>Their wedding was a very quiet affair, and the talk of the village was +soon directed from it to the approaching splendours of the union of Miss +Gertrude and my Lord Dunoran.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIX.</h2> + +<h4>THE STORY ENDS.</h4> + + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'T'" /></div><p>he old minutes of the Irish House of Lords can better explain than I +the parliamentary process by which all the consequences of the judgment +against the late Lord Dunoran were abrogated, as respected his son. An +ancient name rescued from the shadow of dishonour, and still greater +estates, made my lord and lady as happy as things can. So for the +recluse Mervyn, and the fair Gertrude Chattesworth, our story ends like +a fairy tale.</p> + +<p>A wedding in those days was a celebration and a feast; and it was deemed +fitting that the union of Gertrude Chattesworth and the youthful Lord +Dunoran should await the public vindication of his family, and the +authentic restoration of all their rights and possessions. On the eve of +this happy day, leaning on the youthful arm of kindly Dan Loftus, there +came a figure not seen there for many months before, very much changed, +grown, oh, how old! It was the good rector, who asked to see Miss +Gertrude.</p> + +<p>And so when he entered the room, she ran to meet him with a little cry; +and she threw her arms about his neck and sobbed a good deal on that +old, cassocked shoulder, and longed to ask him to let her be as a +daughter to him. But he understood her and, after a while, he wished her +joy, very kindly. And my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> Lord Dunoran came in, and was very glad to see +him, and very tender and reverent too; and the good doctor, as he could +not be at the wedding, wished to say a word 'on the eve of the great +change which my dear young friend—little Gertie, we used to call +her—is about to make.' And so he talked to them both. It was an +affectionate little homily, and went on something in this sort—</p> + +<p>'But I need not say how honourable an estate it is, only, my lord, you +will always remember your wooing is not over with your wedding. As you +did first choose your love, you must hereafter love your choice. In +Solomon's Song, the Redeemer the bridegroom, and the Church His spouse, +one calls the other "love," to show that though both did not honour +alike, yet both should love alike.</p> + +<p>'And always be kind, and the kinder the more her weakness needs it. +Elkanah says to his wife, "Am not I better unto thee than ten sons?" As +though he favoured her more for that which she thought herself despised. +So a good husband will not love his wife less, but comfort her more for +her infirmities, as this man did, that she may bear with his infirmities +too. And if she be jealous—ay, they will be jealous—'</p> + +<p>He spoke in a reverie, with a sad fond look, not a smile, but something +like a smile, and a little pensive shake of the head; he was thinking, +perhaps, of very old times. And 'my lord' glanced with a sly smile at +Gertrude, who was looking on the carpet with, I think, a blush, and I'm +sure saw my lord's glance seeking hers, but made as though she did not.</p> + +<p>'If she be jealous, her jealousy, you know, is still the measure of her +love. Bless God that he hath made thee to her so dear a treasure that +she cannot hide her fears and trouble lest she should lose even a +portion of thy love; and let thy heart thank <i>her</i> too.</p> + +<p>'And if the husband would reprove her, it must be in such a mood as if +he did chide with himself, and his words like Jonathan's arrows, which +were not shot to hurt but to give warning. She must have no words but +loving words from thee. She is come to thee as to a sanctuary to defend +her from hurt, and canst thou hurt her thyself? Does the king trample +his crown? Solomon calls the wife the crown of her husband; therefore, +he who despiseth her woundeth his own honour. I am resolved to honour +virtue in what sex soever I find it.'</p> + +<p>The doctor was speaking this like a soliloquy, slowly, and looking on +the floor.</p> + +<p>'And I think in general I shall find it more in women than in men.'</p> + +<p>Here the young people exchanged another smile, and the doctor looked up +and went on. 'Ay—though weaker and more infirmly guarded, I believe +they are better; for everyone is so much the better, by how much he +comes nearer to God; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span> man in nothing is more like him than in being +merciful. Yet woman is far more merciful than man. God is said to be +love; and I am sure in that quality woman everywhere transcends.'</p> + +<p>The doctor's serious discourses were a mosaic of old divines and +essayists, and Greek and Latin authors, as the writings of the Apostolic +Fathers are, in a great measure, a tesselation of holy writ. He assumed +that everybody knew where to find them. His business was only to repeat +the truth wherever gleaned. So I can't tell how much was the doctor's +and how much theirs.</p> + +<p>And when he had done upon this theme, and had risen to take leave, he +said in his gentle and simple way—</p> + +<p>'And I brought you a little present—a necklace and +ear-rings—old-fashioned, I'm afraid—they were my dear mother's +diamonds, and were to have been—'</p> + +<p>Here there was a little pause—they knew what was in his mind—and he +dried his eyes quickly.</p> + +<p>'And won't you take them, Gertie, for poor little Lily's keepsake? And +so—well, well—little Gerty—I taught you your catechism—dear, dear! +Little Gerty going to be married! And may God Almighty bless her to you, +and you to her, with length of days, and all goodness; and with +children, the inheritors of your fair forms, and all your graces, to +gladden your home with love and duty, and to close your eyes at last +with tender reverence; and to walk after you, when your time is over, in +the same happy and honourable paths.'</p> + +<p>Miss Gertrude was crying, and with two quick little steps she took his +knotted old hand, and kissed it fervently and said—</p> + +<p>'I thank you, Sir, you've always been so good to me; I wish I could tell +you—and won't you come to us, Sir, and see us very often—when we are +settled—and bring good Mr. Loftus, and dear old Sally; and thank you, +Sir, with all my heart, for your beautiful presents, and for your noble +advice, Sir, which I will never forget, and for your blessing, and I +wish I could show you how very much I love and reverence you.'</p> + +<p>And my Lord Dunoran, though he was smiling, looked as if he had been +crying too. But men, you know, don't like to be detected in that +weakness, though everybody knows there are moments when <i>bonus Homerus +dormitat</i>.</p> + +<p>Good Doctor Walsingham made Dan Loftus his curate. But when in the +course of time a day came when the old rector was to meet his +parishioners no more, and the parish was vacant, I do not hear that +honest Dan succeeded to it. Indeed I'm afraid that it needs sometimes a +spice of the devil, or at least of the world, to get on in the Church. +But Lord Dunoran took him with him on the embassage to Lisbon, and +afterwards he remained in his household as his domestic chaplain, much +beloved and respected. And there he had entire command of his +lordship's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> fine library, and compiled and composed, and did everything +but publish and marry.</p> + +<p>In due time the fair Magnolia made the amorous and formidable O'Flaherty +happy. Single blessedness was not for her, and it is due to her to say, +she turned out one of the best house-wives in Chapelizod, and made the +fireworker account for every shilling of his pay and other revenues, and +managed the commissariat and all other departments to admiration. She +cured her lord very nearly of boozing, and altogether of duelling. One +combat only he fought after his marriage, and it was rumoured that the +blooming Magnolia actually chastised the gigantic delinquent with her +own fair hand. That, however, I don't believe. But unquestionably she +did, in other ways, lead the contumacious warrior so miserable a life +for some months after that, as he averred to the major, with tears in +his eyes, it would have been 'more to his teeste to have been shot on +the occasion.' At first, of course, the fireworker showed fight, and +sometimes broke loose altogether; but in the end 'his mouth was made,' +his paces formed, and he became a very serviceable and willing animal. +But if she was strong she was also generous, and very popular for her +good nature and fearlessness. And they made a very happy, as well as a +comely couple. And many handsome children were nursed at her fair +breast, and drew many a Celtic virtue from that kindly fountain and one +of the finest grenadiers who lay in his red coat and sash within the +French lines on the field of Waterloo, in that great bivouac which knows +no <i>reveille</i> save the last trumpet, was a scion of that fine military +stock.</p> + +<p>At length came the day of the nuptials—a grand day for Belmont—a grand +day for the town. Half-a-dozen flags were up and floating in the +autumnal sun. The band of the Royal Irish Artillery played noble and +cheering strains upon the lawns of Belmont. There were pipers and +fiddlers beside for rustic merry-makers under the poplars. Barrels of +strong ale and sparkling cider were broached on the grass; and plenty of +substantial fare kept the knives and forks clattering under the marquees +by the hedgerow. The rude and hospitable feudalism of old times had not +died out yet; marriage being an honourable estate, the bride and +bridegroom did not steal away in a travelling carriage, trying to pass +for something else, to unknown regions, but remained courageously upon +the premises, the central figures of a genial gala.</p> + +<p>Need I describe the wedding? It always seems to me that I saw it, and +see it still, I've heard the old folk talk it over so often. The +reader's fancy will take that business off my hands. 'What's a play +without a marriage? and what is a marriage if one sees nothing of it?' +says Sir Roger in Gay's tragi-comic pastoral. 'Let him have his humour, +but set the doors wide open, that we may see how all goes on.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span></p> + +<p>(<i>Sir Roger at the door, pointing</i>.)</p> + +<p>'So natural! d'ye see now, neighbours? The ring, i'faith. To have and to +hold! Right again; well play'd, doctor; well play'd, son <i>Thomas</i>. Come, +come, I'm satisfied. Now for the fiddles and dances.'</p> + +<p>And so are we—now, then, for the fiddles and dances! And let those who +love to foot it keep it up—after sack-posset and stocking thrown—till +two o'clock i' the morning; and the elder folk, and such as are 'happy +thinking,' get home betimes; and smiling still, get to their beds; and +with hearty laughter—as it were mellowed by distance—still in their +ears, and the cheery scrape of the fiddle, all pervading, still humming +on; and the pleasant scuffle of light feet, and with kindly ancient +faces, and blushing young ones all round in airy portraiture; grinning, +roguish, faithful, fuddled old servants, beflowered and liveried, +pronouncing benedictions at the foot of the stairs, and pocketing their +vails; and buxom maids in their best Sunday finery, giggling and +staring, with eyes starting out of their heads, at the capering +'quality,', through the half-open doors; let us try to remember the +'sentiment' delivered by that ridiculous dog, Tom Toole, after supper, +at which we all laughed so heartily. And, ah! there were some pretty +faces that ought to have been there—faces that were pleasant to see, +but that won't smile or blush any more; and I missed them, though I said +nothing. And so, altogether, it went down among my pleasant +recollections, and I think will always remain so, for it was all kindly, +and had its root in the heart; and the affections were up and stirring, +and mixed in the dance with the graces, and shook hands kindly with old +father Bacchus; and so I pull my nightcap about my ears, drop the +extinguisher on the candle, and wish you all pleasant dreams.</p> + + +<h4>THE END<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span><br /><br /></h4> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<h3>JAMES DUFFY & CO.'S</h3> + + +<h3>Catalogue of Standard Works</h3> + +<h4>OF</h4> + +<h3><i>History, Amusement, and Instruction</i>.</h3> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + +<p><b>At ½d. 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Square l6mo.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Catherine Hall; or, the Deserted Child.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clare Costello; a True Story.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eva O'Beirne; or, the Little Lace Maker.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gerald O'Reilly; or, the Triumph of Principle.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Mary; or, the Child of Providence.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miles O'Donnell; or, a Story of a Life.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'Hara Blake; or, the Lost Heir.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rody O'Leary; or, the Outlaw.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bequest; or, All is not Gold that Glitters.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cousins; or, the Test of Friendship.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rose and the Lily; or, the Twin Sisters.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Two Friends; or, the Reward of Industry.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a><br /></span></p> + + + +<p><b>Duffy's Juvenile Library.</b> Paper Covers. 18mo.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Busy Peter.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cathleen.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fidelity Rewarded.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Alice.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Michael and his Dog.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Simple Sarah.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Two Friends.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Young Musicians.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Little Adventurer.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Little Drummer.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Two Boys.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White Lies.</span><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moore's Irish Melodies. People's Edition. Sewed.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Emmet Song Book. Sewed.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of William Orr. Sewed.</span><br /></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>At 2d. Each.</b></p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">City Man (The), and Cousin in the Third Degree. Sq. 16mo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little St. Agnes, and Frost Land. Sq. 16mo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosary of Pearl (The); or, the Ordeal by Touch. Sq. 16mo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True to the Last, and other Tales. Sq. 16mo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and Poems of Charles J. Kickham. Sewed.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>At 6d. Each.</b></p> + +<p><b>Schmid (Canon), Works by</b>—Post 8vo, cloth.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Inundation of the Rhine, and Clara.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lewis, the Little Emigrant.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Easter Eggs, and Forget-me-not.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cakes, and the Old Castle.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hop Blossoms.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christmas Eve.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Carrier Pigeon, the Bird's Nest, etc.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Jewels, and the Redbreast.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Copper Coins and Gold Coins, etc.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cray-Fish, the Melon, the Nightingale.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fire, and the Best Inheritance.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry of Eichenfels; or, the Kidnapped Boy.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Godfrey, the Little Hermit.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Water Pitcher, and the Wooden Cross.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rose Bush, and the Forest Chapel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lamb.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Madonna, the Cherries, and Anselmo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Canary Bird, the Firefly, the Chapel of Wolfsbuhl, and</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Titus and his Family.</span><br /><br /> +</p> + + +<p><b>Gerald Griffin, Works by</b>—16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Kelp Gatherer, a Tale.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Day of Trial.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Voluptuary Cured.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Young Milesian.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Beautiful Queen of Leix.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Story of Psyche.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Knight without Reproach.</span><br /><br /> +</p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Altar at Woodbank; a Tale of Holy Eucharist. By Mrs.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Agnew. Royal l6mo, cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art MacMurrogh, Memoir and Life. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art Maguire; or, the Broken Pledge. "</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Captive Mother; a Tale of Confirmation. By Mrs. Agnew.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Royal l6mo, cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Davis's Literary and Historical Essays. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Emily Sunderland; a Tale of Matrimony. Ryl. l6mo, cl. limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Emmet, Robert: his Birthplace and Burial. Sewed.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eve of St. Michael; a Tale of Penance. By Mrs. Agnew.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Royal, l6mo, cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faversham Grange; or, the Daughter of the Piscatori.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Sunrise to Sunrise; or, Christmas in the Olden Time.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fun—Humour—Laughter—to while away an hour on a Journey.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gerald Griffin. His Life and Poems. By John Power.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail Mary; or, the Beauties of the Angelical Salutation.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l6mo, cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heir of Rochdale; a Tale of Baptism. By Mrs. Agnew. Royal</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l6mo, cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Historical Notes on the Services of the Irish Officers in the</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">French Army. Paper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of the Irish Volunteers, 1782. 18mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of the "Protestant" Reformation. By Cobbett. Post</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">8vo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holy and Blessed Children, Legends for Children. Paper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Into the Sunlight. Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knight of Clyffe Abbey; a Tale of Extreme Unction.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By Mrs. Agnew.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and Times of Hugh O'Neill. By John Mitchel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of O'Connell. By Canon O'Rourke. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of the Venerable Joan of Arc. Imp. 32mo, cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mangan's Essays, in Prose and Verse. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mangan's German Anthology. 2 vols., wrapper, each 6d.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May Eve; or, the Lost Sheep restored to the Fold.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l6mo, cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mary Anne O'Halloran. l6mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memoir of Cardinal M'Cabe, Archbishop of Dublin.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moore's Irish Melodies. Royal 32mo, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">National Ballads, Songs, and Poems. By Thomas Davis.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'Connell's Memoir on Ireland, Native and Saxon. 18mo, wpr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Snow Clad Heights. Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paddy Blake's Sojourn among the Soupers. Wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paddy Go Easy and His Wife Nancy. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Penalty of a Crime. Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Priest of Northumbria; a Tale of Holy Orders.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mrs. Agnew. Royal 16mo, cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Redmond Count O'Hanlon. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rody the Rover. l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tales for the Young. Cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ballad Poetry of Ireland. By C. C. Duffy. 42nd Edition.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Book of Irish Ballads. By Denis Florence MacCarthy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poor Scholar, and other Tales. By William Carleton.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Queen of Italy. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Golden Pheasant. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Dying Woodcutter 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Danger of Ignorance. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Red Well, and other Tales. 18mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Songs of Ireland. By Michael J. Barry. l8mo, wpr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Spirit of the Nation. New and Revised Ed. 18mo, wpr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The White Hen; an Irish Fairy Tale. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thomasine's Poems. 18mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry. By W. Carleton.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Valentine Redmond; or, the Cross of the Forest. l6mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Voyage autour de ma Chambre. By Count X. de Maestre.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wonderful Doctor (The). An Easter Tale. Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>At 1s. Each.</b></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adventures of Mr. Moses Finegan, an Irish Pervert. 18mo, cl.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All for Prince Charlie. By Miss E. M. Stewart. Square l6mo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Memoir on Ireland. By the late Daniel O'Connell, M.P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Antonio; or, the Orphan of Florence. Cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art MacMurrogh. By Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ballad Poetry of Ireland. By Sir Charles Gavan Duffy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bird's Eye View of Irish History. By Sir Charles G. Duffy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wrapper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Book of Irish Ballads. By Denis F. M'Carthy, M.R.I.A.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span><br /></p> + + +<p><b>Carleton, Works by</b>—18mo, cloth.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paddy Go Easy and his Wife Nancy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Redmond Count O'Hanlon.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art Maguire; or, the Broken Pledge.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rody the Rover; or, the Ribbonman.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poor Scholar, and other Tales.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Red Well. Party Fight.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry.</span><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cobbett's History of the "Protestant" Reformation.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Colleen Bawn: A Tale of Garryowen. Paper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daughter of Tyrconnell (The). By Mrs. Sadlier.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Square 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dillon's Historical Notes on Irish Officers in the French Army.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Erin Quintiana; or, Dublin Castle and the Irish Parliament,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">1767-1772. Paper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Essay on the Antiquity and Constitution of Parliaments in</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ireland. By H. J. Monck Mason. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Extraordinary Adventures of a Watch. Square 16mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fairy Minstrel of Glenmalure. By E. Leamy. Boards.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fate of Father Sheehy (The). Cap. 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ferdinand; or, the Triumph of Filial Love. By Fr. Charles.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sq. l6mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Florestine; or, Unexpected Joy. Square 16mo, cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Franciscan Monasteries. By Rev. C. P. Meehan. Ptd. Cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frederic; or, the Hermit of Mount Atlas. Cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fridolin and Dietrich. By Canon Schmid. Cap. 8vo,. cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Genevieve of Brabant. By Canon Schmid. Sq. 16mo, cl., gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Geraldines (The). By Rev. C. P. Meehan. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gerald Marsdale; or, the Out-Quarters of St. Andrew. 8vo, cl.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden Pheasant, and other Tales. Sq. l6mo, cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Day (The); or, Means of Perseverance after First Communion.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By Mrs. J. Sadlier. Cap. 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Griffin (Gerald). Life and Works. 10 vols., pictorial cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(See List in 2s. Series).</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of Ireland. By J. O'Neill Daunt, Esq. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ireland Since the Union. By J. O'Neill Daunt. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Irish Songs (Ten), Set to Music by Professor Glover. 4to, wpr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kelp Gatherer, Day of Trial, Voluptuary Cured. Cloth, gilt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leo; or, the Choice of a Friend. Sq. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and Letters of John Martin. By the Author of the Life of</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Mitchel. l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life and Scenery in Missouri. By a Missionary Priest.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of Hugh O'Neill. By John Mitchel. l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of John Mitchel. By P. A. S. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of Robert Emmet. Illustrated, boards.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of Thomas Moore. By James Burke, Esq. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lights and Leaders of Irish Life. Boards.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Literary and Historical Essays. By Thomas Davis. l8mo, cl.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little Wanderers. By Miss E. M. Stewart. Post 8vo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">cloth, limp.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost Genevieve. By Cecilia Mary Caddell. Sq. 16mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">MacNevin—The History of the Irish Volunteers of 1782.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madden (Dr.), Literary Remains of the United Irishmen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">1798. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mangan (J. C.) Essays in Prose and Verse. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mangan (J. C.) German Anthology. 2 vols., 1s. each.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Martha; or, the Hospital Sister. Sq. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mary Anne O'Halloran, White Hen, etc. Cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Square 16mo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mellifont Abbey: Its Ruins and Associations. Illustrated.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Paper.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memories of the Irish Franciscans. By J. F. O'Donnell.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moore's Irish Melodies and National Airs. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">National Ballads. By Thomas Davis, M.R.I.A. l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nettlethorpe; or, the London Miser. By Brother James. Sq.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l6mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Marquise (An). By Vin. Vincent. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise and Fall of the Irish Nation. By Sir Jonah Barrington.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">8vo, boards.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rory of the Hills, a Tale of Irish Life. Post 8vo, boards.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosary (The) of Pearl, and Six other Tales. By Miss E. M.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stewart. Sq. l6mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">School and Home Song Book, Tonic Sol-Fa Edition. By P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goodman. Cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Songs of Ireland. By Michael J. Barry, Esq., B.L. l8mo, cl.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches of The Rt. Hon. Edmund Burke. Cr. 8vo, ptd. cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches of The Rt. Hon. John P. Curran. Cr. 8vo, ptd. cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches of The Rt. Hon. Henry Grattan. Cr. 8vo, ptd. cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches of Daniel O'Connell, 2 vols. Cr. 8vo, ptd. cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches of The Rt. Hon. Lord Plunket. Cr. 8vo, ptd. cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speeches of The Rt. Hon. Richard Lalor Sheil Cr. 8vo, ptd. cover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spirit of the Nation. New and Revised Edition. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The False Friend. By Brother James. Sq. l6mo, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Hamiltons; or, Sunshine and Storm. Sq. l6mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Life of O'Connell. By V. Rev. John Canon O'Rourke,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">l8mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Orange Girl. By Lady C. Thynne. Sq. l6mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Partners; or, Fair and Easy goes Far in the Day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By Brother James. Cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Shipwreck; or, the Deserted Island. Sq. 16mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Solitary of Mount Carmel. Sq. 16mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Young Crusader; a Catholic Tale. Sq. 16mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thomasine's" Poems—Wild Flowers from the Wayside. With an</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction by Sir Charles Gavan Duffy. 18mo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Valentine Redmond, and other Tales. Sq. 16mo, cl., gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watch and Hope. By Miss O'Neill Daunt. Sq. 16mo, cloth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young Milesian, Beautiful Queen of Leix, and Story of Psyche.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Square l6mo, cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span><br /></p> + + +<p><b>Foolscap 8vo Series., Cloth.</b></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coaina, the Rose of the Algonquins. By Mrs. Anna H. Dorsey.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father Rowland, a North American Tale..</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flower Basket. By Canon Schmid.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Geoffrey of Killingworth; or, the Grey Friar's Legacy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life of St. Columba, or Columbkille. By Saint Adamnan.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Grey Rosary. The Refuge of Sinners, By Mrs. A. 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An American Tale of Real-Life.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Boards.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>At 2s. 6d. Each.</b></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ailey Moore. By R. P. O'Brien, D.D. 3rd Ed. Cap. 8vo, cl.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banim's Boyne Water. Cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banim's The Peep o' Day, or John Doe; and Crohoore of the</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bill-hook. Cloth, plain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banim's The Croppy; a Tale of the Irish Rebellion 1798. Cloth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">plain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black Baronet. By William Carleton. Cloth, plain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brother James' Tales, with Illustrations. 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Cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carleton's Black Baronet; or, the Chronicles of Ballytrain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carleton's Valentine M'Clutchy, the Irish Agent. Post 8vo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carleton's Willy Reilly, and his dear Colleen Bawn. Post 8vo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Catholic Souvenir (The); or, Tales Explanatory of the Sacraments.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By Mrs. Agnew. Sq. 8vo, cl., bevelled, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">D'Altons of Crag (The). By Dean O'Brien. Cap. 8vo, cloth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Governments in Ireland. By Wm. Field, M.P. 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Cap. 8vo, fancy cloth, bevelled, gilt edges.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauties of Nature (The), and other Lectures, etc. By J. J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'Dea, B.A. Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carroll O'Donoghue, a Tale of the Irish Struggles of 1866,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and of Recent Times. Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Catholic Keepsake. By Canon Schmid. Cloth, extra gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Post 8vo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Catholic Tales. By Canon Schmid. In one large vol.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Centenary Edition—O'Connell's Select Speeches. 2 vols. in</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">one, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haverty's History of Ireland. Abridged. New Edition. 12mo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">half-bound.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knocknagow; or, the Homes of Tipperary. By C. J. Kickham.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Post 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mangan—The Poets and Poetry of Munster, with Original</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Music. By James Clarence Mangan. Cloth, extra gilt.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">St. Martha's Home. By Miss Emily Bowles. Post 8vo, cl., gilt.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>At 5s. Each.</b></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ancient History, from the Creation to Fall of Western Empire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">in A.D. 476. With Maps and Plans. By A. J. B. 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Matthew Kelly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">S.J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ecclesiastical History of Ireland. By Rev. M. J. Brenan, O.S.F.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">8vo, cloth, extra.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of the Catholic Archbishops of Dublin since the Reformation.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By His Eminence Cardinal Moran. Vol. I.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(all published). 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life, Times, and Correspondence of the Right Rev. Dr. Doyle</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(J. K. L.), Bishop of Kildare and Leighlin. By W. J. Fitzpatrick,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">M.R.I.A. New edition, 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moore's Melodies. Edited by Professor Glover. 4to, with</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Music. Cloth.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>At 10s. Each.</b></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Griffin's (Gerald) Works. 10 vols., 1s. each.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of Sligo. By Very Rev. T. O'Rorke, D.D. 2 vols.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">demy 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Malone.—Church History of Ireland. By Sylvester Malone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">P.P., M.R.I.A. Third edition, 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'Reilly and O'Donovan's Irish-English Dictionary. 4to.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Songs of our Land, the Spirit of the Nation, with Music. New</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">edition. Cloth, gilt edges.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><b>MISCELLANEOUS LIST.</b></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Butler's Lives of the Saints. 12 vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 30s.;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Half calf, 36s.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">History of the Great Irish Famine, 1847. By Rev. John</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'Rourke, M.R.I.A. Cloth, 4s.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Irish Landed Gentry when Cromwell came to Ireland. By John</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'Hart. Demy 8vo, cloth, 12s. 6d.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Irish Pedigrees; Origin and Stem of the Irish Nation. By J.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'Hart. 2 vols., 25s.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madden (Dr.), Easter Offering. l6mo, gilt edges, 8d.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">M'Hale's First Eight Books of Homer's Iliad translated into</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Irish. 8vo, 20s.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moore's Irish Melodies, with Symphonies and Accompaniments,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">by Sir John Stevenson. Edited by Prof. Glover. Music</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">size, morocco, extra gilt, 21s.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Orators of Ireland. 7 vols. Half morocco, gilt, 42s.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Orators of Ireland. 7 vols. Half calf, 31s. 6d.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Songs of our Land, the Spirit of the Nation. 4to. With Music.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">New Edition, morocco, 21s.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span></p> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<h4>James Duffy & Co., Ltd., 15 Wellington Quay, Dublin.</h4> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>CATHOLIC ART REPOSITORY.</h3> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>A VARIED ASSORTMENT</h4> + +<h5>OF</h5> + +<p class='center'>STATUARY, HOLY WATER FONTS, VASES, CRUETS<br /> +ORATORY LAMPS, WICKS, TAPERS, FLOATS,<br /> +CHURCH CANDLES, BRASS WORK.</p> + + +<p class='center'>STATIONS OF THE HOLY WAY OF THE CROSS,<br />framed and unframed, at prices +from 10s. to £100.</p> + + +<p class='center'>ENGRAVINGS, OLEOGRAPHS, AND CHROMOS,<br /> Chiefly of Sacred Subjects.</p> + +<p class='center'>CRUCIFIXES, SCAPULARS, MEDALS, LACE PRINTS ROSARIES,<br />Plain and Silver +Mounted.</p> + +<p class='center'>ALTAR CHARTS, in Sheets, Mounted and Framed.</p> + +<p class='center'>XMAS. CARDS, BIRTHDAY AND FEAST CARDS.</p> + +<p class='center'>IN MEMORIAM AND MORTUARY CARDS,<br />Newest styles in great variety. Patterns +sent Post Free.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>FRAGRANT INCENSE</h4> + +<p class='center'>FOR THE USE OF THE ALTAR,</p> + +<p class='center'>AND PREPARED CHARCOAL.</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary="PRICE LIST FOR INCENSE"> +<tr><td align='left'>No.</td><td align='left'>4.</td><td align='left'>Fine Quality,</td><td align='left'>in Tin Packages of</td><td align='left'>1 lb.</td><td align='left'>2s.</td><td align='left'>6d.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>"</td><td align='left'>3.</td><td align='left'>Superior Quality,</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>1 lb.</td><td align='left'>4s.</td><td align='left'>0d.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>"</td><td align='left'>2.</td><td align='center'>Do.</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>1 lb.</td><td align='left'>5s.</td><td align='left'>0d.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>"</td><td align='left'>1.</td><td align='center'>Do.</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>1 lb.</td><td align='left'>7s.</td><td align='left'>6d.</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="6" align='center'>Prepared Charcoal, 1s. per lb.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p class='center'>JAMES DUFFY AND CO., LTD.,<br /> +15 WELLINGTON QUAY, DUBLIN.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span></p> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 17769-h.txt or 17769-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/7/6/17769">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/7/6/17769</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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