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.’
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.
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.
‘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.’
‘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.
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.
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.
CONCERNING A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN, WITH A BLACK PATCH
OVER HIS EYE, WHO MADE SOME VISITS WITH A LADY, IN
CHAPELIZOD AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.
In 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.
