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.
And 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:--
'A star so High,
In my sad sky,
I've early loved and late:
A clear lone star,
Serene and far,
Doth rule my wayward fate.
'Tho' dark and chill
The night be still,
A light comes up for me:
In eastern skies
My star doth rise,
And fortune dawns for me.
'And proud and bold,
My way I hold;
For o'er me high I see,
In night's deep blue,
My star shine true,
And fortune beams on me.
'Now onward still,
Thro' dark and chill,
My lonely way must be;
In vain regret,
My star will set,
And fortune's dark for me.
'And whether glad,
Or proud, or sad,
Or howsoe'er I be;
In dawn or noon,
Or setting soon,
My star, I'll follow thee.'
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.
'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. _Drink_, will you?--ay--I'll give you a draught--a draught
of _air_ will cool you. Drink to your heart's content.'
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.
'Hey--hey--hey! holloo!' cried the doctor, out of breath, and with his
artificial ringlets frisking about his chops and eyes.
'Out, sorcerer--temptation, begone--avaunt, Mephistopheles--cauldron,
away!' thundered the captain; and sure enough, from the open window,
through the icy sleet, whirled the jovial bowl; and the jingle of the
china was heard faint through the tempest.
Toole was swearing, in the whirlwind and darkness, like a trooper.
'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.'
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.
'The fellow's brain's disordered--_delirium tremens_, 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--
'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.'
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.
An hour later, Devereux being alone, called to Mrs. Irons, and receiving
her with a courteous gravity, he said--
'Madam, will you be so good as to lend me your Bible?'
Devereux was prosecuting his reformation, which, as the reader sees, had
set in rather tempestuously, but was now settling in serenity and calm.
Mrs. Irons only said--
'My----?' and then paused, doubting her ears.
'Your _Bible_, if you please, Madam.'
'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 _thank_ 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, 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.'
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--
'I thank you, Madam; 'tis no matter. I wish you a good-night, Madam;'
and the door closed.
'No Bible!' said Devereux, 'the old witch!'
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.
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.
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.
So soon as she came a little to herself, and saw him coolly buttoning
his leggings at the bedside, his buckles being adjusted 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.
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.
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.
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.