LITMIR.BIZ

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I give him, sufficiently satisfactory, of my reasons for going out? How would my mother feel, with all her aristocratic prejudices, when she heard of the society where the affair originated, when some glowing description of the Rooneys should reach her? and this some kind friend or other was certain to undertake. And, worse than all, Lady Julia, my high-born cousin, whose beauty and sarcasm had inspired me with a mixture of admiration and dread – how should I ever bear the satirical turn she would give the whole affair? Her malice would be increased by the fact that a young and pretty girl was mixed up in it; for somehow, I must confess, a kind of half-flirtation had always subsisted between my cousin and me. Her beauty, her wit, her fascinating manner, rendered me at times over head and ears in love with her; while, at others, the indifference of her manner towards me, or, still worse, the ridicule to which she exposed me, would break the spell and dissipate the enchantment.

      Thoughts like these were far from assuring me, and contributed but little towards that confidence in myself I stood so much in need of. And, again, what if I were to fall? As this thought settled on my mind, I resolved to write home. Not to my father, however: I felt a kind of constraint about unburdening myself to him at such a moment. My mother was equally out of the question; in fact, a letter to her could only be an apologetic narrative of my life in Ireland – softening down what she would call the atrocities of my associates, and giving a kind of Rembrandt tint to the Rooneys, which might conceal the more vivid colouring of their vulgarity. At such a moment I had no heart for this: such trifling would ill suit me now. To Lady Julia, then, I determined to write: she knew me well. Besides, I felt that, when I was no more, the kindliness of her nature would prevail, and she would remember me but as the little lover that brought her bouquets from the conservatory; who wrote letters to her from Eton; who wore her picture round his neck at Sandhurst, and, by-the-bye, that picture I had still in my possession: this was the time to restore it. I opened my writing-desk and took it out. It was a strange love-gift, painted when she was barely ten years old. It represented a very lovely child, with blue eyes, and a singular regularity of feature, like a Grecian statue. The intensity of look that after years developed more fully, and the slight curl of the lip that betrayed the incipient spirit of mockery, were both there; still was she very beautiful I placed the miniature before me and fixed my eyes upon it. Carried away by the illusion of the moment, I burst into a rhapsody of proffered affection, while I vindicated myself against any imputation my intimacy with Miss Bellew might give rise to. As I proceeded, however, I discovered that my pleading scarce established my innocence even to myself; so I turned away, and once more sat down moodily before the fire.

      The Castle clock struck two. I started up, somewhat ashamed of myself at not having complied with O’Grady’s advice, and at once threw myself on my bed, and fell sound asleep. Some confused impression upon my mind of a threatened calamity gave a gloomy character to all my dreams, and more than once I awoke with a sudden start and looked about me. The flickering and uncertain glare of the dying embers threw strange goblin shapes upon the wall and on the old oak floor. The window-curtains waved mournfully to and fro, as the sighing night wind pierced the openings of the worn casements, adding, by some unknown sympathy, to my gloom and depression; and although I quickly rallied myself from these foolish fancies, and again sank into slumber, it was always again to wake with the same unpleasant impressions, and with the same sights and sounds about me. Towards morning, however, I fell into a deep, unbroken sleep, from which I was awakened by the noise of some one rudely drawing my curtains. I looked up, as I rubbed my eyes: it was Corny Delany, who, with a mahogany box under his arm, and a little bag in his hand, stood eyeing me with a look, in which his habitual ill-temper was dashed with a slight mixture of scorn and pity.

      ‘So you are awake at last!’ said he; ‘‘faith, and you sleep sound, and’ – this he muttered between his teeth – ‘and maybe it’s sounder you’ll sleep to-morrow night! The Captain bid me call you at seven o’clock, and it’s near eight now. That blaguard of a servant of yours wouldn’t get up to open the door till I made a cry of fire outside, and puffed a few mouthfuls of smoke through the keyhole!’

      ‘Well done, Corny! But where’s the Captain?’ ‘Where is he? Sorrow one o’me knows! Maybe at the watch-house, maybe in George’s Street barrack, maybe in the streets, maybe – Och, troth! there’s many a place he might be, and good enough for him any of them. Them’s the tools, well oiled; I put flints in them.’

      ‘And what have you got in the bag, Corny?’

      ‘Maybe you’ll see time enough. It’s the lint, the sticking-plaster and the bandages, and the turn-an’-twist.’ This, be it known, was the Delany for tourniquet. ‘And, ‘faith, it’s a queer use to put the same bag to; his honour the judge had it made to carry his notes in. Ugh, ugh, ugh! a bloody little bag it always was! Many’s the time I seen the poor craytures in the dock have to hould on by the spikes, when they’d see him put his hands in it! It’s not lucky, the same bag! Will you have some brandy-and-water, and a bit of dry toast? It’s what the Captain always gives them the first time they go out. When they’re used to it, a cup of chocolate with a spoonful of whisky is a fine thing for the hand.’

      I could scarce restrain a smile at the notion of dieting a man for a duel, though, I confess, there seemed something excessively bloodthirsty about it. However, resolved to give Corny a favourable impression of my coolness, I said, ‘Let me have the chocolate and a couple of eggs.’

      He gave a grin a demon might have envied, as he muttered to himself, ‘He wants to try and die game, ugh, ugh!’ With these words he waddled out of the room to prepare my breakfast, his alacrity certainly increased by the circumstance in which he was employed.

      No sooner was I alone than I opened the pistol-case to examine the weapons. They were, doubtless, good ones; but a ruder, more ill-fashioned, clumsy pair it would be impossible to conceive. The stock, which extended nearly to the end of the barrel, was notched with grooves for the fingers to fit in, the whole terminating in an uncouth knob, inlaid with small pieces of silver, which at first I imagined were purely ornamental On looking closer, however, I perceived that each of them contained a name and a date, with an ominous phrase beneath, which ran thus: ‘Killed!‘or thus: ‘Wounded!’

      ‘Egad,’ thought I, ‘they are certainly the coolest people in the world in this island, and have the strangest notions withal of cheering a man’s courage!’

      It was growing late, meanwhile; so that without further loss of time I sprang out of bed, and set about dressing, huddling my papers and Julia’s portrait into my writing-desk. I threw into the fire a few letters, and was looking about my room lest anything should have escaped me, when suddenly the quick movement of horses’ feet on the pavement beneath drew me to the window. As I looked out, I could just catch a glimpse of O’Grady’s figure as he sprang from a high tandem; I then heard his foot as he mounted the stairs, and the next moment he was knocking at my door. ‘Holloa!’ cried he, ‘by Jove, I have had a night of it! Help me off with the coat, Jack, and order breakfast, with any number of mutton-chops you please; I never felt so voracious in my life. Early rising must be a bad thing for the health, if it makes a man’s appetite so painful.’

      While I was giving my necessary directions, O’Grady stirred up the fire, drew his chair close to it, and planting his feet upon the fender, and expanding his hands before the blaze, called out —

      ‘Yes, yes, quite right – cold ham and a devilled drumstick by all means; the mulled claret must have nothing but cloves and a slice of pine-apple in it; and, mind, don’t let them fry the kidneys in champagne; they are fifty times better in moselle: we’ll have the champagne au naturel, There, now, shut the door; there’s a confounded current of air comes up that cold staircase. So, come over, my boy; let me give you all the news, and to begin: —

      ‘After I parted with you, I went over to De Vere’s quarters, and heard that he had just changed his clothes and driven over to Clare Street. I followed immediately; but, as ill-luck would have it, he left that just five minutes before, with Watson of the Fifth, who lives in one of the hotels near. This, you know, looked like business; and, as they told me they were to be back in half an hour, I cut into a rubber of whist with Darcy and the rest of them, where, what between losing heavily, and waiting for those fellows, I never got up till half-past four; when I did, it was minus Paul’s cheque, all the loose

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