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.

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 Walsingham; but Sturk had lately, in one of his imperious freaks of temper, withdrawn his children from the good doctor’s catechetical class, and sent him besides, one of his sturdy, impertinent notes—­and the poor little woman concluded there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.

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.  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.

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.

’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, L40.  Why, then, he owes a whole year’s rent, L40, Ma’am.  September, and his days of grace have expired.  He ought to have paid it.’

Here there came a dreadful pause, during which nothing was heard but the sharp ticking of his watch on the table.

‘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.’

Poor little Mrs. Sturk jumped up in an ecstasy, and then felt quite sick, and sat down almost fainting, with a deathlike smile.

’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.’