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 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.

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.

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.

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 Phoenix, to answer the cronies there assembled, who had seen him emerge from the murdered man’s house.