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.’