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 aerial 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.