made up.  Charles Archer, wherever he is, will not like my going—­he’ll sniff danger in the wind, Sir.  I could not stay—­he’d have had me—­you see, body and soul.  ’Twas time for me to go—­and go or stay, I see nothing but bad before me.  ’Twas an evil day I ever saw his face; and ’twould be better for me to have a cast for my life at any rate, and that I’m nigh-hand resolved on; only you see my heart misgives me—­and that’s how it is.  I can’t quite make up my mind.’

For a little while Mervyn stood in an agony of irresolution.  I’m sure I cannot understand all he felt, having never been, thank Heaven! in a like situation.  I only know how much depended on it, and I don’t wonder that for some seconds he thought of arresting that lank, pale, sinister figure by the fire, and denouncing him as, by his own confession, an accessory to the murder of Beauclerc.  The thought that he would slip through his fingers, and the clue to vindication, fortune, and happiness, be for ever lost, was altogether so dreadful that we must excuse his forgetting for a moment his promise, and dismissing patience, and even policy, from his thoughts.

But ’twas a transitory temptation only, and common sense seconded honour.  For he was persuaded that whatever likelihood there was of leading Irons to the critical point, there was none of driving him thither; and that Irons, once restive and impracticable, all his hopes would fall to the ground.

‘I am going,’ said Irons, with quiet abruptness; ’and right glad the storm’s up still,’ he added, in a haggard rumination, and with a strange smile of suffering.  ‘In dark an’ storm—­curse him!—­I see his face everywhere.  I don’t know how he’s got this hold over me,’ and he cursed him again and groaned dismally.  ’A night like this is my chance—­and so here goes.’

‘Remember, for Heaven’s sake, remember,’ said Mervyn, with agonised urgency, as he followed him with a light along the passage to the back-door.

Irons made no answer; and walking straight on, without turning his head, only lifted his hand with a movement backward, like a man who silently warns another from danger.

So Irons went forth into the night and the roaring storm, dark and alone, like an evil spirit into desert places; and Mervyn barred the door after him, and returned to the cedar parlour, and remained there alone and long in profound and not unnatural agitation.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

CONCERNING A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN, WITH A BLACK PATCH OVER HIS EYE, WHO MADE SOME VISITS WITH A LADY, IN CHAPELIZOD AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

In the morning, though the wind had somewhat gone down, ’twas still dismal and wild enough; and to the consternation of poor Mrs. Macnamara, as she sat alone in her window after breakfast, Miss Mag and the major being both abroad, a hackney coach drew up at the door, which stood open.  The maid was on the step, cheapening fish with a virulent lady who had a sieve-full to dispose of.