‘Ah, Devereux, you’re very quick with me,’ said Puddock, placing his plump little hand on Devereux’s arm, and looking very gently and gravely in his face.

Devereux laid his hand upon Puddock’s collar with an agitated sort of sneer.  But he recollected himself, and that diabolical gloom faded from his face, and he looked more like himself, and slid his cold hand silently into little Puddock’s; and so they stood for a while, by the door-step, to the admiration of Mrs. Irons—­whom Devereux’s high tones had called to her window.

’Puddock, I don’t think I’m well, and I don’t know quite what I’ve been saying.  I ask your pardon.  You’ve always been very good to me, Puddock.  I believe—­I believe you’re the only friend I have, and—­Puddock, you won’t leave me.’

So up stairs they went together; and Mrs. Irons, from what she had overheard, considered herself justified in saying, that ’Captain Devereux was for drowning himself in the Liffey, and would have done so only for Lieutenant Puddock.’  And so the report was set a-going round the garrulous town of Chapelizod.

As Mr. Dangerfield glided rapidly along the silent road towards the Brass Castle, the little gate of his now leafless flower-garden being already in sight, he saw a dark figure awaiting him under the bushes which overhung it.  It was Mr. Irons, who came forward, without speaking, and lifted his hat respectfully, perhaps abjectly, and paused for recognition.

‘Hey!  Irons?’ said Mr. Dangerfield.

‘At your service, Sir.’

‘Well, and what says his worship?’ asked the gentleman, playfully.

’I wanted to tell your honour that it won’t make no odds, and I’ll do it.’

’Of course.  You’re right.  It does make no odds.  He’ll hang whatever you do; and I tell you ’tis well he should, and only right you should speak the truth, too—­’twill make assurance doubly sure.’

‘At eight o’clock in the morning, Sir, I’ll attend you,’ said Irons, with a sort of shiver.

’Good! and I’ll jot down your evidence, and we’ll drive over to Mr. Lowe’s, to Lucan, and you shall swear before him.  And, you understand—­I don’t forget what I promised—­you’ll be a happier man every way for having done your duty; and here’s half-a-crown to spend in the Salmon House.’

Irons only moaned, and then said—­

‘That’s all, Sir.  But I couldn’t feel easy till it was off my mind.’

‘At eight o’clock I shall expect you.  Good-night, Irons.’

And with his hands in his pockets he watched Irons off the ground.  His visage darkened as for a while his steady gaze was turned toward Dublin.  He was not quite so comfortable as he might have been.

Meanwhile Black Dillon, at Mrs. Sturk’s request, had stalked up stairs to the patient’s bed-side.

‘Had not I best send at once for Mr. Dangerfield?’ she enquired.