Loe raamatut: «Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1», lehekülg 6

“Tear and ages, but you’re going right for the cloch na quirka!”

“Arrah, an’ the devil a taste I’ll be drowned for your devarsion!” said the other, springing up.

“Sit down there, and be still,” roared Considine, as he drew a pistol from the case at his feet, “if you don’t want some leaden ballast to keep you so! Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot – you understand me.”

The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually flying through the water. Considine’s object was a clear one. He saw that in sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay in reaching the narrow and dangerous channel between Oat Rock and the shore, by which we should distance the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ran out beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the danger behind us could warrant so rash a daring. The whole channel was dotted with patches of white and breaking foam, – the sure evidence of the mischief beneath, – while here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood. Escape seemed impossible; but who would not have preferred even so slender a chance with so frightful an alternative behind him? As if to add terror to the scene, Considine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channel when a tremendous blackness spread over all around, the thunder pealed forth, and amidst the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of lightning a squall struck us and laid us nearly keel uppermost for several minutes. I well remember we rushed through the dark and blackened water, our little craft more than half filled, the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves kneeling on the bottom planks for safety. Roll after roll of loud thunder broke, as it were, just above our heads; while in the swift dashing rain that seemed to hiss around us every object was hidden, and even the other boat was lost to our view. The two poor fellows – I shall never forget their expression. One, a devout Catholic, had placed a little leaden image of a saint before him in the bow, and implored its intercession with a torturing agony of suspense that wrung my very heart. The other, apparently less alive to such consolations as his Church afforded, remained with his hands clasped, his mouth compressed, his brows knitted, and his dark eyes bent upon me with the fierce hatred of a deadly enemy; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of some dreadful conflict within. The wild ferocity of his look fascinated my gaze, and amidst all the terrors of the scene I could not look from him. As I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck the boat; the mast went over, and with a loud report like a pistol-shot smashed at the thwart and fell over, trailing the sail along the milky sea behind us. Meanwhile the water rushed clean over us, and the boat seemed settling. At this dreadful moment the sailor’s eye was bent upon me, his lips parted, and he muttered, as if to himself, “This it is to go to sea with a murderer.” Oh, God! the agony of that moment! the heartfelt and accusing conscience that I was judged and doomed! that the brand of Cain was upon my brow! that my fellow-men had ceased forever to regard me as a brother! that I was an outcast and a wanderer forever! I bent forward till my forehead fell upon my knees, and I wept. Meanwhile the boat flew through the water, and Considine, who alone among us seemed not to lose his presence of mind, cut away the mast and sent it overboard. The storm began now to abate; and as the black mass of cloud broke from around us we beheld the other boat, also dismasted, far behind us, while all on board of her were employed in bailing out the water with which she seemed almost sinking. The curtain of mist that had hidden us from each other no sooner broke than they ceased their labors for a moment, and looking towards us, burst forth into a yell so wild, so savage, so dreadful, my very heart quailed as its cadence fell upon my ear.

“Safe, my boy,” said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, as he steered the boat forth from its narrow path of danger, and once more reached the broad Shannon, – “safe, Charley; though we’ve had a brush for it.” In a minute more we reached the land, and drawing our gallant little craft on shore, set out for O’Malley Castle.

CHAPTER IX

THE RETURN

O’Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed at, and thither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. We had not, however, proceeded far, when, before us on the road, we perceived a mixed assemblage of horse and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. The mob, which consisted of some hundred country people, were armed with sticks, scythes, and pitchforks, and although not preserving any very military aspect in their order of march, were still a force quite formidable enough to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were to do.

“They’ve outflanked us, Charley,” said Considine; “however, all is not yet lost. But see, they’ve got sight of us; here they come.”

At these words, the vast mass before us came pouring along, splashing the mud on every side, and huzzaing like so many Indians. In the front ran a bare-legged boy, waving his cap to encourage the rest, who followed him at about fifty yards behind.

“Leave that fellow for me,” said the count, coolly examining the lock of his pistol; “I’ll pick him out, and load again in time for his friends’ arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far back in the crowd? Yes, to be sure it is? He’s on a large horse – now he’s pressing forward; so let – no – oh – ay, it’s Godfrey O’Malley himself, and these are our own people.” Scarcely were the words out when a tremendous cheer arose from the multitude, who, recognizing us at the same instant, sprang from their horses and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost was the scarecrow leader, whom I at once perceived as poor Patsey, who, escaping in the morning, had returned at full speed to O’Malley Castle, and raised the whole country to my rescue. Before I could address one word to my faithful followers I was in my uncle’s arms.

“Safe, my boy, quite safe?”

“Quite safe, sir.”

“No scratch anywhere?”

“Nothing but a hat the worse, sir,” said I, showing the two bullet-holes in my headpiece.

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into Considine’s ear, which I heard not; but the count’s reply was, “Devil a bit, as cool as you see him this minute.”

“And Bodkin, what of him?”

“This day’s work’s his last,” said Considine; “the ball entered here. But come along, Godfrey; Charley’s new at this kind of thing, and we had better discuss matters in the house.”

Half-an-hour’s brisk trot – for we were soon supplied with horses – brought us back to the Castle, much to the disappointment of our cortege, who had been promised a scrimmage, and went back in very ill-humor at the breach of contract.

The breakfast-room, as we entered, was filled with my uncle’s supporters, all busily engaged over poll-books and booth tallies, in preparation for the eventful day of battle. These, however, were immediately thrown aside to hasten round me and inquire all the details of my duel. Considine, happily for me, however, assumed all the dignity of an historian, and recounted the events of the morning so much to my honor and glory, that I, who only a little before felt crushed and bowed down by the misery of my late duel, began, amidst the warm congratulations and eulogiums about me, to think I was no small hero, and in fact, something very much resembling “the man for Galway.” To this feeling a circumstance that followed assisted in contributing. While we were eagerly discussing the various results likely to arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to the door and a loud voice called out, “I can’t get off, but tell him to come here.” We rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr. Bodkin’s second, covered with mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking with foam and sweat. “I am hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but I’ve called to tell you that the wound is not supposed to be mortal, – he may recover yet.” Without waiting for another word, he dashed spurs into his nag and rattled down the avenue at full gallop. Mr. Bodkin’s dearest friend on earth could not have received the intelligence with more delight; and I now began to listen to the congratulations of my friends with a more tranquil spirit. My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the information, and heard with great good temper my narrative of the few days at Gurt-na-Morra. “So then,” said he, as I concluded, “my opponent is at least a gentleman; that is a comfort.”

“Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “from all I have seen, is a remarkably nice person, and I am certain you will meet with only the fair and legitimate opposition of an opposing candidate in him, – no mean or unmanly subterfuge.”

“All right, Charley. Well, now, your affair of this morning must keep you quiet for a few days, come what will; by Monday next, when the election takes place, Bodkin’s fate will be pretty clear, one way or the other, and if matters go well, you can come into town; otherwise, I have arranged with Considine to take you over to the Continent for a year or so; but we’ll discuss all this in the evening. Now I must start on a canvass. Boyle expects to meet you at dinner to-day; he is coming from Athlone on purpose. Now, good-by!”

When my uncle had gone, I sank into a chair and fell into a musing fit over all the changes a few hours had wrought in me. From a mere boy whose most serious employment was stocking the house with game or inspecting the kennel, I had sprung at once into man’s estate, was complimented for my coolness, praised for my prowess, lauded for my discretion, by those who were my seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a tone of confidential intimacy by my uncle, and, in a word, treated in all respects as an equal, – and such was all the work of a few hours. But so it is; the eras in life are separated by a narrow boundary, – some trifling accident, some casual rencontre impels us across the Rubicon, and we pass from infancy to youth, from youth to manhood, from manhood to age, less by the slow and imperceptible step of time than by some one decisive act or passion which, occurring at a critical moment, elicits a long latent feeling, and impresses our existence with a color that tinges us for many a long year. As for me, I had cut the tie which bound me to the careless gayety of boyhood with a rude gash. In three short days I had fallen deeply, desperately in love, and had wounded, if not killed, an antagonist in a duel. As I meditated on these things, I was aroused by the noise of horses’ feet in the yard beneath. I opened the window and beheld no less a person than Captain Hammersley. He was handing a card to a servant, which he was accompanying by a verbal message; the impression of something like hostility on the part of the captain had never left my mind, and I hastened down-stairs just in time to catch him as he turned from the door.

“Ah, Mr. O’Malley!” said he, in a most courteous tone. “They told me you were not at home.”

I apologized for the blunder, and begged of him to alight and come in.

“I thank you very much, but, in fact, my hours are now numbered here. I have just received an order to join my regiment; we have been ordered for service, and Sir George has most kindly permitted my giving up my staff appointment. I could not, however, leave the country without shaking hands with you. I owe you a lesson in horsemanship, and I’m only sorry that we are not to have another day together.”

“Then you are going out to the Peninsula?” said I.

“Why, we hope so; the commander-in-chief, they say, is in great want of cavalry, and we scarcely less in want of something to do. I’m sorry you are not coming with us.”

“Would to Heaven I were!” said I, with an earnestness that almost made my brain start.

“Then, why not?”

“Unfortunately, I am peculiarly situated. My worthy uncle, who is all to me in this world, would be quite alone if I were to leave him; and although he has never said so, I know he dreads the possibility of my suggesting such a thing to him: so that, between his fears and mine, the matter is never broached by either party, nor do I think ever can be.”

“Devilish hard – but I believe you are right; something, however, may turn up yet to alter his mind, and if so, and if you do take to dragooning, don’t forget George Hammersley will be always most delighted to meet you; and so good-by, O’Malley, good-by.”

He turned his horse’s head and was already some paces off, when he returned to my side, and in a lower tone of voice said, —

“I ought to mention to you that there has been much discussion on your affair at Blake’s table, and only one opinion on the matter among all parties, – that you acted perfectly right. Sir George Dashwood, – no mean judge of such things, – quite approves of your conduct, and, I believe, wishes you to know as much; and now, once more, good-by.”

CHAPTER X

THE ELECTION

The important morning at length arrived, and as I looked from my bed-room window at daybreak, the crowd of carriages of all sorts and shapes decorated with banners and placards; the incessant bustle; the hurrying hither and thither; the cheering as each new detachment of voters came up, mounted on jaunting-cars, or on horses whose whole caparison consisted in a straw rope for a bridle, and a saddle of the same frail material, – all informed me that the election day was come. I lost no further time, but proceeded to dress with all possible despatch. When I appeared in the breakfast-room, it was already filled with some seventy or eighty persons of all ranks and ages, mingled confusedly together, and enjoying the hospitable fare of my uncle’s house, while they discussed all the details and prospects of the election. In the hall, the library, the large drawing-room, too, similar parties were also assembled, and as newcomers arrived, the servants were busy in preparing tables before the door and up the large terrace that ran the entire length of the building. Nothing could be more amusing than the incongruous mixture of the guests, who, with every variety of eatable that chance or inclination provided, were thus thrown into close contact, having only this in common, – the success of the cause they were engaged in. Here was the old Galway squire, with an ancestry that reached to Noah, sitting side by side with the poor cotter, whose whole earthly possession was what, in Irish phrase, is called a “potato garden,” – meaning the exactly smallest possible patch of ground out of which a very Indian-rubber conscience could presume to vote. Here sat the old simple-minded, farmer-like man, in close conversation with a little white-foreheaded, keen-eyed personage, in a black coat and eye-glass, – a flash attorney from Dublin, learned in flaws of the registry, and deep in the subtleties of election law. There was an Athlone horse-dealer, whose habitual daily practices in imposing the halt, the lame, and the blind upon the unsuspecting, for beasts of blood and mettle, well qualified him for the trickery of a county contest. Then there were scores of squireen gentry, easily recognized on common occasions by a green coat, brass buttons, dirty cords, and dirtier top-boots, a lash-whip, and a half-bred fox-hound; but now, fresh-washed for the day, they presented something the appearance of a swell mob, adjusted to the meridian of Galway. A mass of frieze-coated, brow-faced, bullet-headed peasantry filled up the large spaces, dotted here and there with a sleek, roguish-eyed priest, or some low electioneering agent detailing, for the amusement of the company, some of those cunning practices of former times which if known to the proper authorities would in all likelihood cause the talented narrator to be improving the soil of Sidney, or fishing on the banks of the Swan river; while at the head and foot of each table sat some personal friend of my uncle, whose ready tongue, and still readier pistol, made him a personage of some consequence, not more to his own people than to the enemy. While of such material were the company, the fare before them was no less varied: here some rubicund squire was deep in amalgamating the contents of a venison pasty with some of Sneyd’s oldest claret; his neighbor, less ambitious, and less erudite in such matters, was devouring rashers of bacon, with liberal potations of potteen; some pale-cheeked scion of the law, with all the dust of the Four Courts in his throat, was sipping his humble beverage of black tea beside four sturdy cattle-dealers from Ballinasloe, who were discussing hot whiskey punch and spoleaion (boiled beef) at the very primitive hour of eight in the morning. Amidst the clank of decanters, the crash of knives and plates, and the jingling of glasses, the laughter and voices of the guests were audibly increasing; and the various modes of “running a buck” (Anglicé, substituting a vote), or hunting a badger, were talked over on all sides, while the price of a veal (a calf), or a voter, was disputed with all the energy of debate.

Refusing many an offered place, I went through the different rooms in search of Considine, to whom circumstances of late had somehow greatly attached me.

“Here, Charley,” cried a voice I was very familiar with, – “here’s a place I’ve been keeping for you.”

“Ah, Sir Harry, how do you do? Any of that grouse-pie to spare?”

“Abundance, my boy; but I’m afraid I can’t say as much for the liquor. I have been shouting for claret this half-hour in vain, – do get us some nutriment down here, and the Lord will reward you. What a pity it is,” he added, in a lower tone, to his neighbor – “what a pity a quart-bottle won’t hold a quart; but I’ll bring it before the House one of these days.” That he kept his word in this respect, a motion on the books of the Honorable House will bear me witness.

“Is this it?” said he, turning towards a farmer-like old man, who had put some question to him across the table; “is it the apple-pie you’ll have?”

“Many thanks to your honor, – I’d like it, av it was wholesome.”

“And why shouldn’t it be wholesome?” said Sir Harry.

“Troth, then, myself does not know; but my father, I heerd tell, died of an apple-plexy, and I’m afeerd of it.”

I at length found Considine, and learned that, as a very good account of Bodkin had arrived, there was no reason why I should not proceed to the hustings; but I was secretly charged not to take any prominent part in the day’s proceedings. My uncle I only saw for an instant, – he begged me to be careful, avoid all scrapes, and not to quit Considine. It was past ten o’clock when our formidable procession got under way, and headed towards the town of Galway. The road was, for miles, crowded with our followers; banners flying and music playing, we presented something of the spectacle of a very ragged army on its march. At every cross-road a mountain-path reinforcement awaited us, and as we wended along, our numbers were momentarily increasing; here and there along the line, some energetic and not over-sober adherent was regaling his auditory with a speech in laudation of the O’Malleys since the days of Moses, and more than one priest was heard threatening the terrors of his Church in aid of a cause to whose success he was pledged and bound. I rode beside the count, who, surrounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted the various happy inventions by which he had, on divers occasions, substituted a personal quarrel for a contest. Boyle also contributed his share of election anecdote, and one incident he related, which, I remember, amused me much at the time.

“Do you remember Billy Calvert, that came down to contest Kilkenny?” inquired Sir Harry.

“What, ever forget him!” said Considine, “with his well-powdered wig and his hessians. There never was his equal for lace ruffles and rings.”

“You never heard, may be, how he lost the election?”

“He resigned, I believe, or something of that sort.”

“No, no,” said another; “he never came forward at all. There’s some secret in it; for Tom Butler was elected without a contest.”

“Jack, I’ll tell you how it happened. I was on my way up from Cork, having finished my own business, and just carried the day, not without a push for it. When we reached, – Lady Mary was with me, – when we reached Kilkenny, the night before the election, I was not ten minutes in town till Butler heard of it, and sent off express to see me; I was at my dinner when the messenger came, and promised to go over when I’d done. But faith, Tom didn’t wait, but came rushing up-stairs himself, and dashed into the room in the greatest hurry.

“‘Harry,’ says he, ‘I’m done for; the corporation of free smiths, that were always above bribery, having voted for myself and my father before, for four pounds ten a man, won’t come forward under six guineas and whiskey. Calvert has the money; they know it. The devil a farthing we have; and we’ve been paying all our fellows that can’t read in Hennesy’s notes, and you know the bank’s broke this three weeks.’

“On he went, giving me a most disastrous picture of his cause, and concluded by asking if I could suggest anything under the circumstances.

“‘You couldn’t get a decent mob and clear the poll?’

“‘I am afraid not,’ said he, despondingly.

“‘Then I don’t see what’s to be done, if you can’t pick a fight with himself. Will he go out?’

“‘Lord knows! They say he’s so afraid of that, that it has prevented him coming down till the very day. But he is arrived now; he came in the evening, and is stopping at Walsh’s in Patrick Street.’

“‘Then I’ll see what can be done,’ said I.

“‘Is that Calvert, the little man that blushes when the Lady-Lieutenant speaks to him?’ said Lady Mary.

“‘The very man.’

“‘Would it be of any use to you if he could not come on the hustings to-morrow?’ said she, again.

“‘‘Twould gain us the day. Half the voters don’t believe he’s here at all, and his chief agent cheated all the people on the last election; and if Calvert didn’t appear, he wouldn’t have ten votes to register. But why do you ask?’

“‘Why, that, if you like, I’ll bet you a pair of diamond ear-rings he sha’n’t show.’

“‘Done!’ said Butler. ‘And I promise a necklace into the bargain, if you win; but I’m afraid you’re only quizzing me.’

“‘Here’s my hand on it,’ said she. ‘And now let’s talk of something else.’”

As Lady Mary never asked my assistance, and as I knew she was very well able to perform whatever she undertook, you may be sure I gave myself very little trouble about the whole affair; and when they came, I went off to breakfast with Tom’s committee, not knowing anything that was to be done.

Calvert had given orders that he was to be called at eight o’clock, and so a few minutes before that time a gentle knock came to the door.

‘Come in,’ said he, thinking it was the waiter, and covering himself up in the clothes; for he was the most bashful creature ever was seen, – ‘come in.’

The door opened, and what was his horror to find that a lady entered in her dressing-gown, her hair on her shoulders, very much tossed and dishevelled. The moment she came in, she closed the door and locked it, and then sat leisurely down upon a chair.

Billy’s teeth chattered, and his limbs trembled; for this was an adventure of a very novel kind for him. At last he took courage to speak.

‘I am afraid, madam,’ said he, ‘that you are under some unhappy mistake, and that you suppose this chamber is – ’

‘Mr. Calvert’s,’ said the lady, with a solemn voice, ‘is it not?’

‘Yes, madam, I am that person.’

‘Thank God!’ said the lady, with a very impressive tone. ‘Here I am safe.’

Billy grew very much puzzled at these words; but hoping that by his silence the lady would proceed to some explanation, he said no more. She, however, seemed to think that nothing further was necessary, and sat still and motionless, with her hands before her and her eyes fixed on Billy.

“‘You seem to forget me, sir?’ said she, with a faint smile.

“‘I do, indeed, madam; the half-light, the novelty of your costume, and the strangeness of the circumstance altogether must plead for me, if I appear rude enough.’

“‘I am Lady Mary Boyle,’ said she.

“‘I do remember you, madam; but may I ask – ’

“‘Yes, yes; I know what you would ask. You would say, Why are you here? How comes it that you have so far outstepped the propriety of which your whole life is an example, that alone, at such a time, you appear in the chamber of a man whose character for gallantry – ’

“‘Oh, indeed – indeed, my lady, nothing of the kind!’

“‘Ah, alas! poor defenceless women learn, too late, how constantly associated is the retiring modesty which decries, with the pleasing powers which ensure success – ’

“Here she sobbed, Billy blushed, and the clock struck nine.

“‘May I then beg, madam – ’

“‘Yes, yes, you shall hear it all; but my poor scattered faculties will not be the clearer by your hurrying me. You know, perhaps,’ continued she, ‘that my maiden name was Rogers?’ He of the blankets bowed, and she resumed, ‘It is now eighteen years since, that a young, unsuspecting, fond creature, reared in all the care and fondness of doting parents, tempted her first step in life, and trusted her fate to another’s keeping. I am that unhappy person; the other, that monster in human guise that smiled but to betray, that won but to ruin and destroy, is he whom you know as Sir Harry Boyle.’

“Here she sobbed for some minutes, wiped her eyes, and resumed her narrative. Beginning at the period of her marriage, she detailed a number of circumstances in which poor Calvert, in all his anxiety to come au fond at matters, could never perceive bore upon the question in any way; but as she recounted them all with great force and precision, entreating him to bear in mind certain circumstances to which she should recur by and by, his attention was kept on the stretch, and it was only when the clock struck ten that he was fully aware how his morning was passing, and what surmises his absence might originate.

“‘May I interrupt you for a moment, dear madam? Was it nine or ten o’clock which struck last?’

“‘How should I know?’ said she, frantically. ‘What are hours and minutes to her who has passed long years of misery?’

“‘Very true, very true,’ replied he, timidly, and rather fearing for the intellect of his fair companion.

She continued. The narrative, however, so far from becoming clearer, grew gradually more confused and intricate; and as frequent references were made by the lady to some previous statement, Calvert was more than once rebuked for forgetfulness and inattention, where in reality nothing less than short-hand could have borne him through.

“‘Was it in ‘93 I said that Sir Harry left me at Tuam?’

“‘Upon my life, madam, I am afraid to aver; but it strikes me – ’

“‘Gracious powers! and this is he whom I fondly trusted to make the depository of my woes! Cruel, cruel man!’

“Here she sobbed considerably for several minutes, and spoke not. A loud cheer of ‘Butler forever!’ from the mob without now burst upon their hearing, and recalled poor Calvert at once to the thought that the hours were speeding fast and no prospect of the everlasting tale coming to an end.

“‘I am deeply, most deeply grieved, my dear madam,’ said the little man, sitting up in a pyramid of blankets; ‘but hours, minutes, are most precious to me this morning. I am about to be proposed as member for Kilkenny.’

“At these words the lady straightened her figure out, threw her arms at either side, and burst into a fit of laughter which poor Calvert knew at once to be hysterics. Here was a pretty situation! The bell-rope lay against the opposite wall; and even if it did not, would he be exactly warranted in pulling it?

“‘May the devil and all his angels take Sir Harry Boyle and his whole connection to the fifth generation!’ was his sincere prayer as he sat like a Chinese juggler under his canopy.

“At length the violence of the paroxysm seemed to subside; the sobs became less frequent, the kicking less forcible, and the lady’s eyes closed, and she appeared to have fallen asleep.

“‘Now is the moment,’ said Billy. ‘If I could only get as far as my dressing-gown.’ So saying, he worked himself down noiselessly to the foot of his bed, looked fixedly at the fallen lids of the sleeping lady, and essayed one leg from the blanket. ‘Now or never,’ said he, pushing aside the curtain and preparing for a spring. One more look he cast at his companion, and then leaped forth; but just as he lit upon the floor she again roused herself, screaming with horror. Billy fell upon the bed, and rolling himself in the bedclothes, vowed never to rise again till she was out of the visible horizon.

“‘What is all this? What do you mean, sir?’ said the lady, reddening with indignation.

“‘Nothing, upon my soul, madam; it was only my dressing-gown.’

“‘Your dressing-gown!’ said she, with an emphasis worthy of Siddons; ‘a likely story for Sir Harry to believe, sir! Fie, fie, sir!’

“This last allusion seemed a settler; for the luckless Calvert heaved a profound sigh, and sunk down as if all hope had left him. ‘Butler forever!’ roared the mob. ‘Calvert forever!’ cried a boy’s voice from without. ‘Three groans for the runaway!’ answered this announcement; and a very tender inquiry of, ‘Where is he?’ was raised by some hundred mouths.

“‘Madam,’ said the almost frantic listener, – ‘madam, I must get up! I must dress! I beg of you to permit me!’

“‘I have nothing to refuse, sir. Alas, disdain has long been my only portion! Get up, if you will.’

“‘But,’ said the astonished man, who was well-nigh deranged at the coolness of this reply, – ‘but how am I to do so if you sit there?’

“‘Sorry for any inconvenience I may cause you; but in the crowded state of the hotel I hope you see the impropriety of my walking about the passages in this costume?’