When the doctor was satisfied that M'Garry was fast asleep, he and Murphy left the room, and locked the door. They were encountered on the lobby by several curious people, who wanted to know, "was the man dead?" The doctor shook his head very gravely, and said "Not quite;"

while Murphy, with a serious nod, said "All over, I'm afraid, Mrs.

Fay;" for he perceived among the persons on the lobby a servant of O'Grady's, who chanced to be in the town, and was all wonder and fright at the news of his master having committed murder. Murphy and the doctor proceeded to the dinner-room, where they found the drunken men wrangling about what verdict they should bring in, and a discursive dispute touching on "murder," and "manslaughter," and "accidental death," and "the visitation of G.o.d," mingled with noisy toasts and flowing cups, until any sagacity the company ever possessed was sacrificed to the rosy G.o.d.

The lateness of the hour, and the state of the company, rendered riding home impossible to most of them; so Mrs. Fay was called upon to prepare beds. The inn did not afford a sufficiency of beds to accommodate every gentleman with a single one, so a toss-up was resorted to, to decide who should sleep double. The fortune of war cast the unfortunate James Reddy upon the doctor, who, though one of the few who were capable of self-protection, preferred remaining at the inn to riding home some miles. Now James Reddy, though very drunk indeed, had sense enough left to dislike the lot that fate had cast him. To sleep with such a slovenly man as the doctor shocked James, who was a bit of a dandy. The doctor seemed perfectly contented with the arrangement; and as he bade Murphy "good night," a lurking devilment hung about his huge mouth. All the men staggered off, or were supported, to their various beds, but one--and he could not stir from the floor, where he lay hugging the leg of the table. To every effort to disturb him he replied with an imploring grunt, to "let him alone," and he hugged the leg of the table closer, exclaiming, "I won't leave you, Mrs. Fay!--my darling Mrs. Fay!

rowl your arms round me, Mrs. Fay!"

"Ah, get up and go to bed, Misther Doyle," said Tim. "Sure the misthress is not here at all."

"I know she's not," said Doyle. "Who says a word against her?"

"Sure you're talkin' to her yourself, sir."

"Pooh, pooh, man!--you're dhrunk."

"Ah, come to bed, Misther Doyle!" said Tim, in an imploring tone. "Och sure, my heart's broken with you."

"Don't say your heart's broke, my sweet landlady--my darling Mrs. Fay!

the apple of my eye you are."

"Nonsense, Misther Doyle."

"True as the sun, moon, and stars. Apple of my eye, did I say?--I'd give the apples of my eyes to make sauce for the c.o.c.kles of your heart.

Mrs. Fay, darling, don't be coy. Ha! I have you fast!" and he gripped the table closer.

"Well, you _are_ dhrunk, Misther Doyle," said Tim.

"I hope my breath is not offensive from drink, Mrs. Fay," said Doyle, in an amatory whisper to the leg of the table.

"Ah, get out o' that, Misther Doyle," said Tim; accompanying the exclamation with a good shake, which somewhat roused the prostrate form.

"Who's there?"

"I want you to come to bed, sir;--eh, don't be so foolish, Misther Doyle. Sure you don't think the misthress would be rowlin' on the flure there wid you, as dhrunk as a pig----"

"Dare not wound her fame! Who says a word of Mrs. Fay?"

"Arrah, sure you're talkin' there about her this half-hour."

"False villain!--Whisht, my darling," said he to the leg of the table; "I'll never betray you. Hug me tight, Mrs. Fay!"

"Bad luck to the care I'll take any more about you," say Tim. "Sleep on the flure, if you like." And Doyle was left to pa.s.s the night in the soft imaginary delights of Mrs. Fay's mahogany embraces.

How fared it with James Reddy? Alas! poor James was doomed to a night of torment, the effects of which he remembered for many days after. In fact, had James been left to his choice, he would rather have slept with the house-dog than with the doctor; but he dreaded the consequences of letting old Jack perceive his antipathy; and visions of future chastis.e.m.e.nt from the doctor's satirical tongue awed him into submission to the present punishment. He sneaked into bed, therefore, and his deep potations ensured him immediate sleep, from which he awoke, however, in the middle of the night in torture, from the deep scratches inflicted upon him by every kick of old Growling. At last poor Reddy could stand it no longer, and the earliest hour of dawn revealed him to the doctor putting on his clothes, swearing like a trooper at one moment, and at the next apostrophising the genius of gentility. "What it is to have to do with a person that is not a gentleman!" he exclaimed, as he pulled on one leg of his trousers.

"What is the matter with you?" asked old Jack from the bed.

"The matter, sir, is, that I'm going."

"Is it at this hour! Tut, man, don't be a fool. Get into bed again."

"Never, sir, with _you_ at least. I have seldom slept two in a bed, Dr.

Growling, for my gentlemanly habits forbid it; but when circ.u.mstances have obliged me, it has been with gentlemen--_gentlemen_, doctor," and he laid a stress on the word--"gentlemen, sir, who cut their toe-nails.

Sir, I am a serious sufferer by your coa.r.s.e habits; you have scratched me, sir, nearly to death. I am one gore of blood----"

"Tut, man! 't was not my nails scratched you; it was only my spurs I put on going to bed, to keep you at a distance from me; you were so disgustingly drunk, my _gentleman_!--look there!" and he poked his leg out of bed, and there, sure enough, Reddy saw a spur buckled: and, dumb-foundered at this evidence of the doctor's atrocity, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his clothes, and rushed from the room, as from the den of a bear.

Murphy twisted a beneficial result to M'Garry out of the night's riotous frolic at his expense; for, in the morning, taking advantage of the report of the inquest which he knew must have reached Neck-or-Nothing Hall, he made a communication to O'Grady, so equivocally worded that the Squire fell into the trap. The note ran as follows:--

"Sir,--You must be aware that your act of yesterday has raised a strong feeling in the country against you, and that so flagrant a violation of the laws cannot fail to be visited with terrible severity upon you: for, though your position in rank places you far above the condition of the unfortunate man on whom you wreaked your vengeance, you know, sir, that in the eye of the law you are equal, and the shield of justice protects the peasant as well as the prince. Under these circ.u.mstances, sir, considering the _awful consequences_ of your ungoverned rage (which, I doubt not, now, you deplore), I would suggest to you by a timely offer of compromise, in the shape of a handsome sum of money--say two hundred pounds--to lull the storms which must otherwise burst on your devoted head, and save your name from dishonour. I anxiously await your answer, as proceedings must instantly commence, and the law take its course, unless Mrs. M'Garry can be pacified.

"I have the honour to be, Sir,

"Your most obedient Servant,

"Murtough Murphy.

"_To Gustavus Granby O'Grady, Esq., Neck-or-Nothing Hall._"

O'Grady was thoroughly frightened; and strange as it may appear, did believe he could compromise for killing only a plebeian; and actually sent Murphy his note of hand for the sum demanded. Murtough posted off to M'Garry: he and his wife received him with shouts of indignation, and heaped reproaches on his head, for the trick he had played on the apothecary.

"Oh! Misther Murphy--never look me in the face again!" said Mrs.

M'Garry, who was ugly enough to make the request quite unnecessary; "to send my husband home to me a beast!"

"Striped like a tiger!" said M'Garry.

"Blacking and pickled cabbage, Misther Murphy!" said the wife. "Oh fie, sir!--I did not think you could be so low."

"Galvanism!" said M'Garry, furiously. "My professional honour wounded!"

"Whisht, whisht, man!" said Murphy; "there's a finer plaister than any in your shop for the cure of wounded honour. Look at that!"--and he handed him the note for two hundred: "there's galvanism for you!"

"What _is_ this?" said M'Garry, in amazement.

"The result of last night's inquest," said Murphy. "You have got your damages without a trial; so pocket your money, and be thankful."

The two hundred pounds at once changed the aspect of affairs. M'Garry vowed eternal grat.i.tude, with protestations that Murphy was the cleverest attorney alive, and ought to be chief justice. The wife was equally vociferous in her acknowledgments, until Murtough, who, when he entered the house, was near falling a sacrifice to the claws of the apothecary's wife, was obliged to rush from the premises to shun the more terrible consequences of her embraces.

CHAPTER VI

We have sat so long at our dinner, that we have almost lost sight of poor Andy, to whom we must now return. When he ran to his mother's cabin, to escape from the fangs of d.i.c.k Dawson, there was no one within: his mother being digging a few potatoes for supper from the little ridge behind her house, and Oonah Riley, her niece--an orphan girl who lived with her--being up to Squire Egan's to sell some eggs; for round the poorest cabins in Ireland you scarcely ever fail to see some ragged hens, whose eggs are never consumed by their proprietors, except, perhaps, on Easter Sunday, but sold to the neighbouring gentry at a trifling price.

Andy cared not who was out, or who was in, provided he could only escape from d.i.c.k; so without asking any questions, he crawled under the wretched bed in the dark corner, where his mother and Oonah slept, and where the latter, through the blessed influence of health, youth, and an innocent heart, had brighter dreams than attended many a couch whose downy pillows and silken hangings would more than purchase the fee-simple of any cabin in Ireland. There Andy, in a state of utter exhaustion from his fears, his race, and his thrashing, soon fell asleep, and the terrors of d.i.c.k the Devil gave place to the blessing of the profoundest slumber.