the honourable denis o'hara, son and heir of viscount kilcroney in the peerage of ireland, entered with a swift and easy step, and saluted airily. he had a merry green eye, and the red of his crisp hair shone out through the powder like a winter sunset through a mist.
"sir jasper," said he, "your servant, sir. faith, tom, me boy, is that you? the top of the evening to ye."
uninvited he took a chair and flung his careless figure upon it. his joints were loose, his nose aspired, his rich lace ruffles were torn, his handsome coat was buttoned awry; irishman was stamped upon every line of him, from his hot red head to his slim alert foot; irishman lurked in every rich accent of his ready tongue.
sir jasper made no doubt that now the lothario who had poached on his preserves, had destroyed his peace, had devastated his home, was before him. he turned to stafford and caught him by the wrist.
"tom," whispered he, "you will stand by me, for by my immortal soul, i will fight it out to-night!"
"for god's sake, be quiet," whispered the other, who began to think that the jealous husband was getting beyond a joke. "let us hear what the fellow has got to say first. the devil! i will not stand by to see you pink every auburn buck in the town. 'tis stark lunacy."
"but 'tis you yourself," returned sir jasper, in his fierce undertone—"you yourself who told me it was he. see, but look at this curl and at that head."
"oh, flummery!" cried stafford. "let him speak, i say."
"when you have done your little conversation, gentlemen," said mr. o'hara good-naturedly, "perhaps you will let me put in a word edgeways?"
sir jasper, under his friend's compelling hand, sank into a chair; his sinews well-nigh creaked with the constraint he was putting upon himself.
"i have come," said denis o'hara, "from me friend captain spoicer. i met him a whoile ago, fluttering down gay street, leaping like a hare with the hounds after him, by st. patrick! 'you're running away from someone, spoicer,' says i. and says he, 'i'm running away from that blithering madman sir jasper standish.' excuse me, sir jasper, those were his words, ye see."
"and what, sir," interrupted sir jasper in an ominous voice—"what, sir, may i ask, was your purpose in walking this way to-night?"
"eh," cried the irishman, "what is that ye say?"
"oh, go on, o'hara," cried stafford impatiently, and under his breath to standish, "faith, jasper," said he, "keep your manners, or i'll wash my hands of the whole matter."
"oh, is that the way with him," said o'hara, behind his hand to stafford, and winked jovially. "well, i was saying, gentlemen, that to see a man run, unless it be a frenchman, is a thing that goes against me. 'why, what did he do to you?' said i (meaning you, sir jasper). 'oh,' says me gallant captain, 'i went to him with a gentlemanly message from a friend and the fellow insulted me so grossly with remarks about my hair, that sure,' says he, 'tis only fit for bedlam he is.' 'insulted you,' says i, 'and where are you running to? to look for a friend, i hope,' says i. 'insults are stinking things.' 'sure,' says he, 'he is mad,' says he. 'well, what matter of that?' says i. 'sure, isn't it all mad we are more or less? come,' says i, 'spoicer, this will look bad for you with the ladies, not to speak of the men. give me the message, me boy, and i will take it; and sure we will let sir jasper bring his keepers with him to the field, and no one can say fairer than that.'"
sir jasper sprang to his feet.
"now, curse your irish insolence," he roared; "this is more than i would stand from any man! and, if i mistake not, mr. o'hara, we have other scores to settle besides."
"is it we?" cried o'hara, jumping up likewise. "'tis the first i've heard of them—but, be jabers, you will never find me behind hand in putting me foot to the front! i will settle as many scores as you like, sir jasper—so long as it is me sword and not me purse that pays them."
"draw then, man, draw!" snarled sir jasper, dancing in his fury. he bared his silver-hilted sword and threw the scabbard in a corner.
"heaven defend us!" cried stafford, in vain endeavouring to come between the two.
"sure, you must not contradict him," cried o'hara, unbuckling his belt rapidly, and drawing likewise with a pretty flourish of shining blade. "'tis the worst way in the world to deal with a cracked man. sure, ye must soothe him and give in to him. don't i know! is not me own first cousin a real raw lunatic in kinsale asylum this blessed day? come on, sir jasper, i'm yer man. just pull the chairs out of the way, tom, me dear boy."
"now sir, now sir!" said sir jasper, and felt restored to himself again as steel clinked against steel. and he gripped the ground with his feet, and knew the joy of action.
"well, what must be, must be," said stafford philosophically, and sat across a chair; "and a good fight is a good fight all the world over! ha! that was a lunge! o'hara wields a pretty blade, but there is danger in jasper's eye. i vow i won't have the irish boy killed. ha!" he sprang to his feet again and brandished the chair, ready to interpose between the two at the critical moment. o'hara was as buoyant as a cork; he skipped backwards and forwards, from one side to another, in sheer enjoyment of the contest. but sir jasper hardly moved from his first position except for one or two vicious lunges. stafford had deemed to see danger in his eye; there was more than danger—there was murder! the injured husband was determined to slay, and bided his time for the fatal thrust. the while, o'hara attacked out of sheer lightness of heart. now his blade grazed sir jasper's thigh; once he gave him a flicking prick on the wrist so that the blood ran down his fingers.
"stop, stop," cried stafford, running in with his chair, "sir jasper's hit!"
"no, dash you!" cried sir jasper. and click, clank, click, it went again, with the pant of the shortening breath, and the thud of the leaping feet. sir jasper lunged a third time, o'hara waved his sword aimlessly, fell on one knee, and rolled over.
"halt!" yelled stafford. it was too late. sir jasper stood staring at his red blade.
"you have killed him!" cried stafford, turning furiously on his friend, and was down on his knees and had caught the wounded man in his arms the next second.
"devil a bit," said o'hara, and wriggled in the other's grasp, too vigorously indeed for a moribund, found his feet in a jiffy and stood laughing with a white face and looking down at his dripping shirt. "'tis but the sudden cold feel of the steel, man! sure i'm all right, and ready to begin again! 'tis but a rip in the ribs, for i can breathe as right as ever." he puffed noisily as he spoke to prove his words, slapped his chest, then turned giddily and fell into a chair. stafford tore open the shirt. it was as o'hara had said, the wound was an ugly surface rip, more unpleasant than dangerous.
"let us have another bout," said o'hara.
"no, no," said stafford.
"no, no," said sir jasper advancing and standing before his adversary. "no. mr. o'hara, you may have done me the greatest injury that one can do another, but gad, sir, you have fought like a gentleman!"
"ah!" whispered o'hara to stafford, who still examined the wound with a knowing manner, "'tis crazed entoirely he is, the poor dear fellow."
"not crazed," said stafford rising, "or if so, only through jealousy.—jasper, let us have some wine for mr. o'hara, and one of your women with water and bandages. a little sticking plaister will set this business to rights. thank god, that i have not seen murder to-night!"
"one moment, stafford." said jasper, "one moment, sir. let us clear this matter. am i not right, mr. o'hara, in believing you to have written a letter to my wife?"
"is it me?" cried o'hara in the most guileless astonishment.
"he thinks you are her lover," whispered stafford in his ear. "zooks, i can laugh again now! he knows she has got a red-haired lover, and says he will kill every red-haired man in bath!"
"sure i have never laid eyes on lady standish," said o'hara to sir jasper, "if that is all you want. sure, i'd have been proud to be her lover if i'd only had the honour of her acquaintance!"
"mr. o'hara," said sir jasper, "will you shake hands with me?"
"with all the pleasure in loife!" cried the genial irishman. "faith, 'tis great friends we will be, but perhaps ye had better not introjuce me to ye'r lady, for i'm not to be trusted where the dear creatures are concerned, and so 'tis best to tell you at the outset."
the opponents now shook hands with some feeling on either side. the wound was attended to and several bottles of wine were thereafter cracked in great good-fellowship.
"there is nothing like canary," vowed o'hara, "for the power of healing."
*****
it was past midnight when, on the arm of mr. stafford, denis o'hara set out to return to his own lodgings.
the streets were empty and the night dark, and they had many grave consultations at the street corners as to which way to pursue. if they reeled a little as they went, if they marched round king's circus, and round again more than once, and showed a disposition to traverse gay street from side to side oftener than was really required by their itinerary, it was not, as o'hara said, because of the canary, but all in the way of "divarsion."
"sir jasper's a jolly good fellow," said lord kilcroney's heir as he propped himself against his own door-post, and waggled the knocker with tipsy gravity. "and so are you," said he to stafford. "i like ye both." here he suddenly showed a disposition to fall upon stafford's neck, but as suddenly arrested himself, stiffened his swaying limbs and struck his forehead with a sudden flash of sobriety. "thunder and 'ouns," said he, "if i did not clean forget about spoicer!"
he was with difficulty restrained by stafford (who, having a stronger head, was somewhat the soberer), with the help of the servants who now appeared, from setting forth to repair his negligence. by a tactful mixture of persuasion and force, the wounded gentleman was at length conducted to bed, sleepily murmuring:
"won't do at all—most remiss—affair of honour—never put off!" until sleep overtook him, which was before his head touched the pillow.
meanwhile sir jasper sat, with guttering candles all around him, in the recesses of an armchair, his legs extended straight, his bandaged wrist stuffed into his bosom, his head sunk upon his chest, his spurious flash of gaiety now all lost in a depth of chaotic gloom. dawn found him thus. at its first cold rays he rose sobered, and could not have said whether the night had passed in waking anguish or in hideous nightmare. he looked round on the cheerless scene, the blood-stained linen, the empty wine-glasses with their sickening reek, the smoking candles, the disordered room; then he shuddered and sought the haven of his dressing-room, and the relief of an hour's sleep with a wet towel tied round his throbbing head.
