divined
their nature tolerably clearly.

'Give him some more,' said Toole, with his fingers on the sick man's
wrist, and watching his countenance. 'D---- it, don't be afraid--more,
some more--more!'

And so the Artillery doctor's spirit revived within him; though with
flickerings and tremblings; and he heaved some great sighs, and moved
his lips. Then he lay still for a while; and after that he spoke.

'The pen, Sir,--write,' he said. 'He met me in the Butcher's Wood; he
said he was going to sleep in town,' and Sturk groaned dismally; 'and he
began talking on business--and turned and walked a bit with me. I did
not expect to see him there--he was frank--and spoke me fair. We were
walking slowly. He looked up in the sky with his hands in his coat
pockets and was a step, or so, in advance of me; and he turned short--I
didn't know--I had no more fear than you--and struck me a blow with
something he had in his hand. He rose to the blow on his toes--'twas so
swift, I had no time--I could not see what he struck with, 'twas like a
short bit of rope.'

'Charles Archer? Do you know him, Dr. Toole?' asked Lowe. Toole shook
his head.

'Charles Archer!' he repeated, looking at Sturk; 'where does he live?'
and he winked to Toole, who was about speaking, to hold his peace.

'Here--in this town--Chapelizod, up the river, a bit, with--with
a--changed name,' answered Sturk. And at the name he mentioned, Lowe and
Toole, in silence and steadfastly, exchanged a pale, grim glance that
was awful to see.

CHAPTER LXXXIX.

IN WHICH A CERTAIN SONGSTER TREATS THE COMPANY TO A DOLOROUS BALLAD
WHEREBY MR. IRONS IS SOMEWHAT MOVED.

It seemed that Mr. Dangerfield had taken Zekiel Irons's measure pretty
exactly. The clerk had quite made up his mind to take the bold step
urged upon him by that gentleman. He was a slow man. When one idea had
fairly got into his head there was no room there for another. Cowardly
and plotting; but when his cowardice was wrought upon to a certain
pitch, he would wax daring and fierce from desperation.

He walked down to the village from the little gate of the Brass Castle,
where he had talked with Mr. Dangerfield, appointing eight o'clock next
morning for making the deposition; late now for all purposes; but to
nail him to a line of _viva voce_ evidence when he should come to be
examined on Charles Nutter's approaching trial. The whole way along he
walked with the piece of silver, which Mr. Paul Dange