e him!--I see his face
everywhere. I don't know how he's got this hold over me,' and he cursed
him again and groaned dismally. 'A night like this is my chance--and so
here goes.'

'Remember, for Heaven's sake, remember,' said Mervyn, with agonised
urgency, as he followed him with a light along the passage to the
back-door.

Irons made no answer; and walking straight on, without turning his head,
only lifted his hand with a movement backward, like a man who silently
warns another from danger.

So Irons went forth into the night and the roaring storm, dark and
alone, like an evil spirit into desert places; and Mervyn barred the
door after him, and returned to the cedar parlour, and remained there
alone and long in profound and not unnatural agitation.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

CONCERNING A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN, WITH A BLACK PATCH OVER HIS EYE, WHO
MADE SOME VISITS WITH A LADY, IN CHAPELIZOD AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

In the morning, though the wind had somewhat gone down, 'twas still
dismal and wild enough; and to the consternation of poor Mrs. Macnamara,
as she sat alone in her window after breakfast, Miss Mag and the major
being both abroad, a hackney coach drew up at the door, which stood
open. The maid was on the step, cheapening fish with a virulent lady who
had a sieve-full to dispose of.

A gentleman, with a large, unwholesome face, and a patch over one eye,
popped his unpleasant countenance, black wig, and three-cocked hat, out
of the window, and called to the coachman to let him out.

Forth he came, somewhat slovenly, his coat not over-well brushed, having
in his hand a small trunk, covered with gilt crimson leather, very
dingy, and somewhat ceremoniously assisted a lady to alight. This dame,
as she stepped with a long leg, in a black silk stocking, to the ground,
swept the front windows of the house from under her velvet hood with a
sharp and evil glance; and in fact she was Mistress Mary Matchwell.

As she beheld her, poor Mrs. Mack's heart fluttered up to her mouth, and
then dropped with a dreadful plump, into the pit of her stomach. The
dingy, dismal gentleman, swinging the red trunk in his hand, swaggered
lazily back and forward, to stretch his legs over the pavement, and air
his large cadaverous countenance, and sniff the village breezes.

Mistress Matchwell in the meantime, exchanging a passing word with the
servant, who darkened and drew back as if a ghost had crossed her,
gathered her rustling silk