ture. Pass the sherry here,
Godfrey! Is that a clean glass beside you?'

So saying, he took the decanter, and, leisurely filling the glass, stood
up as if to present it, but when he attained the erect position, he
looked at me fixedly for a second, and then dashed the wine in my face.
A roar of laughter burst around me, but I saw and heard no more. The
moment before, and my head was cool, my senses clear, my faculties
unclouded; but now, as if derangement had fallen upon me, I could
see nothing but looks of mockery and scorn, and hear nothing save the
discordant laugh and the jarring accent of derision.

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE INN FIRE

How I escaped from that room, and by what means I found myself in the
street, I know not. My first impulse was to tear off my cravat, that I
might breathe more freely; still a sense of suffocation oppressed me,
and I felt stunned and stupefied.

'Come along, Hinton--rouse yourself, my boy! See, your coat is drenched
with rain,' said a friendly voice behind me; while, grasping me forcibly
by the arm, the Major led me forward.

'What have I done?' cried I, struggling to get free. 'Tell me--oh, tell
me, have I done wrong? Have I committed any dreadful thing? There is an
aching pain here--here in my forehead, as though----- I dare not speak
my shame.'

'Nothing of the kind, my boy,' said Mahon: 'you've conducted yourself
admirably. Matt Keane saw it all, and he says he never witnessed
anything finer; and he's no bad judge, let me tell you. So, there now,
be satisfied, and take off your wet clothes.'

There was something imperative in the tone in which he spoke; besides,
the Major was one of those people who somehow or other always contrive
to have their own way in the world; so that I yielded at once, feeling,
too, that any opposition would only defer my chance of an explanation.

While I was thus occupied in my inner room, I could overhear my friend
without engaged in the preparation of a little supper, mingling an
occasional soliloquy with the simmering of the grilled bone that browned
upon the fire--the clink of glasses and plates, and all the evidences
of punch-making, breaking every now and then amid such reflections as
these:--

'A mighty ugly business! nothing for it but meeting him. Poor lad,
they'll say we murdered him among us! Och, he's far too young
for Galway. Holloa, Hinton, are you ready? Now you look something
reasonable; and when we've eaten a bit, well talk th