When they had had time to reflect, both combatants were equally sorry for the fracas. Curran was specially meek, and apologised humbly to his second, as they walked arm-in-arm to the trysting-place.

'Indeed, and I'm an old fool,' he admitted. 'Nothing, as you said, can come of this sort of thing but noise. I can't afford to be kilt, for I'll be wanted later.' Then a thought came as a gleam of comfort. 'If I could kill my man,' he said, 'that would be doing good service to ould Ireland. But the devil looks after his own. He's much more likely to make daylight through me.'

Lord Clare was more than annoyed; he was seriously disturbed. If he were to kill Curran, his position would be fraught with difficulty.

The mob loved Curran; they would certainly tear to pieces the man who slew him. If he, by chance, escaped, he would be able to show his face no more; and, having ceased to be useful, the authorities in London would certainly throw him over. Was this wretched little pigmy always to cross his path? Lord Clare ground out a curse, and determined (with a hasty prayer to his tutelary deity with the horns and hoofs) that if the first fire turned out harmless, he would declare his honour satisfied, and decline a second shot. Meanwhile he improved the shining moments--Ca.s.sidy having rushed off to fetch the barking-irons--by sending a special messenger to Ely Place, to order a saddled horse to be brought to the mall in Stephen's Green; a precaution in favour of escape, in case an accident should happen to the popular favourite.

Speedily as challenge had followed insult, he saw with chagrin that there was no hope of keeping the matter secret. The altercation had been witnessed by several gownsmen who happened to be pa.s.sing out of the Commons, and who, rushing across the road to Trinity, had bawled to all whom it interested that 'Curran was about to pistol the chancellor to Hades.'

The news flew like wildfire from court to court, for the undergraduates bore the latter no goodwill, by reason of the recent visitation. They poured out like a flock of rooks, and were already perched on wall and branch when the interested parties arrived.

There were not two opinions as to which way they hoped the affair would end. Of the chancellor's enemies among the sc.u.m, there was no slight sprinkling, Phil having also rushed away to announce to sundry cronies that there was going to be great sport. Lord Clare regretted his choice of a second. He had selected him as likely to obey his princ.i.p.al, instead of leading him, as he had a right to do; but he reckoned without the pugnacity which underlies the Irish character, and which is certain to burst forth on the first symptom of a row. How could Ca.s.sidy guess (who was, by nature, blundering and muddle-pated), that my lord chancellor really wished to back out of his challenge?

Was he not an Irishman? That he was no coward all the world knew. The giant put down his peculiar manner to an ultra-refinement of courtesy and high-breeding, and was specially anxious to allow him to air his politeness without losing a point. He was extremely obstinate, therefore, declining to listen to anything his princ.i.p.al proposed--so peremptorily, indeed, that he would have marvelled at his own audacity, but for a conviction that he was doing what was expected of him.

'Ground! gintlemen, ground!' he cried in delight, as a sort of salutation. 'Blow measurement! We'll hip the puny babbler, my lord!

Hip him--hip--hip! Bedad, your lordship's puce silk coat is in your favour. The daylight's waning. I can hardly distinguish your figure from the gra.s.s. Sure it's dewy, and your shoes are thin. Stand on my roquelaure. 'Twill prevent your taking could!'

'd.a.m.n his officiousness!' muttered his princ.i.p.al, with a scowl.

Mr. Curran met with such an ovation from the heavy flight of rooks in the trees, as his small figure loomed in the twilight, that his spirits rose again. His temporary humility was gone. He, too, was a Hibernian war-horse, with a love for the clarion's bray, although his bouts were more in the way of arguments than cudgel-playing. The idea of shooting down, with his own dusky hand, Ireland's recreant son, her bitterest foe, might well raise his spirits.

Charlotte Corday, even though she did her country transcendant service, cannot be acquitted of the charge of murder. It is not _convenable_ for a young lady to enter the bath-room of an unprotected gentleman, and, having lodged a knife in his flesh, to retire behind a curtain and await her fate. But here was an a.n.a.logous case, without its indecorous elements. A frowsy-looking mouse had bearded a gorgeous lion, and told him the simple truth about himself, which more timorous animals were content to whisper behind his back. That lion, taking offence, had challenged his small foe to mortal combat. Well, the mouse would try to slay that lion, and, the combat being on equal terms, there was no murder about the business at all; a case of retribution, simply. David and Goliath--nothing more. Anything more _convenable_ could not possibly be seen.

So Mr. Curran became quite jubilant, and seeming, to his surprise, to detect something which looked like the hesitation of fear, set himself to taunt the fine-looking gentleman opposite, who made really a splendid appearance in his exquisitely-fitting silken clothes, with a large diamond glimmering in a soft fall of lace, another in his hat-loop; while, as for the silver-hilted _couteau de cha.s.se_ which dangled from a silver belt, nothing could be more perfect in workmanship, more chaste and elegant in design.

'Is the _State-doctor_ ready?' shouted Mr. Curran, who was in highest spirits by this time, amid crows of merriment. 'Sure he's always prescribing _steel_ to his patient; bad luck to him!'

'Is it steel?' retorted Ca.s.sidy, whose princ.i.p.al pretended not to hear. 'Here's steel for ye! The prettiest irons in all Leinster; a gift to me from Lord Glandore. Twelve inches long they are. Tear and owns! but they're lovely boys; as bright as moonbames. If they could spake, they'd thank ye for giving them their liberty. Why, they've not been aired these six weeks.'

'Take care,' Terence observed, laughing; 'the one ye're flourishing is at full-c.o.c.k.'

'Then full-c.o.c.k your own, and let's blaze,' retorted the other, readily; which sally produced a yell from the rookery.

'If Mr. Curran will apologise----' Lord Clare began, glancing nervously round, for it was nearly dark, and the mob was thickening fast.

'Ah! Go on, now; it's joking ye're,' shouted Ca.s.sidy, holding his sides. 'Your lordship's too polite entirely. Sure ye couldn't do it.

Here are the rules laid down by the Knights of Tara, which you know may not be broke' (taking a small ma.n.u.script book out of his voluminous breeches-pocket). 'See No. 7: "No apology can be accepted after the parties meet, without a fire." Come, gintlemin. Proceed, proceed. Ould locks--barrels and stocks! Go on, _du_ now! Here are your pair of bullies, nicely primed, my lord.'

'One will be sufficient, probably,' frowned his princ.i.p.al.

'Rule 33,' retorted the glib fire-eater: '"You may not be satisfied till two shots are fired at least, unless the apologiser hands the other a cane and submits to a good beating."'

'That's a Galway rule, which doesn't obtain in Dublin,' Terence remarked. 'Not that my princ.i.p.al means to apologise; far from it.'

'Irish blackguard is one of our staple manufactures,' suggested Mr.

Curran, to keep the ball rolling; but his adversary was imperturbable.

He was a cur as well as a tyrant, then?

'Listen to me, my lord,' cried the st.u.r.dy advocate, crossing his arms.

'In 1173, MacMurrough betrayed the land to Strongbow, as you are betraying it now to Pitt, and received the wages of sin. Take a lesson from history. Hunted by despair, he died by his own hand. Under Henry II. England and Ireland were for a moment one. But England grew sick of the faint smell of the shambles, and abandoned her slave. Much good did that Union do!'

Lord Clare was stung to desperation. Openly to talk of a Union at this juncture might be productive of incalculable harm.

'Make haste, make haste!' he said pettishly. 'We don't want all the metropolis to look at us.'

The first shot did no mischief. The chancellor fired wide, his wandering bullet creating a transitory excitement in a knot of bystanders. Mr. Curran's pierced his adversary's coat.

'The devil looks after his own, I might have known it,' he muttered, tossing away one pistol and raising the other. 'The gentleman stands too far off. Let him come closer. I can't see him.'

Lord Clare approached nearer, and again fired wildly; while his opponent was so diabolically deliberate, that he could not help observing through the stillness of expectation: 'It won't be your fault if you don't kill me, Curran!'

'Did ye ever hear tell of Moran's collar?' inquired the advocate, as, closing one eye and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his mouth into an O, he covered the chancellor. 'It was worn by justices in ould days, and had the wondrous property of contracting or relaxing according to his just or unjust conduct. How mightily it would have choked your lordship!'

Curran fired at last. The chancellor staggered, but recovered himself.

'A hit!' shouted Curran.

'A hit, a hit!' yelled the rooks, in the gathering darkness. One piping bird-voice cried above the rest, 'Moiley shall eat him!'

A mult.i.tude of friends vied with each other in sympathy for the chancellor. Ca.s.sidy supported him, despite his struggles, on his knee, while one ripped open his small clothes and another produced a probe.

On the fair skin there was a dark mark--a tiny trickle of blood like a pin's scratch. The sight of it produced a murmur of astonishment. Lord Clare could conceal his fury no longer.

'd.a.m.n you all! d.a.m.n you, I say! for a pack of donkeys!' he cried, almost foaming. 'It's the gingerbread nuts that I eat in the long debate--they've saved me from a bullet-wound--there--laugh away, and get you gone--I've danced too long already to your asinine piping!'

'One more blaze, my lord?' coaxed Ca.s.sidy, unconvinced, amid general t.i.ttering.

But he was not long unconvinced. He saw _that_ in his princ.i.p.al's eye which reduced him to lowliness at once, and he bowed his head as the wounded warrior quoted with majesty Rule 22:

'"If a wound agitates the nerves and makes the hand shake, the business must end for that day at least." The gingerbread nuts have made my hand shake: at all events you may take it so, if you please.

Provoke me no longer--clear away this rabble of idiots at once, or I tell you plainly, Mr. Ca.s.sidy, that you'll be sorry for it.'

The giant could not but perceive that his princ.i.p.al really was frantic, and hastened to obey his behests.

'Well, well,' he meditated. 'I'd rather be badly wounded than be saved by gingerbread nuts! It's an ignominious accident, and laughable, and the chancellor cannot bear being laughed at.'

Ca.s.sidy busied himself in 'claring the coorse,' as he termed it; and while he did so, the aggrieved chancellor watched him with a sullen and lowering gaze. It was quite dark by this time.

'Terence,' he said presently, with unaccustomed kindness in his voice, 'come hither. You dislike me, I know; and no wonder, prejudiced as you necessarily are by the company you choose to keep. Yet, for your mother's sake, I fain would be your friend. You are a plucky fellow. I honour pluck, and genuinely like you, for yourself, in spite of you.

I'm not so bad as I'm painted. Few people are. I'll give you a bit of advice. Act on it.'

Curran approached to listen (comforted, though he had not killed his enemy, by the axiom he was so fond of quoting, that the devil, who is more powerful than the best of men, looks after his own). He was amazed to behold quite a human look on the dragon's face. The toothsome smile, so redolent of falseness, was gone; the hatchet lines had curled themselves up into a mask which really resembled _bonhomie_. Can grapes grow on thistles? Was it possible that this adamantine nature could be softened? Wonders will never cease, although some people do say that there's nothing new under the sun.

Curran listened, trying to follow the direction of those wandering eyes in the obscurity which he could not pierce.

'Terence,' the chancellor said, 'you have a foe--unscrupulous and bitter--who will ruin you if possible. I know not why. Be very careful, or you will come to ruin. One foe in the dark is worse than a score by day. You have slighted that enemy somehow. You are on the edge of quicksand; once beyond the brink, you must be swallowed up.

For your dear mother's sake I will save you while I can. But I may not be here always. A thousand things might happen. It's due to her as well as to yourself to keep yourself free from obloquy. Think how her pride would suffer. Take off that ridiculous necktie.'

Honest Phil was also listening with craned neck and goggle eyes.