Not a word was said as Cave began his deal. It was too plain to every one that Sewell's temper was becoming beyond control, and that a word or a look might bring the gravest consequences.
“What cards!” said Cave, as he spread his hand on the table: “four honors and nine trumps.” Sewell stared at them, moved his fingers through them to separate and examine them, and then, turning his head round, he looked behind. It was his wife was standing at the back of his chair, calm, pale, and collected. “By Heaven!” cried he, savagely, “I knew who was there as well as if I saw her. The moment Cave spread out his cards, I 'd have taken my oath that she was standing over me.”
She moved hastily away at the ruffianly speech, and a low murmur of indignant anger filled the room. Cave and Houghton quitted the table, and mingled with the others; but Sewell sat still, tearing up the cards one by one, with a quiet, methodical persistence that betrayed no passion. “There!” said he, as he threw the last fragment from him, “you shall never bring good or bad luck to any one more.” With the ease of one to whom such paroxysms were not un-frequent, he joined in the conversation of a group of young men, and with a familiar jocularity soon set them at their ease towards him; and then, drawing his arm within Cave's, he led him apart, and said: “I 'll go over to the Barrack to-morrow and breakfast with you. I have just thought of how I can settle this little debt.”
“Oh, don't distress yourself about that,” said Cave. “I beg you will not let it give you a moment's uneasiness.”
“Good fellow!” said Sewell, clapping him on the shoulder; “but I have the means of doing it without inconvenience, as I 'll show you to-morrow. Don't go yet; don't let your fellows go. We are going to have a broil, or a devilled biscuit, or something.” He walked over and rang the bell, and then hastily passed on into a smaller room, where his wife was sitting on a sofa, an old doctor of the regiment seated at her side.
“I won't interrupt the consultation,” said Sewell, “but I have just one word to say.” He leaned over the back of the sofa, and whispered in her ear, “Your friend Trafford is become an eldest son. He is at the Bilton Hotel, Dublin; write and ask him here. Say I have some cock-shooting,—there are harriers in the neighborhood. Are you listening to me, Madam?” said he, in a harsh hissing voice, for she had half turned away her head, and her face had assumed an expression of sickened disgust. She nodded, but did not speak. “Tell him that I've spoken to Cave—he'll make his leave all right—that I 'll do my best to make the place pleasant to him, and that—in fact, I needn't toy to teach you to write a sweet note. You understand me, eh?”
“Oh, perfectly,” said she, rising; and a livid paleness now spread over her face, and even her lips were bloodless.
“I was too abrupt with my news. I ought to have been more considerate; I ought to have known it might overcome you,” said he, with a sneering bitterness. “Doctor, you 'll have to give Mrs. Se well some cordial, some restorative,—that's the name for it. She was overcome by some tidings I brought her. Even pleasant news will startle us occasionally. As the French comedy has it, La joie fait peur;” and with a listless, easy air, he sauntered away into another room.