his hand. 'If
there were more men like you there would be fewer broken hearts in the
world.' And away went Sturk.

CHAPTER XLIII.

SHOWING HOW CHARLES NUTTER'S BLOW DESCENDED, AND WHAT PART THE SILVER
SPECTACLES BORE IN THE CRISIS.

In the morning the distress and keepers were in Sturk's house.

We must not be too hard upon Nutter. 'Tis a fearful affair, and no
child's play, this battle of life. Sturk had assailed him like a beast
of prey; not Nutter, to be sure, only Lord Castlemallard's agent. Of
that functionary his wolfish instinct craved the flesh, bones, and
blood. Sturk had no other way to live and grow fat. Nutter or he must go
down. The little fellow saw his great red maw and rabid fangs at his
throat. If he let him off, he would devour him, and lie in his bed, with
his cap on, and his caudles and cordials all round, as the wolf did by
Little Red Riding Hood's grandmamma; and with the weapon which had come
to hand--a heavy one too,--he was going, with Heaven's help, to deal him
a brainblow.

When Sturk heard in the morning that the blow was actually struck, he
jumped out of bed, and was taken with a great shivering fit, sitting on
the side of it. Little Mrs. Sturk, as white as her nightcap with terror,
was yet decisive in emergency, and bethought her of the brandy bottle,
two glasses from which the doctor swallowed before his teeth gave over
chattering, and a more natural tint returned to his blue face.

'Oh! Barney, dear, are we ruined?' faltered poor little Mrs. Sturk.

'Ruined, indeed!' cried Sturk, with an oath, 'Come in here.' He thought
his study was on the same floor with his bed-room, as it had been in old
times in their house in Limerick, ten or twelve years before.

'That's the nursery, Barney, dear,' she said, thinking, in the midst of
the horror, like a true mother, of the children's sleep.

Then he remembered and ran down to the study, and pulled out a sheaf of
bills and promissory notes, and renewals thereof, making a very
respectable show.

'Ruined, indeed!' he cried, hoarsely, talking to his poor little wife in
the tones and with the ferocity which the image of Nutter; with which
his brain was filled, called up. 'Look, I say, here's one fellow owes me
that--and that--and that--and there--there's a dozen in that by
another--there's two more sets there pinned together--and here's an
account of them all--two thousand two hundred--and you may say three
hundred--two thousand three