. The usual crisp brisk way of his speaking was
resumed in hollow tones: "You must stop it. Now, don't answer. Go to
Pericles to-morrow. You must. Nothing wrong, if you go at once."

"But, Sir! Good heaven!" interposed Wilfrid, horrified by the thought of
the penance here indicated.

The bed shook violently.

"If not," was uttered with a sort of muted vehemence, "there's another
thing you can do. Go to the undertaker's, and order coffins for us all.
There--good night!"

The bed shook again. Wilfrid stood eyeing the mysterious hangings, as if
some dark oracle had spoken from behind them. In fear of irritating the
old man, and almost as much in fear of bringing on himself a revelation
of the frightful crisis that could only be averted by his apologizing
personally to the man he had struck, Wilfrid stole from the room.

CHAPTER LV

There is a man among our actors here who may not be known to you. It had
become the habit of Sir Purcell Barren's mind to behold himself as under
a peculiarly malign shadow. Very young men do the same, if they are much
afflicted: but this is because they are still boys enough to have the
natural sense to be ashamed of ill-luck, even when they lack courage
to struggle against it. The reproaching of Providence by a man of full
growth, comes to some extent from his meanness, and chiefly from his
pride. He remembers that the old Gods selected great heroes whom to
persecute, and it is his compensation for material losses to conceive
himself a distinguished mark for the Powers of air. One who wraps
himself in this delusion may have great qualities; he cannot be of a
very contemptible nature; and in this place we will discriminate more
closely than to call him fool. Had Sir Purcell sunk or bent under the
thong that pursued him, he might, after a little healthy moaning, have
gone along as others do. Who knows?--though a much persecuted man,
he might have become so degraded as to have looked forward with
cheerfulness to his daily dinner; still despising, if he pleased, the
soul that would invent a sauce. I mean to say, he would, like the larger
body of our sentimentalists, have acquiesced in our simple humanity, but
without sacrificing a scruple to its grossness, or going arm-in-arm with
it by any means. Sir Purcell, however, never sank, and never bent. He
was invariably erect before men, and he did not console himself with a
murmur in secret. He had lived much alone; eating alone; thinking a