No wonder that he was for a while silent, stunned, and bewildered.

At last he was able--pale and cold--to lift up his clasped hands, his eyes, and his heart, in awful gratitude, to the Author of Mercy, the Revealer of Secrets, the Lord of Life and Truth.
'And where is this Charles Archer--is he dead or living ?' urged Mervyn with an awful adjuration.
'Ay, where to catch him, and how--Dead?
Well, he's dead to some, you see, and living to others; and living or dead, I'll put you on his track some fine day, if you're true to me; but not yet awhile, and if you turn a stag, or name my name to living soul (and here Mr.Irons swore an oath such as I hope parish clerks don't often swear, and which would have opened good Dr.Walsingham's eyes with wonder and horror), you'll never hear word more from me, and I think, Sir, you'll lose your life beside.' 'Your threats of violence are lost on me, I can take care of myself,' said Mervyn, haughtily.
The clerk smiled a strange sort of smile.
'But I've already pledged my sacred honour not to mention your name or betray your secret.' 'Well, just have patience, and maybe I'll not keep you long; but 'tis no trifle for a man to make up his mind to what's before _me_, maybe.' After a pause, Irons resumed-- 'Well, Sir, you see, Mr.Archer sat down by the fire and smoked a pipe, and was as easy and pleased, you'd say, to look on him, as a man need be; and he called for cards when my lord wanted them, and whatever else he needed, making himself busy and bustling--as I afterwards thought to make them both remember well that he was in the room with them.
'In and out of the chamber I went with one thing or another, and every time I passed Mr.Beauclerc's room I grew more and more frightened; and, truth to say, I was a scared man, and I don't know how I got through my business; every minute expecting to hear the outcry from the dead man's room.
'Mr.Edwards had an appointment, he said--nothing good, you may be sure--they were a rake-helly set--saving your presence.

Neither he nor my lord had lost, I believe, anything to signify to one another; and my lord, your father, made no difficulty about his going away, but began to call again for Mr.Beauclerc, and to curse him--as a half-drunk man will, making a power of noise; and, "Where's he gone to ?" and, "Where's his room ?" and, "-- -- him, he shall play, or fight me." You see, Sir, he had lost right and left that time, and was an angry man, and the liquor made him half mad; and I don't think he knew rightly what he was doing.
And out on the lobby with him swearing he should give him his revenge, or he'd know the reason why.
"Where's Mr.Beauclerc's room ?" he shouts to me, as if he'd strike me; I did not care a rush about that, but I was afraid to say--it stuck in my throat like--and I stared at Mr.Archer; and he calls to the chamber-maid, that was going up stairs, "Where does Mr.Beauclerc lie ?" and she, knowing him, says at once, "The Flower de luce," and pointed to the room; and with that, my lord staggered up to the door, with his drawn sword in hand, bawling on him to come out, and fumbling with the pin; he could not open it; so he knocked it open with a kick, and in with him, and Mr.Archer at his elbow, soothing him like; and I, I don't know how--behind him.
'By this time he had worked himself into a mad passion, and says he, "Curse your foxing--if you won't play like a man, you may die like a dog." I think 'twas them words ruined him; the chamber-maid heard them outside; and he struck Mr.Beauclerc half-a-dozen blows with the side of the small-sword across the body, here and there, quite unsteady; and "Hold, my lord, you've hurt him," cries Mr.Archer, as loud as he could cry.

"Put up your sword for Heaven's sake," and he makes a sort of scuffle with my lord, in a friendly way, to disarm him, and push him away, and "Throw down the coverlet and see where he's wounded," says he to me; and so I did, and there was a great pool of blood--_we_ knew all about that--and my lord looked shocked when he seen it.

"I did not mean that," says my lord; "but," says he, with a sulky curse, "he's well served." 'I don't know whether Glascock was in the room or not all this while, maybe he was; at any rate, he swore to it afterwards; but you've read the trial, I warrant.