My tattered habiliments, in places stained with blood, and profusely soiled with mud, could not escape notice; nor did they. Men turned and gazed after me. Loiterers looked with eyes that expressed their astonishment. Some in the portico, and others in the bar, hailed me as I passed, asking me where I had been to. One cried out: “Hillow, mister! you’ve had a tussle with the cats: hain’t you?”
I did not make reply. I pushed on up-stairs, and found relief in the privacy of my chamber.
I had been badly torn by the bushes. My wounds needed dressing. I despatched a messenger for Reigart. Fortunately he was at home, and in a few minutes followed my messenger to the hotel. He entered my room, and stood staring at me with a look of surprise.
“My dear R—, where have you been?” he inquired at length.
“To the swamp.”
“And those wounds—your clothes torn—blood?”
“Thorn-scratches—that’s all.”
“But where have you been?”
“In the swamp.”
“In the swamp! but how came you to get such a mauling?”