"Oh, Bessie!" said I, "with your cold you ought to have been in bed."
"My dear Edward," she replied, "how could I? I had lain down, but when I heard of the accident I could not rest. Have you been hurt?"
"My head is somewhat contused," I replied.
"Let me feel. Indeed, it is burning. I will put on some cold compresses."
"But, Bessie, I have a story to tell you."
"Oh! never mind the story, we'll have that another day. I'll send for some ice from the fishmonger to-morrow for your head."
I did eventually tell my wife the story of my experience in the porch of Fifewell on St. Mark's eve.
I have since regretted that I did so; for whenever I cross her will, or express my determination to do something of which she does not approve, she says: "Edward, Edward! I very much fear there is still in you too much Black Ram."