“Thou wilt pardon me,” said I, “if I advise thee to accept the doctor’s advice, and get away with all speed. I should be sorry if thou wert arrested. The feeling against gentlemen of thy profession is unhappily strong just now.”
Le Clere looked me over with a quick glance of something like curiosity, and said, as he gave his hand, “You are a gallant gentleman, Mr. Wynne. You will permit an older man to say so. I trust we may meet again. Are all Quakers as clever at swordplay?”
I said a civil word, seeing Jack smile as he lay with my bloody coat under his head. Then, as I remembered that perhaps Mr. Woodville might not be satisfied, I went up to him and said, “I am at thy service, sir, if thou art not contented to let us be quit of this matter.”
“It must needs rest now,” he replied. “Damn your tricks!”
“Sir!” said I.
“Holloa!” says Le Clere; “this won’t do. Keep your temper. This way, Mr. Wynne.” And he drew me aside.
It was full time; I was beginning to get my blood up, and was in a rage.
“This comes,” he said, “of going out with a fellow that has risen from the ranks. Why do your ladies receive every one who wears a red coat? Let me help you with your friend. I am most sorry. For my share, I have a neat reminder in the shoulder. Mr. Warder has the wrist of a blacksmith”—which was true, and for good reason.
There is no need to tell of the wrath and incapacity of poor Jack’s father, I got away as soon as Dr. Rush arrived, and, promising to return in an hour, went off with a smile from my Jack, and a “Thank God! Hugh, that it was not thou who had the worst of it.”
It was about seven as I knocked at my aunt’s door, and, passing the black page, ran upstairs. My aunt was in the breakfast-room; she came to meet me in a morning gown, and to my astonishment was very tranquil, but with eyes that looked anxious, and far more red than common.