“I promise.”
“Not to pick any quarrel, or to revive any old quarrel, with Lord Chudleigh or Sir Miles Lackington.”
He repeated the words after me.
“And to remain good friends with Kitty Pleydell and all who are her friends and followers.”
He repeated these words as well, though with some appearance of swallowing distasteful food.
“I cannot shake hands with you, Harry, because, poor boy, your hands are hidden away beneath that strait-waistcoat. But I know you to be an honourable gentleman, as becomes a man of your birth and so great a scholar, and I accept your word. Wherefore, my dear old friend and schoolfellow, seeing that there is to be no more pretence of love between us, but only of friendship and good wishes, I will call—Dr. Powlett.”
That good man was waiting in the corridor or passage while Harry and I held this long conversation. He came as soon as I called him.
“Sir,” said I, as soon as he came in (I noticed that he looked anxiously behind him to see that his four varlets were at hand, ready to defend him if necessary)—“Sir, here is a most grievous mischance indeed. For this gentleman is no other than Mr. Harry Temple, Justice of the Peace, Bachelor of Arts of the University of Cambridge, Fellow Commoner of his College, Member of the Honourable Society of Lincoln’s Inn, and a country gentleman, with a great estate of East Kent. He is, in truth, doctor, no more mad than you or I, or any one else in the world.”
The doctor affected the greatest surprise and indignation. First he expressed his inability to believe my statement, although it pained him deeply to differ from a lady; then he called upon one of his men to bring him the Hue and Cry, and read out a description of a runaway madman which so perfectly answered the appearance of Harry, that it would deceive any one, except myself, because I was sure he had himself written it—after the capture. He then asked me, solemnly and gravely, if I did not think, having heard the description, that the men were justified in their action.
I replied that the paper so exactly tallied with Harry’s appearance that such a mistake was most easy to account for, and must at once, when explained, command forgiveness. Nevertheless, Harry’s face looked far from forgiving.