Rowley was ready and eager to pursue; but I withheld him, thinking
we were excellently quit of Mr. Bellamy, at no more cost than a
scratch on the forearm and a bullet-hole in the left-hand claret-
coloured panel. And accordingly, but now at a more decent pace, we
proceeded on our way to Archdeacon Clitheroe's, Missy's gratitude
and admiration were aroused to a high pitch by this dramatic scene,
and what she was pleased to call my wound. She must dress it for
me with her handkerchief, a service which she rendered me even with
tears. I could well have spared them, not loving on the whole to
be made ridiculous, and the injury being in the nature of a cat's
scratch. Indeed, I would have suggested for her kind care rather
the cure of my coat-sleeve, which had suffered worse in the
encounter; but I was too wise to risk the anti-climax. That she
had been rescued by a hero, that the hero should have been wounded
in the affray, and his wound bandaged with her handkerchief (which
it could not even bloody), ministered incredibly to the recovery of
her self-respect; and I could hear her relate the incident to 'the
young ladies, my school-companions,' in the most approved manner of
Mrs. Radcliffe! To have insisted on the torn coat-sleeve would
have been unmannerly, if not inhuman.
Presently the residence of the archdeacon began to heave in sight.
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