"Ha! Anthony! dost remember the fight behind
Paul's, three to one,--and the baggage that brought it about?"

The divine, on his knees beside Laramore, looked up with a twinkle in
his eye from his work of tying laced handkerchiefs into bandages. "That
was in the dark ages, your Excellency. My memory goeth not back so far.
Ha! that is better! He is coming to himself. It is not so bad after
all."

Laramore groaned, opened his eyes, and struggled into a sitting posture.

"Blast me! but I am properly spitted. Sir Charles Carew, my compliments
to you. You are a man after my own heart. Ha, your Excellency! I find
myself in good company. Dr. Anthony Nash, I shall have you out! You have
torn the handkerchief Mistress Lettice Verney gave me."

The Doctor laughed. "You must be got to the house at once, and to bed,
where Mistress Lettice, who is as skillful in healing as in making
wounds, shall help me to properly dress this one."

Laramore staggered to his feet. "Give me an arm, Doctor; and Peyton,
clap my periwig upon my head, will you? and fetch me my sword from where
I see it, adorning yonder bough. Sir Charles Carew, I am your humble
servant. Damme! it's no disgrace to be worsted by the best sword at
Whitehall." And the gallant captain, supported by the clergyman and Mr.
Peyton, reeled off the ground; the remainder of the party waiting only
to assume doublets and wigs before following him to the house.

Two hours later Sir Charles Carew rose from the supper-table, and
leaving the gentlemen at wine, passed into the great room, and came
softly up to Patricia, sitting at the spinet.

"My heart was not there," he said, answering her smile and lifted brows.
"I am come in search of it."

She laughed, fingering the keys. "Did you leave it on the field of
honor? Fie, sir, for shame! Doctor Nash says that Captain Laramore will
not use his arm for a fortnight."

"What--" said Sir Charles, dropping his voice and leaning over
her--"what if I had been the wounded one?"

"I would have made your gruel with great pleasure, cousin."

She laughed again, and looked at him half tenderly, half mockingly.
There were silver candlesticks upon the spinet and the light from the
tall wax tapers fell with a white radiance over the slender figure in
brocade and lace, the gleaming shoulders, the beautiful face, and the
shining hair. Her eyes were brilliant, her mouth all elusive, mocking,
exquisite curves.

He raised a wandering lock of gold