The constable was for carrying me to the Marshalsea.  And so I was forced to tell that I had quarrelled with Chartersea; and the watch, going out to the scene of the fight, discovered the duke’s sword which he had pulled out of me, and Lewis’s laced hat; and also a trail of blood leading from the spot.  Mr. Tyers testified that he had seen Chartersea that night, and Lord Carlisle and Fitzpatrick to the grudge the duke bore me.  I was given my liberty.

Comyn was taken to his house in Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, in Sir Charles’s coach, whither I insisted upon preceding him.  ’Twas on the way there that Fitzpatrick told me Dorothy had fainted when she heard the alarm—­a piece of news which added to my anxiety.  We called up the dowager countess, Comyn’s mother, and Carlisle broke the news to her, mercifully lightening me of a share of the blame.  Her Ladyship received the tidings with great fortitude; and instead of the torrent of reproaches I looked for, and deserved, she implored me to go home and care for my injuries lest I get the fever.  I believe that I burst into tears.

His Lordship was carried up the stairs with never a word or a groan from his lips, and his heart beating out slowly.

We reached my lodgings as the watchman was crying:  “Past two o’clock, and a windy morning!”

Mr. Fitzpatrick stayed with me that night.  And the next morning, save for the soreness of the cuts I had got, I found myself well as ever.  I was again to thank the robustness of my health.  Despite the protests of Banks and Fitzpatrick, and of Mr. Fox (who arrived early, not having been to bed at all), I jumped into a chaise and drove to Brook Street.  There I had the good fortune to get the greatest load from my mind.  Comyn was resting so much easier that the surgeon had left, and her Ladyship retired two hours since.

The day was misting and dark, but so vast was my relief that I imagined the sun was out as I rattled toward Arlington Street.  If only Dolly were not ill again from the shock, I should be happy indeed.  She must have heard, ere then, that I was not killed; and I had still better news to tell her than that of Lord Comyn’s condition.  Mr. Fox, who got every rumour that ran, had shouted after me that the duke and Lewis were set out for France.  How he knew I had not waited to inquire.  But the report tallied with my own surmise, for they had used the word “Dover” when they left us for dead in the Wilderness.

I dismissed my chaise at the door.

“Mr. Manners waits on you, sir, in the drawing-room,” said the footman.  “Your honour is here sooner than he looked for,” he added gratuitously.

“Sooner than he looked for?”

“Yes, sir.  James is gone to you but quarter of an hour since with a message, sir.”

I was puzzled.

“And Miss Manners?  Is she well?”

The man smiled.

“Very well, sir, thank your honour.”