Wherein the Truth of the Old Adage is Made Manifest--to Wit: All's Well That Ends Well

With an exclamation, I started forward, but Bentley's grasp was on my shoulder, and his voice whispered in my ear: "Leave him to Jack--'tis better so." And indeed Jack was already beside him, had flung one arm about the swaying figure, and half led, half carried him to a chair.

"Ah!" says Purdy, laying bare a great gash in the upper arm--"a little blood, but simple--simple!" and he fell to work a-sponging and bandaging, with a running exordium upon the humanity of the sword as opposed to the more deadly bullet--until at length, the dressing in place, Mr. Tawnish sighed and opened his eyes.

"Sir John," says he, sitting up, "give me leave to tell you that my third and last task was accomplished this morning."

"Eh?" cries Jack, "but first, let me get you out of this."

"What of Sir Harry Raikes?" says Tawnish, rising.

"Serious," says Purdy, shaking his head, "serious, but not altogether dangerous."

"Good!" says Jack, giving his arm to Mr. Tawnish, "I'm glad of that."

"Though," pursued Purdy, "he will be an invalid for months to come, the right lung--as I pointed out to my colleague, Prothero--a man of very excellent sense, by the way--"

At this juncture, at a sign from Prothero, Purdy left us with a bow. Hereupon we saluted the others, and turning into an adjacent room, called for wine and filled our glasses to Mr. Tawnish, with all the honours.