By the blood of my ancestors, I never had such
foul language used to me before. What! compare the aristocratic flesh
of one descended from such a line of ancestors as mine to mutton! Ugh! _Mutton_, quotha? I'll mutton _you_," cried the Baron, aiming a blow at
the little doctor's head, which he caught peeping from beneath the bed. The doctor ducked in his head, and attempted a clandestine escape on his
hands and knees by the door, but was immediately pulled back by the
coat-tails by the Baron. "Not so easily, young vein-opener, do you escape the clutches of the
Baron. Bind up my wound, Sir Shaveling, and think yourself lucky that I
spare your paltry life for the vile trick which you, in your blind
ignorance of this phenomenon of my aristocratic constitution, dared to
practise upon me. Keep that instrument for the bleeding of cows and
horses. That's more in your line than the flesh of great nobles like
me." The Baron's wound was bleeding profusely. The floor was covered with
pools of blood. The landlady had fallen into hysterics, and had to be
carried out of the room. The leech stammered out a sort of apology and
set meekly about his task of binding up the Baron's wound. "Silence!" roared the Baron, "and no more prattle." The arm being at length bound up, the doctor took his departure without
further severity on the part of the Baron, who had now cooled down
considerably. Whether it was the loss of blood, or what, a marked change had taken
place in the Baron's demeanour. He apologised amply to me for the
effects of hereditary temper of which he was the victim, and invited me
to breakfast. The breakfast was brought up by the landlord himself, as
everyone else refused to enter the Baron's apartments, saying that the
Baron must be the devil himself, and no one else. "I'm afraid," said the Baron, addressing the landlord, "that I
frightened your good lady dreadfully this morning, eh?" "Well, my lord," said the host, "she did take on about it a little,
but----"

"I am sincerely sorry for my rudeness," apologised the Baron, "but my
infirmity is ungovernable. It is a disease I inherit from my ancestors;
I am given every now and then to some uncontrollable burst of passion
when my nerves are a little out of order, which is generally the first
thing in the morning." "Indeed, my lord," said the good-hearted landlord, with some compassion
in his face, "but your lordship's sudden coming to life again after the
doctor had pronounced you dead, that was what staggered us all
downstairs." "Ha! ha!" laughed the Baron. "Yes; well, I dare say it did appear rather
startling, but it is nothing to those who know me. The fact is, I am
subject to a peculiar sort of trance, much resembling death; that also I
inherit from my ancestors." "Well, my lord, it's strange. I hope it's nothing dangerous. At any
rate, I am glad to see your lordship looking so well again," said the
host. "Thank you, thank you, my good host," replied the Baron. "It would have been an ugly thing, you know, my lord, for your lordship
to have died suddenly in my inn. It would have looked like foul play,"
said the landlord. "True, true, my good host; I understand," replied his lordship. "I trust
you'll convey my best apologies to your good lady for----"

"Oh, I trust your lordship won't mention it," said the landlord; "and if
there is anything else your lordship may require----"

"Nothing, thank you," said the Baron; and the landlord left the room. I was surprised at the change in the Baron's manner. Perhaps, after all,
he might not be so bad as he appeared. His infirmity of temper was
certainly against him. His personal appearance no less so. Nevertheless,
in his better moments he appeared to possess the manners of a gentleman. I began to fancy that the experiences of the past night might, after
all, have been a dream, until I caught sight again of the enormous
flea-bites on my hands, which still smarted. The Baron's manner to me during breakfast was most affable. After
breakfast we left the inn together and strolled leisurely towards the
Hall. On the way the Baron made me acquainted with the particulars of
his case, and I promised to do the best I could to serve him. Nevertheless, I saw at once that the Baron was most decidedly in the
wrong. I told him it was likely to go hard with him; in fact, I said I
did not see how he could well get off. The Baron frowned, and we walked on in silence towards the Hall. That
very day the case was tried at the assizes, and in spite of all my
efforts, the Baron lost. I will not weary you with the details of the
case. Suffice it that there was oppression and injustice on the part of
the Baron which could not be excused, resulting from a morbid belief in
his own importance. After the court broke up the Baron led me in silence to the Hall and
beckoned me to his room, the walls of which were covered over with every
sort of weapon of defence under the sun. There were pistols, daggers,
blunderbusses, rapiers, broadswords, cutlasses, Malay creases, poisoned
spear heads, a two-handed sword, probably belonging to his ancestor of
cruel memory, and an iron bar to which were attached a chain and ball of
spikes. On entering the room he slammed the door, and turning suddenly upon me,
he hissed out, "Paltry pettifogger, this is the second time that through
your d----d bungling I have been brought to disgrace. Not content with
hanging me once, you have played me foul a second time. But think not to
escape me now," and he cleared the room with one terrific stride. (Now
almost for the first time I noticed the enormous length of the Baron's
legs.) "Choose your weapons," he cried, "and thank your stars that I
don't fell you on the spot as I would an ox." "But--but--I don't see how you have a right to--to--I did all in my
power to----" stammered I. "I don't think you ought to be offended. Reflect, my dear Baron," I said. "I am sure, in your better mood, you
will see the matter in another light." "No more prating, but choose your weapon," screamed the Baron. "Really, Baron," I said, "this conduct of yours is contrary to all the
generally received etiquette in duelling. There are no seconds present,
nothing regular. I accept your challenge, if you really cannot be
brought to reason, but if I die, it must be like a gentleman, in a
regular duel, with all the usual ceremony." "Driveller! dost prate to me of ceremony? But have it your own way,"
said the Baron. "You do not escape me this time." "I will write to a friend of mine from town," I said. "Meanwhile, I have
the pleasure of wishing your lordship a remarkably good morning." I opened the door and made for the staircase, but, with two immense
strides, the Baron was at my heels.