“It was his own fault,” returned Coverdale. “I did not want to hurt the man if he would have fought quietly, and like a civilised Christian, instead of a raging lunatic;--but he’s only stunned--see he’s reviving already. Confound the fellow, his head is as hard as a cannon-ball, to which fact my knuckles bear witness.” So saying, Coverdale rose, and resuming his coat and waistcoat, approached his fallen foe, who, with his head leaning against Markum’s shoulder, was staring vacantly at the sky. “He’s as unconscionable as a hinfant, Mr. Coverdale, sir: you’ve been and knocked his hintellects slap out of him, which only sarves him right, and is what all poachers ’andsomely desarves,” remarked the gamekeeper cheerfully. “I know what will be the medicine to cure him,” exclaimed Hazlehurst, producing a pocket-flask, and applying it to the lips of the vanquished Styles. At first the patient seemed inclined to resist; but as soon as he tasted the flavour of the contents of the pocket-pistol, he raised his hand, and pushing aside Hazlehurst’a fingers, drained it to the bottom. “Gently, my friend,” remonstrated the young barrister, “that’s Kinahan’s best whisky--fortunately I supplied the vacuum created at luncheon with spring water. Ah, I thought as much, that’s the true elixir vitæ,” he continued, as Styles, relinquishing the flask, sat up and began to stare wildly about him. “Styles, my good fellow; how do you feel now? You were stunned, you know; but I shall be very sorry if I’ve hurt you,” observed Coverdale, good-naturedly. As he spoke, Styles turned and regarded him attentively, measuring his tall, active figure with his glance from top to toe. At length he muttered, “Well, I didn’t think he had it in him, that I didn’t;” he then rubbed his head, with a look of thorough perplexity, once more fixing his eyes on his late opponent, as if he were some strange monster wonderful to behold: having, apparently, satisfied himself that he was a real flesh and blood man, and not some newfangled, cast-iron boxing-machine, he turned to the gamekeeper, observing, “Markum, lend us a fin, old man, for I feels precious staggery-like, I can tell you. Your guv’nor hits hard.” On obtaining the required assistance, he rose, not without difficulty, approached Coverdale, and holding out a hand somewhat smaller than a shoulder of mutton, said, “Shake hands, sir, you’re a gentleman, and what’s far more in my eyes, you’re _a man_ every inch of you, and I humbly begs your pardon for insulting of you.” “Say no more about it, my good friend,” returned Coverdale, heartily shaking his proffered hand, “we did not understand each other before, but we do now, and shall get on capitally for the future I don’t doubt.” “I shan’t disturb your rabbits again, sir,” continued the penitent Styles, entirely subdued by Coverdale’s hearty manner, “and if the creeturs should do any damage to the crops, why I know a gentleman like you will bear it in mind on the rent-day.”