"You were. Dr. Powlett's patients are always kicked. Then you had buckets of cold water thrown over you; you were put into a strait-waistcoat and chained to the wall: while I came and asked you whether you preferred remaining in the madhouse or promising to behave like an honourable gentleman, and abstain from insulting persons who have done no harm to you or yours." "I believe," he said, "that it is none other than yourself who has had me captured and treated in this manner, _femina furens_!" "A mere mistake, Harry," I replied, "of this good physician's zealous servants. Why, it might have happened in any such establishment. But for me to order it--oh! impossible--though, when one comes to think of it, there are few things a woman--_Femina furens_, the English of which, Master Harry, I know--would not do to save two friends from hacking and slashing each other." Upon this he gave way. "I must," he said, "get away from this place with what speed I may, even if I have to pink half the men in Epsom to prove I am no coward. Kitty, call the doctor. I believe, mad nymph, thou hast a devil!" "Nay, Harry, all this was planned but to lay the devil, believe me. But promise first." "Well, then. It is a hard pill to swallow, Kitty." "Promise." "I promise." "Not to pick any quarrel, or to revive any old quarrel, with Lord Chudleigh or Sir Miles Lackington." He repeated the words after me. "And to remain good friends with Kitty Pleydell and all who are her friends and followers." He repeated these words as well, though with some appearance of swallowing distasteful food. "I cannot shake hands with you, Harry, because, poor boy, your hands are hidden away beneath that strait-waistcoat. But I know you to be an honourable gentleman, as becomes a man of your birth and so great a scholar, and I accept your word. Wherefore, my dear old friend and schoolfellow, seeing that there is to be no more pretence of love between us, but only of friendship and good wishes, I will call--Dr. Powlett." That good man was waiting in the corridor or passage while Harry and I held this long conversation. He came as soon as I called him. "Sir," said I, as soon as he came in (I noticed that he looked anxiously behind him to see that his four varlets were at hand, ready to defend him if necessary)--"Sir, here is a most grievous mischance indeed. For this gentleman is no other than Mr. Harry Temple, Justice of the Peace, Bachelor of Arts of the University of Cambridge, Fellow Commoner of his College, Member of the Honourable Society of Lincoln's Inn, and a country gentleman, with a great estate of East Kent. He is, in truth, doctor, no more mad than you or I, or any one else in the world."