Between her distressed exclamations and Mr. Fielding's immoderate laughter I was got up again, to find myself a little sobered by the fall. With a joyful recognition of me, and a truly withering glance of contempt for Mr. Fielding, neither of which I can positively depict, Cynthia fell into my arms, and showered upon me those salutes Mr. Fielding had been so importunate to obtain. But I must confess that I received them with a great deal more of shame than pleasure; for Mr. Fielding regarded us with such a degree of boisterousness, that the bitter fact suddenly came upon me that in my guilt I had committed her to the tender mercies of a person even more drunk than I was myself. CHAPTER XIV AMANTIUM IRÆ "Curse my jacket," says the drunken fellow, "if this is not the first time I have kissed a wife in the presence of her husband." "It shall be the last, sir," I hiccoughed furiously. "What words are these to use before a lady?" says Mr. Fielding, amiably measuring out glasses of wine for the three of us. "If I were not the most easy man in the world, I vow and protest it should be coffee and pistols at five." "By God, sir, it shall be whatever you are," says I, holding on by the table. "I swear I will pup--punish you for this." "Well, as you are determined to pup--punish me," says he, "here is another glass of Tommie's claret, another hair of the dog that bit you, to confirm you in that meritorious resolve." As he laughingly offered me the glass of wine, Cynthia came forward and took it from him. But instead of giving it to me, she flung both the wine and the glass in his face. Whereon he stood with the claret dripping from his features, and the blood too where the broken glass had cut his forehead, so that he made the very picture of his own Parson Adams, when he was assailed in a similar way by the hostess of the inn with the pan of hog's blood. Poor Cynthia stood white and trembling, but she never once looked at me for counsel or countenance. The tears were in her eyes too, but she never uttered so much as a word of reproach, although I am sure her misery was very great. I never felt such a mean villain and coward in my life as I did then. "Come," says she, "let us leave these--these people."