if the animal satiated its fury upon him, his companion would be safe.  A strong leg and a stout boot might have done something; Darcy, stooping down, put the fleshy part of his own arm fairly into the bulldog’s jaws; assured that, at all events, it could not bite two persons at the same time, and that, if its teeth were buried in his own arm, they could not be engaged in lacerating Emily Sherwood.  It is the well-known nature of the bull-dog to fasten where it once bites, and the brute pinned Darcy to the ground, until its owner, arriving on the spot, extricated him from his very painful position.

In this encounter, our senior wrangler probably showed himself very unskilful and deficient in the combat with wild beasts, but no conduct could have displayed a more engrossing anxiety for the safety of his fair companion.  Most men would have been willing to reap advantage from the grateful sentiment which such a conduct must inspire; Darcy, on the contrary, seemed to have no other wish than to disclaim all title to such a sentiment.  He would not endure that the incident should be spoken of with the least gravity or seriousness.

“I pray you,” said he, “do not mention this silly business again.  What I did, every living man who had found himself by your side would have done, and most men in a far more dexterous manner.  And, indeed, if instead of yourself, the merest stranger—­the poorest creature in the parish, man, woman, or child, had been in your predicament, I think I should have done the same.”

“I know you would, Reginald.  I believe,” said Emily, “that if the merest idiot had been threatened with the danger that threatened me, you would have interposed, and received the attack yourself.  And it is because I believe this of you, Reginald”——­

Something apparently impeded her utterance, for the sentence was left unfinished.

“For this wound,” resumed Darcy, after a pause, and observing that Emily’s eye was resting on his arm, “it is really nothing more than a just penalty for my own want of address in this notable combat.  You should have had the captain with you,” he added; “he would have defended you quite as zealously, and with ten times the skill.”

Emily made no answer; and they walked on in silence till they entered the Hall.  Reginald felt that he had been ungracious; but he knew not how to retrieve his position.  Just before they parted, Emily resuming, in some measure, her natural and cheerful manner, turned to her companion, and said—­“Years ago, when you were cousin Reginald, and condescended to be my playfellow, the greatest services you rendered were to throw me occasionally out of the swing, or frighten me till I screamed by putting my pony into a most unmerciful trot; but you were always so kind in the making up, that I liked you the better afterwards.  Now, when you preserve me, at your own hazard, from a very serious injury—­you do it in so surly a manner—­I wish the dog had bitten me!” And with this she left him and tripped up stairs.