[figure description] Page 334.[end figure description]

Scarcely had the wooden clock done striking the hour
of seven, the next morning, when Walter de Coursey
Stubbs stood by his master's side to awake him from his
slumbers, which he accomplished by pulling one of the
chairs from beneath him. Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit
wiped his eyes with his hand, and combed his hair with
his fingers, and then, as was his wont, commenced pommelling
his attendant by way of gentle exercise, after
which he proceeded to dress himself in the panoply of
war. Stooping to pick up one of the stove-pipes that
encased his legs, Sir Hildebrand espied the letter left by
the stranger, lying upon the ground. He gazed upon
the writing, and a mortal paleness covered his face. His
limbs trembled in every joint and rivet, and his teeth,
which were not metallic, shook like a set of props. He
read —

“Perfigis retch: — your our is cum... Mete me to-morrar
outside the Inglish lines, and Ile giv yu Jessy.
Yours respectively,

Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit drank his coffee in silence;
after which, arming himself with two spears, a battleaxe,
a sword, mace and shield, besides filling his belt
with bowie knives, revolvers, and slung shot, he walked
forth into the fields, in the rear of the English camp,
where he soon discovered the Knight of the Brazen Nose

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sitting on a rock, reading a newspaper, who sprang to his
feet and pulled out his sword.

The contest was speedily begun and quicker ended;
for Sir Hildebrand had “too many irons in the fire,”
and he could n't “come in” well. One blow from the
powerful arm of him of the Nose, and the head of Sir
Hildebrand Hellytisplit, like an iron pot, rolled at the
feet of the victor.

Uttering a fearful cry of agony at this consummation,
the strange knight tore off his helmet, revealing beneath
a head of hair like a pound of flax, the fair but hard
countenance of Judy O'Brien, the washer-woman.
“Gentlemen,” said she, “he was a perjured man, and
I have avenged myself upon him. He owed me a bill
for washing, but, alas! in wiping out that score, I 've
flummoxed myself. Tell this to my countrywomen;
never seek for vengeance; 't is better to forgive a little,
if they lose a shilling on the pound. Farewell.” Saying
which, she disappeared up a tall tree that was near
by, and they never saw her more.

Coroner de Smythe, under the circumstances, did not
think it advisable to summon a jury, and informed Sir
Hildebrand's friends, by telegraph, that they had better
come on and look after his effects, as ne was n't exactly
in a condition to do it for himself. A Flemish Jew bought
Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit's wardrobe, after a few keepsakes
had been taken by friends, for about the price of
old iron.

p677-369

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