Accordingly, about two of the clock, he was introduced to my chamber, and assured me that my perfidious lover was no more: that although he was not entitled to such an honourable proceeding, he had fairly challenged him to the field, where he upbraided him with his treachery towards me, for whom, he told me, his sword was drawn, and after a few passes left him weltering in his blood.

I was so savaged by my wrongs, that I delighted in the recital of this adventure, made him repeat the particulars and feasted my eyes on the blood that remained on his clothes and sword.

My imagination was so engrossed by these ideas, that in my sleep I dreamed Lothario appeared before me pale, mangled, and bloody, blamed my rashness, protested his innocence, and pleaded his cause so pathetically, that I was convinced of his fidelity, and waked in a fit of horror and remorse.

I dropped asleep again, and the same apparition recurred to my fancy.

In short, I passed the night in great misery, and looked upon my avenger with such abhorrence, that in the morning, perceiving my aversion, he insinuated there was still a possibility of Lothario's recovery: it was quite true he left him wounded on the ground, but not quite dead, and perhaps his hurts might not be mortal.