by A. E. W. Mason and Andrew Lang, Parson Kelly — Chapter 12 (1900)
“ Kelly clasped his hand over the wound, and sank on to the ground. The blood came through between his fingers; he snatched the cravat from his neck, and made a poor shift to bandage it about his body. The one thought in his mind was of the Duke of Ormond's messenger. Perhaps the very next morning he might come to Avignon and find no one on the bench.'A surgeon,' he whispered to Scrope, saving his breath. Scrope was quietly wiping his sword, and made no reply.'A surgeon,' repeated Kelly. 'I must live.''Or die,' said Scrope carelessly. He pulled on his coat, and came close to Kelly. ”
