It was not without reason that our adventurer afflicted3 himself; his fears were but too prophetic. When he alighted at the inn, which he had left so abruptly4 the preceding evening, he ran directly to the apartment where he had been so happy in Aurelia’s company; but her he saw not—all was solitary6. Turning to the woman of the house, who had followed him into the room, “Where is the lady?” cried he, in a tone of impatience7. Mine hostess screwing up her features into a very demure8 aspect, said she saw so many ladies she could not pretend to know who he meant. “I tell thee, woman,” exclaimed the knight9, in a louder accent, “thou never sawest such another—I mean that miracle of beauty”—“Very like,” replied the dame10, as she retired11 to the room door. “Husband, here’s one as axes concerning a miracle of beauty; hi, hi, hi. Can you give him any information about this miracle of beauty? O la! hi, hi, hi.”
Instead of answering this question, the innkeeper advancing, and surveying Sir Launcelot, “Friend,” said he, “you are the person that carried off my horse out of the stable.”—“Tell me not of a horse—where is the young lady?”—“Now, I will tell you of the horse, and I’ll make you find him too before you and I part.”—“Wretched animal! how dar’st thou dally12 with my impatience? Speak, or despair—what is become of Miss Meadows? Say, did she leave this place of her own accord, or was she— hah! speak—answer, or by the powers above”—“I’ll answer you flat—she you call Miss Meadows is in very good hands—so you may make yourself easy on that score.”—“Sacred Heaven! explain your meaning, miscreant13, or I’ll make you a dreadful example to all the insolent14 publicans of the realm.” So saying, he seized him with one hand and dashed him on the floor, set one foot on his belly15, and kept him trembling in that prostrate16 attitude. The ostler and waiter flying to the assistance of their master, our adventurer unsheathed his sword, declaring he would dismiss their souls from their bodies, and exterminate17 the whole family from the face of the earth, if they would not immediately give him the satisfaction he required.
The hostess being by this time terrified almost out of her senses, fell on her knees before him, begging he would spare their lives, and promising18 to declare the whole truth. He would not, however, remove his foot from the body of her husband until she told him, that in less than half an hour after he had sallied out upon the supposed robbers, two chaises arrived, each drawn19 by four horses; that two men, armed with pistols, alighted from one of them, laid violent hands upon the young lady; and, notwithstanding her struggling and shrieking21, forced her into the other carriage, in which was an infirm gentleman, who called himself her guardian22; that the maid was left to the care of a third servant, to follow with a third chaise, which was got ready with all possible despatch23, while the other two proceeded at full speed on the road to London. It was by this communicative lacquey the people of the house were informed that the old gentleman his master was Squire24 Darnel, the young lady his niece and ward25, and our adventurer a needy26 sharper who wanted to make a prey27 of her fortune.
The knight, fired even almost to frenzy28 by this intimation, spurned29 the carcase of his host; and, his eye gleaming terror, rushed into the yard, in order to mount Bronzomarte and pursue the ravisher, when he was diverted from his purpose by a new incident.
One of the postillions, who had driven the chaise in which Dolly was conveyed, happened to arrive at that instant; when, seeing our hero, he ran up to him cap in hand, and, presenting a letter, accosted30 him in these words: “Please your noble honour, if your honour be Sir Launcelot Greaves of the West Riding, here’s a letter from a gentlewoman, that I promised to deliver into your honour’s own hands.”
The knight, snatching the letter with the utmost avidity, broke it up, and found the contents couched in these terms:—
“HONOURED SIR,—The man az gi’en me leave to lat yaw knaw my dear leady is going to Loondon with her unkle Squaire Darnel. Be not conzarned, honoured sir, vor I’se take it on mai laife to let yaw knaw wheare we be zettled, if zobe I can vind where you loadge in Loondon. The man zays yaw may put it in the pooblic prints. I houp the bareheir will be honest enuff to deliver this scrowl; and that your honour will pardon Your umbil servant to command, DOROTHY COWSLIP.”
“P. S.—Please my kaind sarvice to laayer Clarke. Squire Darnel’s man is very civil vor sartain; but I’ave no thoughts on him I’ll assure yaw. Marry hap5, worse ware31 may have a better chap, as the zaying goes.”
Nothing could be more seasonable than the delivery of this billet, which he had no sooner perused32 than his reflection returned, and he entered into a serious deliberation with his own heart. He considered that Aurelia was by this time far beyond a possibility of being overtaken, and that by a precipitate33 pursuit he should only expose his own infirmities. He confided34 in the attachment35 of his mistress, and in the fidelity36 of her maid, who would find opportunities of communicating her sentiments by means of this lacquey, of whom he perceived by the letter she had already made a conquest. He therefore resolved to bridle37 his impatience, to proceed leisurely38 to London, and, instead of taking any rash step which might induce Anthony Darnel to remove his niece from that city, remain in seeming quiet until she should be settled, and her guardian returned to the country. Aurelia had mentioned to him the name of Doctor Kawdle, and from him he expected in due time to receive the most interesting information formerly40 tormented41 with the pangs42 of despairing love, which had actually unsettled his understanding, he was now happily convinced that he had inspired the tender breast of Aurelia with mutual43 affection; and, though she was invidiously snatched from his embrace in the midst of such endearments44 as had wound up his soul to ecstasy45 and transport, he did not doubt of being able to rescue her from the power of an inhuman46 kinsman47, whose guardianship48 would soon of course expire; and in the meantime he rested with the most perfect dependence49 on her constancy and virtue50.
As he next day crossed the country, ruminating51 on the disaster that had befallen his squire, and could now compare circumstances coolly, he easily comprehended the whole scheme of that adventure, which was no other than an artifice52 of Anthony Darnel and his emissaries to draw him from the inn, where he proposed to execute his design upon the innocent Aurelia. He took it for granted that the uncle, having been made acquainted with his niece’s elopement, had followed her track by the help of such information as he received, from one stage to another; and that, receiving more particulars at the White Hart touching53 Sir Launcelot, he had formed the scheme in which Crabshaw was an involuntary instrument towards the seduction of his master.
Amusing himself with these and other cogitations, our hero in the afternoon reached the place of his destination, and, entering the inn where Timothy had been left at sick quarters, chanced to meet the apothecary54 retiring precipitately55 in a very unsavoury pickle56 from the chamber57 of his patient. When he inquired about the health of his squire, this retainer to medicine, wiping himself all the while with a napkin, answered in manifest confusion, that he apprehended58 him to be in a very dangerous way from an inflammation of the piamater, which had produced a most furious delirium59. Then he proceeded to explain, in technical terms, the method of cure he had followed; and concluded with telling him the poor squire’s brain was so outrageously60 disordered, that he had rejected all administration, and just thrown an urinal in his face.
The knight’s humanity being alarmed at this intelligence, he resolved that Crabshaw should have the benefit of further advice, and asked if there was not a physician in the place? The apothecary, after some interjections of hesitation62, owned there was a doctor in the village, an odd sort of a humourist; but he believed he had not much to do in the way of his profession, and was not much used to the forms of prescription63. He was counted a scholar, to be sure, but as to his medical capacity—he would not take upon him to say. “No matter,” cried Sir Launcelot, “he may strike out some lucky thought for the benefit of the patient, and I desire you will call him instantly.”
While the apothecary was absent on this service, our adventurer took it in his head to question the landlord about the character of this physician, which had been so unfavourably represented, and received the following information:—
“For my peart, measter, I knows nothing amiss of the doctor—he’s a quiet sort of an inoffensive man; uses my house sometimes, and pays for what he has, like the rest of my customers. They says he deals very little in physic stuff, but cures his patients with fasting and water-gruel, whereby he can’t expect the ‘pothecary to be his friend. You knows, master, one must live, and let live, as the saying is. I must say, he, for the value of three guineas, set up my wife’s constitution in such a manner, that I have saved within these two years, I believe, forty pounds in ‘pothecary’s bills. But what of that? Every man must eat, thof at another’s expense; and I should be in a deadly hole myself if all my customers should take it in their heads to drink nothing but water-gruel, because it is good for the constitution. Thank God, I have as good a constitution as e’er a man in England, but for all that, I and my whole family bleed and purge
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