Anna St. Ives | Page 7

assure you I could tremble now
with the thoughts of it, but that my woman-hood forbids. I remember
how valiant I have been in laughing at the pretty fears of pretty ladies,
with their salts, hartshorn, fits, and burnt feathers. Beside, I would not
have my Louisa think too meanly of me. Yet I assure you it was a
terrible night.
We had just passed the broad part of Turnham Green, as Frank has
since told me, and were near the end of a lane which strikes into the
Uxbridge road, when the postillion was stopped by one highwayman,
while almost at the same instant another dashed his pistol through the
side-glass into the chaise, full in Sir Arthur's face.
Frank was on my side--Notwithstanding the length of the journey, he
seemed to infuse his own ardour into the spirited animal on which he
rode, and was round instantaneously--It was really dreadful!--The
highwayman saw, or rather heard him coming, for it was prodigiously
dark, and fired. Poor Frank was shot!--In the shoulder--But he says he
did not feel it at first--He returned the fire; and the highwayman
exclaimed, with a shocking oath, 'I am a dead man!' He rode away
however full speed; and his associate, who stood to guard the post-boy,
rode after him. Frank imagines that, owing to the darkness of the night,
and his being so close under the chaise, they had not perceived him
when they came to the attack.
But here let me tell you, for I am sure I ought, our protector, our hero is
not dangerously wounded. He indeed makes very light of it; but I am
persuaded he would do that if he had lost an arm. The moment the
highwaymen were gone, he rode round to me to intreat me not to be
alarmed, for that all was safe.
Imagine whether I did not thank him, and bless him; at least in
ejaculation. Imagine what I felt, after what I had heard, at hearing him
talk to me, and at being convinced that he was actually alive. I had not
the least suspicion of his being wounded, he spoke so cheerfully; yet I
naturally enquired if he were hurt. His answer was--'No no--Not

_hurt_'--But he spoke with an emphasis that immediately raised my
apprehensions. I repeated my question--'Are you sure you are not hurt;
not wounded?' He could not say no to that, and therefore answered 'He
believed he felt a slight contusion in the shoulder; but that he was
convinced it was trifling.'
I was now seized with a fit of terror much greater, in effect, than my
former panic. I fervently intreated Sir Arthur to let the servant take the
bay mare, and ride for help! I begged, urgently, violently, for God's
sake, that he would take my place in the chaise! I would mount the
mare myself! I would do any thing! All the replies I could get were still
more vehement intercessions from Frank Henley, that I would not be
alarmed, assurances that there was not the least danger, the most
obstinate determination not to quit his post, and, notwithstanding the
pain which he could not but feel, a persisting to reload the discharged
pistol, and then to proceed.
I know not myself how my fears were so far pacified as to yield to this,
except that his energy seemed to overpower mine. Indeed I suffered
dreadfully the rest of the way. I knew the youth's generous spirit, and
my imagination was haunted with the idea, that the blood was flowing
every foot of the road, and that he would rather drop from the horse
than be subdued. It is impossible, indeed it is, to tell you what I felt.
At last we arrived in Grosvenor Street; and sure enough the poor fellow
was faint with the loss of blood. 'My God!'--said I to Sir Arthur, when
the light was brought, and I saw him--'Send for a surgeon! Good
Heavens! Run! Somebody run for help!'--He still insisted he was but
slightly hurt, and began to resume all his earnestness to quiet me. Sir
Arthur did it more effectually by sending as I desired, and by telling me
that, if I continued to agitate by contending with him so much, I might
very possibly throw him into a fever, and make a wound, which most
probably was not in itself dangerous, mortal.
I said not another word, except seriously and solemnly requesting him
to calm his mind, for his own sake, if not for mine; for that, after being
wounded in defence of me and my father, to die by my fault were
dreadful indeed. He retired with more apparent satisfaction in his
countenance than I think I ever saw before.
I was resolved however not to go to