Anna St. Ives | Page 8

bed, till I had received some
account from the surgeon. He came, the wound was examined, and

word was immediately sent me, by the express command of Frank, who
had been told I was sitting up for that purpose, that there was, as he had
assured me, no danger. The surgeon indeed thought proper to qualify it
with no great danger. It is an old remark that surgeons are not prone to
speak too lightly of the miracles they perform. This short syllable, great,
did not fail however to disturb me very considerably. I waited till the
ball was extracted, and [Would you believe it?] brought us; for I
insisted upon seeing it. Sir Arthur called me a mad girl, adding there
was no ruling me. I persisted in questioning and cross-examining the
surgeon, till I was convinced that, as he said, there was no great danger;
and I then retired to rest: that is, I retired to the same swimming motion
which the chaise had communicated to my nerves, or my brain, or I
know not what, and to dreaming of swords, pistols, murdered men, and
all the horrid ramblings of the fancy under such impressions.
To convince me how trifling the hurt was, the gallant Frank insisted the
next day on coming down to dinner; though he was allowed to eat
nothing but chicken broth, and a light pudding. I never saw him so
lively. His only present danger of death, he said, was by famine; and
complained jocularly of the hardship of fasting after a long journey. I
could almost have persuaded him to eat, for indeed he is a brave, a
noble youth.
I know I never need apologize to my Louisa for the length of my letters.
How can we enjoy equal pleasure to that of thus conversing in despite
of distance, and though separated by seas and mountains? Indeed it is a
kind of privation to end; but end I must--therefore--Adieu.
A. W. ST. IVES

LETTER V
Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard _London, Grosvenor Street_
You did not expect, dear Oliver, to receive a letter from me dated at
this distance. By the luckiest accident in the world, I have been allowed
to accompany her thus far, have ridden all day with my eye fixed upon
her, and at night have had the ecstatic pleasure to defend, to fight for
her! Perhaps have saved her life! Have been wounded for her!--Would I
had been killed! Was there ever so foolish, so wrong, so romantic a
wish? And yet it has rushed involuntarily upon me fifty times. To die

for her seems to be a bliss which mortal man cannot merit! Truth,
severe truth, perhaps, will not justify these effusions. I will, I do,
endeavour to resist them.--Indeed I am ashamed of myself, for I find I
am very feeble. Yet let not thy fears be too violent for thy friend: he
will not lightly desert his duty.
Let me tell thee, before I proceed, that my wound is slight.--We were
stopped by a couple of highwaymen. Thou never wert a witness of such
angelic sensibility as the divine creature discovered, when she found I
had received some hurt. She alarmed me beyond description, by the
excess of her feelings. Oh! She has a soul alive to all the throbs of
humanity! It shoots and shivers in every vein!--Then too when we
arrived, when candles were brought [I had bled somewhat freely, and I
suppose looked rather pale] thou hast no conception of, it is impossible
to conceive the energy with which she insisted on sending for the best
and most immediate help.
We had another battle of sensibility; for I assure thee I was almost as
much [Did I not know her I should say more.] alarmed for her as she
could be for me.
Yet do not imagine I am fool enough to flatter myself with any false
hopes. No: it was humanity; it was too deep a sense of a slight benefit
received; it was totally distinct from love.--Oh no! Love, added to such
strong, such acute sensations, surely, Oliver, it would have shrieked,
would have fainted, would have died!--Her fears and feelings were
powerful I grant, but they were all social, and would have been equally
awakened for any creature whom she had known, and had equal cause
to esteem. And she esteems all who have but the smallest claims to
such respect; even me!--Did I tell thee it was she who petitioned Sir
Arthur to lay his commands on me to attend them to London, knowing
I wished it; and that this was in return for the trifling favour I had done
her, in galloping after her with her favourite bird? Oh! She is all
benignity! All grace! All angel!
Never