The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

40 « T—I—am considered to be so. But confound this fishing rod! there is something wrong with it.” “ Tet me seo,” said the Squire, hastening forward to render his assistance. “I know all about fishing- tackle; and if I had known you wanted it, could have lent you a better gear than that——Bat, good heavens! my dear fellow, what is the matter with you ?’—for Lord Harold’s countenance was as white as a sheet ; and wpon it was an expression of inde- scribable anguish, blended even with horror. “Nothing, nothing—only those pains,” was the quick and somewhat excited response. “ Ah!” rejoined the good-hearted Squire, “you must really take care of yourself, Staunton. You were perhaps more shaken than any of us fancied at the time. Bat let us look at this rod. There! —now it is all right; and J must be off—for it’s past three o’elock. Do take care of yourself. Not tuo much exertion, mind!—for these sprains, and aches, and twinges do hang uncommonly about one.” With these words, Mr. Hawkshaw shook Lord Harold cordially by the hand, and then hurried from the chamber. Having threaded the long corridor towards the staircase, he rapidly deseended the flight-—réached the hall—and issuing forth, mounted bis spirited steed, which was in readiness. Putting a crown-piece into the hand of the groom -—for the Squire was generosity iteelf—he gallopped eway, made the circuit of the grounds, and thus getting on the rear, or northern end of the castle, proceeded along the bank of the river through the Gelds in the direction of Gainsborough. He had ridden aboat a couple of miles; and on reaching a gate, Mr. Hawkshaw was stooping for- ward to open it, when several horses, that were an the field which he was about to enter, gallopped, as if they were mad, but only in frolicsome sport, acroes the meadow. The thorough-bred which the Squire bestrode, instantaneously pricked up its ears, manifestmp that sudden excitement which spirited horses are wont to do under such circumstances ; and swerving abruptly on one side, the animal threw the Squire completely over the gute into the mext field. His hat fell off—his head came in violent contact with a stone—and he was completely stanned. In a few minutes he came back to con- sciousness: and found an exceedingly prepossessing — indeed beautifal yoath, bending over him—bath- ing his face with a wet handkerchief, which had been dipped for the purpose in the river that flowed elose by. “ Are you much hurt ?” inquired the youth, in a gentle voice, expressive of sincere sympathy and €oncern. “*No--I think not,” said Mr. Hawkshaw: and then making an attempt to rise, he found that he was much better able to do so than might have been expected from the severity of his fall. “Thank God! there are no bones broken at all events. A little pain in the head—bat that is of no great con- sequence. Tell me, my young friend, is there much of a contusion on the forehead P”’ “No mark is apparent there at all,”’ replied the youthful stranger: “ but I felt a considerable swell- ing on the side—the hair however covers it.” “So much the better’” ejaculated the Squire, overjoyed at this intelligence. “Nobody need know ne of my misadventure. But where i is tho horse P” ES CE Te OS q—_———s— ee eee eZ “He made a long circuit, and then came back. There he ie—just behind the hedge. I would have caught the noble animal, but did not like to leave you till I was assured that you were returning to consciousness.” “It would have been more seemly,” exclaimed the Squire, “had I expressed my heartfelt thanks first to you, my young friend, before I inquired for my horse :”—and as he thus spoke, Mr. Hawkshaw took the youth’s hand and shook it warmly. “Yes, I am indeed most gratefal—you have evidently done me no small service. Why, une might have died. if left to one’s self in such a state—or been kicked to death by those half-wild horses there, that are scampering about—and which, by the bye, were the cause of the accident. But we must know more of each other,” continued the Squire: and now that he surveyed the youth more attentively, ho observed that he was poorly and indced shabbily dressed, although his linen was scrupulously clean, and everything about him denoted as much neatness as the threadbare garments would allow thew wearer to display. “I thank you, sir, foe your kindness,” answered the youth: “ but I ama stranger in theese purte— my stay here will not be long——” “Wait a moment!” cried Mr. Hawkshaw: and hastily opening the gate-—-for he felt but little in- convenience now from his accident—he fetched his horse from where it was browsing on the grass, and led the animal through the gate, which the youth civilly held open for the purpose. “ Now, my young friend,” continued Mr. Hawk- shaw: “I repeat that we cannot part in this man- ner. In the first place, let me announce myself. Hore is my card: my residence is a few miles distant in that direction. How long are you stay- ing in these parte? where ere you at present resid- ing ? and will you shift your quarters to the Hall? You shall be as welcome there as if we had known each other for as many years as we have minutes.” * Again do I thank you most eincerely for your kindness,” responded the youth: “but I cannot avail myself of it. It were however churlish and rade not to say that on some futare occasion, should I revisit Lincolnshire, I shall assuredly do myself the pleasure of calling at Hawkshaw Hail.” “ Well, I take that as a promise,” exclaimed the kind hearted hospitable Squire. “ Bat remember —it must be as faithfully kept as my invitation sincerely given. And now tell me whose acquaint: ance it is I have had the pleasure of forming ” “I have no card with me,” replied the youth. “but my name is Paton.” “Then let me henceforth call young Mr. Paton my friend,” said Hawkebaw, again grasping Frank's hand. “ But come now—don’t think me rude—and don’t be angry with me for what I am going to say. Is there nothing I can do for you? I have told you that I mean to regard you as a friend; and you must look upon me in the same iivht. Yuu are very young—and I dare say that you have been brought up in a manner above your present means. Now, don’t be offended—for I do not esek to wound your feelings: no, not for the world! Perhepe if you had a good friend—a sincere friend—a friend who would take you by the hand—e friend, in short, 'who would not let you want for a few hundred | pounds to give you a fair start in life———" gE ES ST GS? NG? GSTS FE SS SS SE cS iC 5 (GO) DOO CS (COL