gerously,
if not mortally, wounded, by 'Squire _Miles Hardyman_, your Son. Heaven
forbid, (cry'd the Father) sure 'tis impossible. All Things are so to
the Incredulous. Look you, Sir, (continu'd she, seeing _Lewis's_ Servant
come in) do you remember his _French_ Servant _Albert_, whom he took
some Months before he left _England_?--There he is. Humh! (said the old
Sceptic) I think verily 'tis the same. Ay, Sir, (said the Servant) I am
the same, at your Service. How does your Master? (ask'd Sir _Henry_)
Almost as bad as when the 'Squire your Son left him, (reply'd _Albert_)
only I have stopp'd the Bleeding, and he is now dozing a little; to say
the Truth, I have only Hopes of his Life because I wish it. When was
this done? (the Knight inquir'd) Not three Hours since, (return'd
t'other.) What was the Occasion? (said Sir _Henry_) An ugly Mistake on
both Sides; your Son, as I understand, not knowing my Master, took him
for his Rival, and bad him quit his Pretensions to the fair Lady, for
whom he had a Passion: My Master thought he meant the Lady _Lucretia_,
your Daughter, Sir, with whom I find he is passionately in
Love,--and--Very well--so--go on! (interrupted the Knight with a
Sigh)--and was resolv'd to dispute his Title with him; which he did; but
the 'Squire is as strong as the Horse he rides on!--And! 'tis a
desperate Wound!--Which Way is he gone, canst thou tell? (ask'd the
Father) Yes, I can; but I must not, 'tis as much as my Place is worth.
My Master would not have him taken for all the World; nay, I must needs
own he is a very brave Person. But you may let me know; (said the
Father) you may be confident I will not expose him to the Law: Besides,
if it please Heaven that your Master recovers, there will be no
Necessity of a Prosecution.--Prithee let me know! You'll pardon me, Sir,
(said _Lewis's_ trusty Servant) my Master, perhaps, may give you that
Satisfaction; and I'll give you Notice, Sir--when you may conveniently
discourse him.--Your humble Servant, Sir, (he added, bowing, and went
out.) The old Gentleman was strangely mortify'd at this News of his Son;
and his Absence perplex'd him more than any thing besides in the
Relation. He walk'd wildly up and down the Room, sighing, foaming, and
rolling his Eyes in a dreadful Manner; and at the Noise of any Horse on
the Road, out he would start as nimbly as if he were as youthful as his
Son, whom he sought in vain among those Passengers. Then returning, he
cry'd out to