If Sir Edgar furnished this information with the view of ascertaining the name and rank of his deliverer, preparatory to entering more fully on those friendly relations which he had just opened, and had invited him to extend, the result must have disappointed him; for the cavalier, whatever was his motive, did not disclose these particulars, but rather answered him evasively.
“Mine is a happy fortune,” he said, “that hath won two such friends. But this fair lady hath need of repose, Sir Edgar. I have some small matters to settle at the village of Lantwell; and will be your escort, if you will give me leave, as far as your lodge, which I can make to fall in my way.”
“Thou knowest Neville Grange, then, Sir?” inquired Sir Edgar.
“’Tis many years since I was in this part afore,” said the cavalier, slightly colouring; “but I once knew it right well.”
“We will not claim thine escort only, then,” returned Sir Edgar; “but, while thine affairs hold thee at Lantwell, thy fair company also, an’ thou wilt give us leave.”
As the cavalier was about to reply, he caught a glance from the dark eyes of Miss de Neville, seeming, by the warmth and kindliness of its expression, to second the invitation of her father; and, repressing the answer which he had been about to make, and which was probably of a negative character, he replied with a bow of acquiescence.
Preparations were therefore made for entering once more on their journey. The wounded postilion, who, it was now discovered, was but slightly hurt, had his forehead bound up, and was then able to mount his horse, and resume the duties of his post. The dead servant, with the corpse of the robber, was drawn to one side of the road, and there left till, on Sir Edgar’s arrival home, a suitable means of removing them could be procured. Sir Edgar and his fair daughter took their places in the carriage; and their deliverer, and the old servant, who was entirely unhurt, mounted their horses, and rode slowly along on either side of that vehicle.
While the party thus pursued their way, each individual was too busily occupied by his thoughts to seek to open a conversation. Indeed, the young cavalier, however his thoughts might have been engaged, was more seriously unfitted for the amenities of discourse. In the excitement of the rescue, the pistol-wound he had received in his arm, at his first appearance on the scene of action, had not been heeded; but now that he had ceased to be physically employed, and was, to a certain extent, left to himself, its violent throbs became most painfully sensible. The hœmorrhage appeared to be slight; for his murrey-coloured jerkin, except round the hole where the ball had entered, was hardly soiled; yet he could feel the ball burning in the middle of his arm. He tied his scarf tightly over it, thinking that, by its pressure on the part affected, this would mitigate the dreadful throes by which it was every moment convulsed. But the angry wound throbbed as before, and the blood in his arm, from his shoulder downward, seemed to rage and boil, and, as it gurgled round the wound, to burn like liquid fire.
In this manner he rode along for about two miles, continually hoping, at every successive wind in the apparently interminable lane, to come up with some farm-house, or peasant’s cottage, where he could procure a drink of water. But no prospect of relief presented itself, and he was about to avow his utter inability to proceed, when, looking round, he perceived that the road was approaching a gate, with a porter’s lodge just visible over the fence, which he recalled to mind as the entrance to Neville Grange. The carriage came to a halt the next moment; and the mounted servant, who had been riding on the inner side of the carriage, nearest to the gate, spurred forward a few paces, and rang the lodge-bell. The young cavalier felt a dizziness come over him at this juncture; and drawing his horse up, within a pace or two of the carriage, he staggered in his saddle, and fell back against the carriage-door.