Kicked into insensibility, Dick was at last abandoned by the two servants, and he lay in the road until, fifteen minutes later, there came up from the direction of Wells a post-chaise, from which a hearty-looking young gentleman, having ordered the postilion to stop, got out for the sole purpose of examining the prostrate body in the way. He stooped beside Dick, called his valet to bring some brandy, and gently raised Dick's head.
"Who is it?" murmured Dick, summoned out of a wild and painful dream, and resting his blue eyes on the rubicund, cheerful, somewhat impudent face of the young gentleman.
"Who is it?" repeated the latter, blithely. "That's a good one! Here's a gentleman who has fallen among thieves and been left half dead, and the first thing he wants of the Good Samaritan is to know who the Good Samaritan is! Swallow this brandy, sir, and the Good Samaritan will introduce himself."
"You are certainly the Good Samaritan," moaned Dick, after a reviving gulp from the flask held by the valet; "but I haven't fallen among thieves. I fell in only with the most damned boorish scoundrel that ever disgraced the name of gentleman, and I swear I won't rest till I've paid him back what he and his rascal menials did me here, blow for blow, and kick for kick."
"Quite right!" said the other, gaily. "But, in the meantime, what is to be done for you? Can I take you to your house? Do you live hereabouts?"
"No, my home is—quite—far—away," replied Dick, relapsing into a dreamy condition.
The other gently shook him back to full consciousness. "Then where may I take you? Whither were you bound? Towards Bath?"
"Yes, towards Bath," said Dick, on a moment's impulse.
"Well, by George, that's fortunate! You shall be my travelling companion the rest of the way. You don't seem to have your own coach at hand, or any of your servants."
"You are right. I have no coach at hand—or any servants. I have only the bag in the ditch yonder. You are very kind! I don't like to intrude."