Twm, with truth, averred he was indebted for his life to the promptitude with which his lordship brought the ruffian down; and therefore the services he received, he said, far over-balanced any that he had rendered. The modest position in which he had thus placed himself, worked well in his favour, and was fully estimated. After having refreshed at Hounslow, and the chaplain’s arm dressed, depositions having been made, before the judicial authorities, of the attack and rescue, the party filled his lordship’s carnage again, and all were driven off towards London, well guarded by a rustic patrol sent from Hounslow.
On the way, Twm explained that he was an agent of Sir George Devereaux’s to a Mr. Martyn’s in Holborn, and the bearer of a sum of money to him. The bishop seemed surprised, and declared that Mr. Martyn was his very good friend, and chosen by him to be an umpire on the following day, in a matter of great importance.
“To-morrow, then,” added the bishop, “I shall see you at my friend’s house, and learn from you in what manner I can serve your interests.”
Our hero bowed.
“Your lordship will have your long deferred explanation with the fiery old baronet, Sir John Wynn, then, to-morrow?” asked the chaplain.
“Yes,” replied the old bishop, “and heaven send me scatheless from a contest with that self-willed man! In our interview I can only repeat what I have objected in my letters; and right well I know, he can only reiterate his former ill-grounded assertions.”
Our hero was thunderstruck with these observations and became silent and thoughtful.
Many were the villages and suburbs through which they passed, before the lady, breaking a silence which had endured some time, exclaimed, “The stones of London, at last, my Lord.”
The worthy prelate directed his coachman to drive to Mr. Martyn’s; and, in a brief space, the carriage stopped at a large, lofty, and many gabled house, opposite to St. Andrew’s Church, in Holborn, where Twm was put down, and kindly received by Mr. Martyn, who helped him from the bishop’s coach. His lordship observed that he was waited for by his brother, the Bishop of London, at Lambeth Palace; briefly referred to the business of the morrow, kindly shook hands with our hero, as did the young lady and the chaplain, each repeating their acknowledgments, and when the carriage drove off, Twm Shon Catty was ceremoniously ushered into the fine town-house of Mr. Martyn.