Imagine whether I did not thank him, and bless him; at least in ejaculation. Imagine what I felt, after what I _had_ heard, at hearing him talk to me, and at being convinced that he was actually alive. I had not the least suspicion of his being wounded, he spoke so cheerfully; yet I naturally enquired if he were hurt. His answer was--'No no--Not _hurt_'--But he spoke with an emphasis that immediately raised my apprehensions. I repeated my question--'Are you sure you are not hurt; not wounded?' He could not say no to that, and therefore answered 'He believed he felt a slight contusion in the shoulder; but that he was convinced it was trifling.' I was now seized with a fit of terror much greater, in effect, than my former panic. I fervently intreated Sir Arthur to let the servant take the bay mare, and ride for help! I begged, urgently, violently, for God's sake, that he would take my place in the chaise! I would mount the mare myself! I would do any thing! All the replies I could get were still more vehement intercessions from Frank Henley, that I would not be alarmed, assurances that there was not the least danger, the most obstinate determination not to quit his post, and, notwithstanding the pain which he could not but feel, a persisting to reload the discharged pistol, and then to proceed. I know not myself how my fears were so far pacified as to yield to this, except that his energy seemed to overpower mine. Indeed I suffered dreadfully the rest of the way. I knew the youth's generous spirit, and my imagination was haunted with the idea, that the blood was flowing every foot of the road, and that he would rather drop from the horse than be subdued. It is impossible, indeed it is, to tell you what I felt. At last we arrived in Grosvenor Street; and sure enough the poor fellow was faint with the loss of blood. 'My God!'--said I to Sir Arthur, when the light was brought, and I saw him--'Send for a surgeon! Good Heavens! Run! Somebody run for help!'--He still insisted he was but slightly hurt, and began to resume all his earnestness to quiet me. Sir Arthur did it more effectually by sending as I desired, and by telling me that, if I continued to agitate by contending with him so much, I might very possibly throw him into a fever, and make a wound, which most probably was not in itself dangerous, mortal. I said not another word, except seriously and solemnly requesting him to calm his mind, for his own sake, if not for mine; for that, after being wounded in defence of me and my father, to die by my fault were dreadful indeed. He retired with more apparent satisfaction in his countenance than I think I ever saw before.