Thorsby, who was now afraid, seeing the heavy little man lying motionless, that he might have done more mischief than he intended, sprang from his horse, and ran to lift up the man of silence. But as he nearly reached him, David found the use of his limbs and his tongue, and raising himself on one elbow, his three-cornered hat and brown wig having deserted him; with bare head and wild staring eyes, he swung his one arm furiously, and cried like a maniac,—“Avaunt! son of Belial! Avaunt! Touch me not, man of sin!” Mr. Heritage, who had also descended from his horse, gently pushed Thorsby away, saying, “Let alone! Take thyself away, Henry Thorsby. This is what I could not have expected of thee.” Thorsby would still have assisted to lift up and wipe the dust from David Qualm, but Mr. Heritage would not let him, but carefully raised his old friend and relative, and began to beat the dust from his coat. Thorsby muttered some sort of an apology—something about his not meaning any harm—but David cast a lion’s glance at him, and said, “Thou liest, man! Thou liest! Thou meant it, and nothing less.” Thorsby, who did not think David was much hurt, mounted and rode rapidly off. When he was out of hearing, he gave vent to an uproarious laughter, and said, “A wild young man, indeed! Not so wild but he can keep his seat better than some people.” He was so elated with his exploit that he that evening told the story with much humour and some embellishment at the club, to the exquisite delight of his friends, and the next day it was all over the town. Amongst the lighter and more giddy of the population it was thought a very clever paying-off of the censorious Friend; amongst the older and more thinking people it was regarded in a very different light, and such a dangerous trick played off on a very quiet and inoffensive man, by no means told in favour of Thorsby. The serious manner in which Mr. Heritage spoke of it amongst his friends made a deep impression, and it was regarded as a very impolitic act in Thorsby, who, though his wife stood so well with the wealthy banker, might, in times of commercial depression, find it much to his inconvenience to have sunk in his esteem. Many things were spoken out on this occasion which had evidently lain for some time in people’s minds. Wonder was expressed at the growing dissipation of Thorsby. Of his notoriously riotous and bacchanalian evenings with some of the richest but most immoral young men of the place. Some people wondered that his wife did not appear to see it; more uttered words of pity for her. Others said “What a fool that man is, with such a wife, with a splendid business, with a circle of acquaintances of the very first class in the town and neighbourhood, and to be running such a course. But it was only the course his father ran, and which made it a short one for him.”