Without exciting his frenzy, by contradicting the
fantastic idea which occupied his imagination, Hartley
continued to maintain over his patient the ascendency
he had acquired. He caused him to be led to his
apartment, and beheld him suffer himself to be put
to bed. Administering then a strong composing
draught, and causing a servant to sleep in the room,
he watched the unfortunate man till dawn of morning.
General Witherington awoke in his full senses, and
apparently conscious of his real situation, which
he testified by low groans, sobs, and tears.
When Hartley drew near his bedside, he knew him perfectly,
and said, “Do not fear me—the fit
is over—leave me now, and see after yonder
unfortunate. Let him leave Britain as soon as
possible, and go where his fate calls him, and where
we can never meet more. Winter knows my ways,
and will take care of me.”
Winter gave the same advice. “I can answer,”
he said, “for my master’s security at
present; but in Heaven’s name, prevent his ever
meeting again, with that obdurate young man!”
“Well, then, the world’s mine
oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
MERRY
WIVES OF WINDSOR.
When Adam Hartley arrived at his lodgings in the sweet
little town of Ryde, his first enquiries were after
his comrade. He had arrived last night late,
man and horse all in a foam. He made no reply
to any questions about supper or the like, but snatching
a candle, ran up stairs into his apartment, and shut
and double-locked the door. The servants only
supposed, that, being something intoxicated, he had
ridden hard, and was unwilling to expose himself.
Hartley went to the door of his chamber, not without
some apprehensions; and after knocking and calling
more than once, received at length the welcome return,
“Who is there?”
On Hartley announcing himself, the door opened, and
Middlemas appeared, well dressed, and with his hair
arranged and powdered; although, from the appearance
of the bed, it had not been slept in on the preceding
night, and Richard’s countenance, haggard and
ghastly, seemed to bear witness to the same fact.
It was, however, with an affectation of indifference
that he spoke.
“I congratulate you on your improvement in worldly
knowledge, Adam. It is just the time to desert
the poor heir, and to stick by him that is in immediate
possession of the wealth.”
“I staid last night at General Witherington’s,”
answered Hartley, “because he is extremely ill.”
“Tell him to repent of his sins, then,”
said Richard. “Old Gray used to say, a
doctor had as good a title to give ghostly advice as
a parson. Do you remember Doctor Dulberry, the
minister, calling him an interloper? Ha!
Ha! Ha!”
“I am surprised at this style of language from
one in your circumstances.”
“Why, ay,” said Middlemas, with a bitter
smile—“it would be difficult to most
men to keep up their spirits, after gaining and losing
father, mother, and a good inheritance, all in the
same day. But I had always a turn for philosophy.”
