We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as an harmless amusing companion was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to whose virtues and singularities scarce any were strangers. The poor Mr. Burchell was in reality a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom senates listened with applause, and whom party heard with conviction; who was the friend of his country, but loyal to his king. My poor wife recollecting her former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who a few moments before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to which he was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears.
“Ah, Sir,” cried my wife, with a piteous aspect, “how is it possible that I can ever have your forgiveness; the slights you received from me the last time I had the honour of seeing you at our house, and the jokes which I audaciously threw out, these jokes, Sir, I fear can never be forgiven.”
“My dear good lady,” returned he with a smile, “if you had your joke, I had my answer: I’ll leave it to all the company if mine were not as good as yours. To say the truth, I know no body whom I am disposed to be angry with at present but the fellow who so frighted my little girl here. I had not even time to examine the rascal’s person so as to describe him in an advertisement. Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him again?”
“Indeed, Sir,” replied she, “I can’t be positive; yet now I recollect he had a large mark over one of his eyebrows.” “I ask pardon, madam,” interrupted Jenkinson, who was by, “but be so good as to inform me if the fellow wore his own red hair?”—“Yes, I think so,” cried Sophia.—“And did your honour,” continued he, turning to Sir William, “observe the length of his legs?”—“I can’t be sure of their length,” cried the Baronet, “but I am convinced of their swiftness; for he outran me, which is what I thought few men in the kingdom could have done.”—“Please your honour,” cried Jenkinson, “I know the man: it is certainly the same; the best runner in England; he has beaten Pinwire of Newcastle, Timothy Baxter is his name, I know him perfectly, and the very place of his retreat this moment. If your honour will bid Mr. Gaoler let two of his men go with me, I’ll engage to produce him to you in an hour at farthest.” Upon this the gaoler was called, who instantly appearing, Sir William demanded if he knew him. “Yes, please your honour,” replied the gaoler, “I know Sir William Thornhill well, and everybody that knows anything of him, will desire to know more of him.”—“Well then,” said the Baronet, “my request is, that you will permit this man and two of your servants to go upon a message by my authority, and as I am in the commission of the peace, I undertake to secure you.”—“Your promise is sufficient,” replied the other, “and you may at a minute’s warning send them over England whenever your honour thinks fit.”
In pursuance of the gaoler’s compliance, Jenkinson was dispatched in search of Timothy Baxter, while we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest boy Bill, who had just come in and climbed up to Sir William’s neck in order to kiss him. His mother was immediately going to chastise his familiarity, but the worthy man prevented her; and taking the child, all ragged as he was, upon his knee, “What, Bill, you chubby rogue,” cried he, “do you remember your old friend Burchell; and Dick too, my honest veteran, are you here, you shall find I have not forgot you.” So saying, he gave each a large piece of gingerbread, which the poor fellows eat very heartily, as they had got that morning but a very scanty breakfast.
We now sat down to dinner, which was almost cold; but previously, my arm still continuing painful, Sir William wrote a prescription, for he had made the study of physic his amusement, and was more than moderately skilled in the profession: this being sent to an apothecary who lived in the place, my arm was dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief. We were waited upon at dinner by the gaoler himself, who was willing to do our guest all the honour in his power. But before we had well dined, another message was brought from his nephew, desiring permission to appear, in order to vindicate his innocence and honour, with which request the Baronet complied, and desired Mr. Thornhill to be introduced.
XXXI
Former benevolence now repaid with unexpected interest.
Mr. Thornhill made his entrance with a smile, which he seldom wanted, and was going to embrace his uncle, which the other repulsed with an air of disdain. “No fawning, Sir, at present,” cried the Baronet, with a look of severity, “the only way to my heart is by the road of honour; but here I only see complicated instances of falsehood, cowardice, and oppression. How is it, Sir, that this poor man, for whom I know you professed a friendship, is used thus hardly? His daughter vilely seduced, as a recompense for his hospitality, and he himself thrown into a prison perhaps but for resenting the insult? His son too, whom you feared to face as a man—”
“Is
