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"Incubo. Look to the cavalier. What ails he?
. . . . .
Hostess. And in such good clothes, too!"
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: Love's Pilgrimage.
"Theod. I have a brother—there my last hope!.
Thus as you find me, without fear or wisdom,
I now am only child of Hope and Danger."—Ibid.
The time employed by Mr. Beaufort in reaching his home was haunted bygloomy and confused terrors. He felt inexplicably as if thedenunciations of Philip were to visit less himself than his son. Hetrembled at the thought of Arthur meeting this strange, wild, exasperatedscatterling—perhaps on the morrow—in the very height of his passions.And yet, after the scene between Arthur and himself, he saw cause to fearthat he might not be able to exercise a sufficient authority over hisson, however naturally facile and obedient, to prevent his return to thehouse of death. In this dilemma he resolved, as is usual with cleverermen, even when yoked to yet feebler helpmates, to hear if his wife hadanything comforting or sensible to say upon the subject. Accordingly, onreaching Berkeley Square, he went straight to Mrs. Beaufort; and havingrelieved her mind as to Arthur's safety, related the scene in which hehad been so unwilling an actor. With that more lively susceptibilitywhich belongs to most women, however comparatively unfeeling, Mrs.Beaufort made greater allowance than her husband for the excitementPhilip had betrayed. Still Beaufort's description of the dark menaces,the fierce countenance, the brigand-like form, of the bereaved son, gaveher very considerable apprehensions for Arthur, should the young menmeet; and she willingly coincided with her husband in the propriety ofusing all means of parental persuasion or command to guard against suchan encounter. But, in the meanwhile, Arthur returned not, and new fearsseized the anxious parents. He had gone forth alone, in a remote suburbof the metropolis, at a late hour, himself under strong excitement. Hemight have returned to the house, or have lost his way amidst some darkhaunts of violence and crime; they knew not where to send, or what tosuggest. Day already began to dawn, and still he came not. A length,towards five o'clock, a loud rap was heard at the door, and Mr. Beaufort,hearing some bustle in the hall, descended. He saw his son borne intothe hall from a hackney-coach by two strangers, pale, bleeding, andapparently insensible. His first thought was that he had been murderedby Philip. He uttered a feeble cry, and sank down beside his son.
"Don't be darnted, sir," said one of the strangers, who seemed anartisan; "I don't think he be much hurt. You sees he was crossing thestreet, and the coach ran against him; but it did not go over his head;it be only the stones that makes him bleed so: and that's a mercy."
"A providence, sir," sa