# The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 26

CHAPTER V
The next morning Cynthia and the clergyman, who had neither of them any fumes arising from intemperance to sleep off, got into the coach with cheerfulness and good-humour; they had all the conversation to themselves the first stage, for the atheist and butterfly both slept all the way till they came to breakfast. There, with hands shaking in such a manner that it was with difficulty they could carry the liquor to their mouths, they at last contrived to revive their drooping spirits, and began to be as noisy as ever. The atheist looked at Cynthia with an assured air, as if he did not doubt of success, till he often put her out of countenance. But the butterfly paid her the greatest respect imaginable; being convinced that as she would not suffer any familiarity from him, she must be one of the most virtuous women ever born. The clergyman was so tired with their impertinence, he certainly would have got out of the coach, and walked afoot, had it not been for his consideration for Cynthia; for she had no relief but in his conversation.
​In this manner they went on till they came to the place where they were to dine, when the postillion, giddily taking too little compass, overturned the coach; and as it was on a flat, they were all in great danger of being killed or breaking their limbs. However, they were all taken out safe, except the atheist, who had stupefied his senses in such a manner by the breakfast he chose to drink, that he had no command of his limbs, and broke his leg under him in the fall.
Cynthia was terribly frightened, and begged the clergyman to be so good as to contrive some method of having the poor wretch taken care of, and the bone set again. Her caution was perfectly unnecessary; for from the moment the good man saw the accident, he was considering which would be the best method of taking care of him. He presently inquired for the best surgeon in the town; and luckily there was one lived the very next door, who was both a surgeon and an apothecary. To his house, therefore, he had him carried; he went with him, and stayed with him while the operation was performing; during which time he alternately prayed and cursed, which struck the clergyman with the utmost horror. However, he carried his Christianity and compassion so far as to inquire whether he had any money in his pocket to defray his expenses while he was confined there; and on being answered in the negative, offered to leave him what was necessary. But on the apothecary's assuring him that he knew him very well, and would take the utmost care of him, he returned to Cynthia, who rejoiced to hear the poor creature was in such good hands.
The butterfly, whose journey was at an end, he being to go no farther, took his leave of them, humming the end of an Italian song, without once inquiring what was become of the poor man, with ​whose sentiments he had so heartily concurred the whole way.
They were now about sixteen miles from London. The clergyman had wished from the first morning for an opportunity of being alone with Cynthia; but the hurries which attend travelling in a stage coach, with his own inexperience in all affairs of gallantry, and his great fear of offending, had prevented his gratifying that wish. And now that accident had thrown what he desired in his way, his great modesty, distrust of himself, and his esteem for Cynthia, rendered him almost incapable of speaking to her: he went on two or three miles in the greatest fright imaginable, for every step the horses took, he condemned himself for losing his time, and yet could not bring himself to make use of it. At last he fell into a discourse on love: all his sentiments were so delicate, and the thoughts he expressed so refined, that Cynthia not only agreed with him, but could not forbear showing, by her smiles and good-humour, that she was greatly pleased to meet with a person who had so much her own way of thinking. This encouraged the gentleman to speak; and, from talking of love in general, he began to be more particular: he begged pardon for being so abrupt, for which he alleged as an excuse the short time he had before he should lose sight of her for ever, unless she would be so good to inform him where she lived.
Cynthia was greatly surprised at this declaration, which she neither expected nor wished; the clergyman's behaviour, for the short time she had in a manner lived with him, had given her great reason to esteem him, and his conversation would have been a great pleasure to her on any terms but that of being her lover; but her heart was already so fixed that she resolved never to suffer any other man to make love to her; and she would on no ​account have endeavoured to increase the affection of a man of merit, with a view of making him uneasy. She therefore very seriously told him, that she was infinitely obliged to him for the affection he had expressed for her; but that, as in her circumstances it was utterly impossible she could ever return it, she must be excused from letting him know where she lived, as the conversing with her, if he had really an inclination for her, would only make him unhappy. She spoke this with such an air of sincerity, that the clergyman, who had no deceit in himself (nor was he apt to suspect others of it) resolved to believe her, and whatever he suffered, not to say anything which might give her pain; and from that moment was silent on that head. They soon arrived in town, where they parted.
Cynthia took a lodging, for she knew not at present what to do with herself. The clergyman having put things on such a footing that she could not converse with him, made her very uneasy; for she was in hopes, before he spoke to her of love, that he would have been a great comfort to her when she came to town. She almost made a resolution never to speak to any man again; beginning to think it impossible for a man to be civil to a woman unless he has some design upon her. But now having brought Cynthia to town, I think it time to take leave of her for the present, and look after my hero.