“Matthews then renewed the attack, and, having picked up the point of one of the swords, ran it through the side of the throat and pinned him to the ground with it, exclaiming, ‘I have done for him.’  He then left the field, accompanied by his second, and, getting into a carriage with four horses which had been waiting for him, drove off.”

Sheridan, unconscious and apparently dying, was driven from the Downs to a neighbouring inn, “The White Hart,” where for a time he hung betwixt life and death.  On hearing of his condition Miss Linley (who at the time was singing at Cambridge) travelled post-haste to his bedside; and, tenderly nursed by his wife and his sister, the wounded man slowly fought his way back to strength.

One would have thought that, after such a tragic experience and observing the mutual devotion of the young couple, their parents would have relented and given their approval of the union, however improvident and inexcusable it might appear to them.  But, on both sides, they were obdurate; and Mr Sheridan carried his opposition to the extent of extracting from his son a promise that he would not even see his wife.

But love laughs at parents’ frowns and usually triumphs in the end.  When Elizabeth Linley went away to London to sing in oratorio, her husband followed her; and, in the role of hackney coachman, had the pleasure of driving not only his wife but her father, home nightly from the concert-room, without either of them suspecting his identity.  When at last he revealed himself to his wife, her delight was so great as to leave no doubt of the sincere love she bore him.  Many a secret meeting followed; a final joint appeal ultimately broke down the obduracy of the parents; and once again Sheridan led his bride to the altar, to make her finally and securely his own.

For a time Richard Sheridan and his Nightingale found a haven in a remote, rose-covered cottage at East Burnham.  These were days of unclouded happiness, when, the “world forgetting and by the world forgot,” they lived only for love, caring nothing of the future.  They were days of simple delights; for their entire income was the interest of Mr Long’s L3000, which proved ample for their needs.  Mrs Sheridan, now at the zenith of her fame, might have won thousands by her voice—­she actually refused offers of nearly L4000 for one short season—­but her husband wished to keep the Nightingale’s voice for his own exclusive delight; and she was only too happy in thus turning her back on fame and fortune.

But such halcyon days could not last long.  Even Paradise might pall on such a restless temperament as that of Richard Brinsley Sheridan.  He began to sigh for the outer world in which he felt that it was his destiny to shine, for an arena in which he could do justice to the gifts which were clamouring for scope and exercise.  And thus, to Mrs Sheridan’s lasting regret, cottage and roses and simple delights of the country were left behind, and she found herself installed in a Portman Square house, in the heart of the world of fashion.