[_He is going to seize her--she takes up the pistol and presents it._

ELEANOR.

No, it's not _myself_ I'll kill--'Tis you.

SIR GEORGE. [_Starting._ Nay, nay, nay, lay it down.--Lay that foolish thing down; I beg you will. (_Trembling._) It is charged--it may go off.

ELEANOR.

I mean it to go off.

SIR GEORGE.

But no jesting--I never liked jesting in my life.

ELEANOR.

Nor I--but am always serious.--Dare not, therefore, insult me again, but let me go to my wretched apartments.

[_Pa.s.ses by him, presenting the pistol._

SIR GEORGE.

Go to the----

[_She turns short at the door, and presents it again._

SIR GEORGE.

What would you do?--Here Bluntly! Bluntly! [_Exit_ ELEANOR.

_Enter_ BLUNTLY.

BLUNTLY.

Did you call or no, sir?

SIR GEORGE.

Yes, sir, I did call now. (_In a threatening accent._) Don't you think you have behaved very well this morning?

BLUNTLY.

Yes, sir, I think I have.

SIR GEORGE.

I am not joking.

BLUNTLY.

Nor am I, sir.

SIR GEORGE.

And do not you think I should behave very well, if I was to discharge you my service?

BLUNTLY.

As well as can be expected, sir.

SIR GEORGE.

Why did you break in upon me just now? Did you think I was going to murder the girl?

BLUNTLY.

No, sir, I suspected neither love nor murder.

SIR GEORGE.

What then did you suspect?

BLUNTLY.

Why, sir, if I may make bold to speak--I was afraid the poor girl might be robbed: and of all she is worth in the world.

SIR GEORGE.

Blockhead! I suppose you mean her virtue? [_Smiling with contempt._

BLUNTLY.

Why, to say the truth, sir, virtue is a currency that grows scarce in the world now-a-days--and some men are so much in need of it, that they think nothing of stopping a harmless female pa.s.senger in her road through life, and plundering her of it without remorse, though its loss, embitters every hour she must afterwards pa.s.s in her journey.

_Enter_ HENRY.

HENRY.

Sir George, my father, liberated from prison by your bounty, is come gratefully to offer----

_Enter_ WILLFORD _and_ ELEANOR.

ELEANOR.

[_Holding her father by the hand, to prevent his going forward._ Oh, my father! whither are you going? Turn back--turn back.

HENRY. [_To his father._ This is your benefactor--the man whose benevolence has put an end to your sufferings.

[ELEANOR _bursts into tears and retires up the stage_.

WILLFORD.

How, sir, can I ever repay what I owe to you?--or how describe those emotions, which your goodness at this moment makes me feel?

SIR GEORGE. [_In confusion._ Very well--very well--'tis all very well. (_Aside_) I wish it was.--(_To him_) I am glad I have been of service to you.

WILLFORD.

You have been like mercy to us all. My daughter's grat.i.tude overflows in tears.--But why, my child, do you keep apart from us? Can you be too timid to confess your obligation?

SIR GEORGE.

Let her alone--let her indulge her humour.

WILLFORD.

Speak, Eleanor.

SIR GEORGE.

No, I had rather she would be silent.

WILLFORD.

You offend me by this obstinacy.