_Mrs Bar._ O, everybody! I was told of it ten minutes back by Mrs Benson. She heard it of the footman, William. He says, that Captain Etheridge has given Peter a sound thrashing.

_Old Bar._ Did he? Then I am very much indebted to him. I'll tell you what, dame, I'll to the wood and find out this gipsy woman; and if threatening her with the stocks and Bridewell won't make her confess, I have a warrant in my pocket, just made out by the magistrates' clerk, for the apprehension of the gang, on suspicion of their stealing Mrs Fowler's turkey, and Farmer Groves' geese. We'll first see what can be done there; and then I'll come back, and we'll walk up to the Hall.

_Mrs Bar._ Do so, Bargrove; let us show that we've a clear conscience, at all events.

_Old Bar._ I'll be back in an hour, dame; I must go down to Wilson, the constable. [_Exit old Bar._

_Mrs Bar._ I never was so put out in my life. That boy Peter's folly worries me to death. Who comes here? why, it's Captain Etheridge, I do declare. I am almost afraid to see one of the family now.

_Enter Captain Etheridge._

_Capt. Eth._ My dear Mrs Bargrove, with your permission. (_Kissing her._) I can't leave off my old habit of kissing my nurse. How are you, and your husband, and how is pretty Lucy?

_Mrs Bar._ Quite well, thank you, Mr Edward. Dear me, what a man you do grow!

_Capt. Eth._ If I am not a man at five-and-twenty, dame, I never shall be.

_Mrs Bar._ Five-and-twenty! dear heart! so it is--but time does fly fast! It appears to me but the other day that I had you in my arms. How does Miss Agnes to-day?

_Capt. Eth._ Not very well, dame, she has something to vex her. Indeed, there's a rumour flying about, and I've come down to speak with you and Lucy on the subject.

_Mrs Bar._ I know it all; but it's all false, Mr Edward, all stuff and nonsense from beginning to end. Bargrove has now gone to sift the matter. I'm sure I ought to know. A pretty trouble I've had about it; what with foolish Peter, even Bargrove himself spoke to me as if I could have been guilty of such an act.

_Capt. Eth._ What does Lucy think of it?

_Mrs Bar._ Lucy is more vexed than any of us. I really think, if she thought it true, that she would make away with herself.

_Capt. Eth._ What! at the idea of being Miss Etheridge! no cause that for suicide either.

_Mrs Bar._ No, not that, Captain Etheridge; but at the idea of rising in the world at the expense of those to whom she owes both love and grat.i.tude. She's a good girl, Captain Etheridge.

_Capt. Eth._ I agree with you, dame, she's a very sweet girl. I wish to speak to her. Will you send her to me?

_Mrs Bar._ To be sure I will, Master Edward. She'll be glad to see you.

She's always asking after you when you be away. [_Exit Mrs Bargrove._

_Capt. Eth._ I did but say a few words to her on my arrival. I dared not trust myself with more. She looked so beautiful. I have not been able to drive her from my thoughts ever since. Heigho! the conflict between love and pride is well contested: nothing but opportunity can give the victory to the one, and absence to the other. The more I know of her, the more deserving she appears. I often try to find faults in her, but I cannot discover them. I suppose that I inherit all my pride from my mother; that I cherish it in preference to my happiness is clear. But should this report prove true. Such things have occurred, and this may have been done without the knowledge of Mrs Bargrove. Agnes and Lucy then change situations; and I with that cub, Peter Bargrove. Very pleasant indeed! the former is not of much consequence but to be jostled out of my supposed birthright by a b.o.o.by!

_Enter Lucy._

_Capt. Eth._ (_going up to her and taking her by the hand_). I took the liberty to request a few minutes' interview.

_Lucy_ (_smiling_). Surely not a very great liberty with one whom you have known so long, and who is so very much indebted to your father.

_Capt. Eth._ Not so much as his children are indebted to your mother.

But the object of my visit is, Lucy, to request that you will give me some information relative to a ridiculous report.

_Lucy._ I can, and I can a.s.sure you, Captain Etheridge, that I believe it to be without the shadow of a foundation. That Agnes and I were both taken by surprise at the moment, you must not wonder at; but on reflection, I am convinced that it is a fabrication. Indeed, the very idea is most injurious to the character of my mother.

_Capt. Eth._ I grant this; but the change may have taken place without the knowledge of your mother.

_Lucy._ It is possible, but barely possible, who but a foolish mother, blinded by partiality, would ever have been guilty of an act which never could benefit herself?

_Capt. Eth._ You are not well acquainted with the knavery of the world.

To prove a fact like this, in a court of justice, would, in most instances, be rewarded liberally. Your brother, for instance, seems to view the affair in a very different light.

_Lucy._ Captain Etheridge, I can honestly a.s.sert, that the rumour has occasioned to me the greatest uneasiness; and were it to prove true, I should be still more unhappy.

_Capt. Eth._ I cannot understand you. You would find yourself raised to a position in society which you did not expect; courted by those who at present disregard you, and moving in a circle to which, I must say, your beauty and your other natural gifts would contribute to adorn.

_Lucy._ Do not flatter me. I have a great dislike to it. I am, I trust, satisfied in my present situation; and, were I weak enough to indulge a transient feeling of vanity, the reminiscence which would instantly intrude, that my advancement was founded on the misery of those I love better than myself, would render it a source of deep and unceasing regret.

_Capt. Eth._ Those you love better than yourself, Lucy; who are they?

_Lucy_ (_confused_). I referred to your sister Agnes, and to your father.

_Capt. Eth._ O, not to me!--then I am an _exclusion_.

_Lucy._ My grat.i.tude to your father for his kindness, and our intimacy from childhood, ought to a.s.sure you, Captain Etheridge, that----I must ever wish for your happiness.

_Capt. Eth._ But suppose, my dear Lucy, this should prove to be true.

_Lucy._ I have already stated my sentiments.

_Capt. Eth._ You have, Lucy, generally, and much to your honour; but I am just putting the case for my amus.e.m.e.nt. Suppose it were proved true, you would not look down upon me as the child of your inferiors?

_Lucy._ Captain Etheridge, the very observation, for your amus.e.m.e.nt, is both ungenerous and unkind. I acknowledge our present inferiority, but not perhaps to the extent which would be exacted from your family. But oblige me by not carrying your suppositions any further.

(_Tremulously._) I am not very happy--as it is.

_Capt. Eth._ Forgive me, Lucy, I did not intend to inflict pain. I am much too fond of you for that.

_Lucy._ Then why do you come here to make me miserable?

_Capt. Eth._ To make you miserable, my dear Lucy? I should, indeed, be a wretch, when my own happiness depends upon you. (_Lucy starts._) (_Aside._) It is out at last. Now there's no retreat in honour, and I thank heaven for it. (_Aloud._) Did you hear me, Lucy? (_Lucy appears fainting, Etheridge supports her._) Are you angry with me, Lucy? (_She weeps._) I will confess to you honestly, that I have long struggled with my pa.s.sion, but pride, ridiculous pride, has severely punished me for listening to its selfish dictates. Believe me, when I a.s.sert, that never was man more attached than I am to you. Answer me, Lucy, am I then indifferent to you?

_Lucy._ (_separating herself gently from Captain Etheridge_). I will be as candid as you have been. (_Remains for a little time silent._) Whether you are indifferent to me or not, I must leave you to judge, from the effects of your communication; but I have also pride, and that pride never will allow me to enter a family against the wishes of those who have a right to be consulted on a question of such serious importance.

_Capt. Eth._ Only one question, Lucy. If my father consents to our union, will you be satisfied, without the concurrence of my mother?

_Lucy._ I should abide by the decision of my own father and mother; but, to confess the truth, I should not be satisfied.

_Capt. Eth._ Am I then to consider this as a mere act of duty, Lucy? Is there no feeling towards me?

_Lucy._ O yes! Why should I deny it? Indeed, Edward, if you could have read my heart for some time back, you would have found----

_Capt. Eth._ What, my dear Lucy?

_Lucy._ That your image has long occupied it--to its unhappiness.