ANDREWS. Again, 'tis false.

GOODWIN. O! my good friends, forbear; I've heard too much.

Permit me then to speak between you both.

What is affirm'd on one side, on the other As firmly is denied: wherefore, it lies On him who made the charge to shew his proof.

ANDREWS. Then, at your instance only;--'twas a letter, From my ill-fated wife to this deceiver, Which on the way by accident I seiz'd; Wherein th' attempts he made (advantage taking Of the distress her indiscretion caus'd) To his adult'rous purpose to seduce her, Are manifest.

WILSON. Deluded, undone man!

How this insidious woman hath depriv'd him Of that sage judgment which he once possess'd!

GOODWIN. Where is the letter?

ANDREWS. Unluckily destroy'd.

WILSON. And are these all the grounds on which you charge An old and faithful friend with such a breach Of virtue, honour, and of all that's worthy?

O most abandon'd woman! weak as wicked.

ANDREWS. Recal your words, base slanderer, else this hand Shall pluck forth the rude tongue that utter'd them.

GOODWIN. Forbear, I pray! you will alarm my family.

WILSON. [To GOODWIN.] This is too much for ev'n a brother's bearing.

Nor can I longer answer for myself. [Goes off.]

ANDREWS. [After remaining for some time deep in thought.]

Guilty! O guilty! every thing confirms it.

Had my sworn enemy distress'd me thus, Time might have sooth'd the anguish of my soul; But oh! what mode of patience can endure To find the traitor in my bosom friend!

GOODWIN. Rather think him innocent.

ANDREWS. Yet how?

Did not the blush of conscience mark his visage?

The thought, the very thought, inflames to madness.

GOODWIN. He seem'd surpriz'd, but shew'd no sign of guilt.

'Twere better sure, to sift this matter calmly; Pa.s.sion but mars the purpose it pursues.

ANDREWS. O! cou'd I hope for doubt!

GOODWIN. You've known him long?

ANDREWS. These thirty years; no brothers e'er lov'd better: And so exalted was, so pure the friendship, Which 'twixt our souls in harmony subsisted, Each knew no joy the other did not feel, And all our evils were by sharing lighten'd: He was my second self, as I was his, Like streams whose currents mix and flow together.

GOODWIN. And have you ever found him in a falsehood?

ANDREWS. In his fidelity I so confided, That with the dearest treasure of my soul I had entrusted him--and now he's lost; For ever lost--yet, yet to think--O heav'n!

That this unhappy woman, once so virtuous, Cou'd ever thus have chang'd. O Goodwin! Goodwin!

There's not a peasant in the clay-built hut, Who daily with his toil-tir'd arm acquires A scanty pittance for life's common wants, Whose state is not a paradise to mine!

GOODWIN. Despond not thus, there's nothing certain yet; Wherefore, compose awhile your ruffled spirit, And bear with manly fort.i.tude these trials: The tempest may th' inferior regions shake, Whilst those of higher sphere rest undisturb'd Above the threaten'd ruin!

ANDREWS. [After some pause.] Oh! tell me then, what says report of her?

GOODWIN. A dangerous request!

ANDREWS. But cou'd you see your friend so deeply wrong'd?

Wrong'd in the tenderest point! and yet be silent?

What says the world of this lord Belmour's visits?

You start--

GOODWIN. Its rumours may be false--however, Since you so press it, I will thus far venture-- Suppose, that after you have left the city, To sleep as usual at your rural dwelling, This, or some other night, you should return?

And at some near-appointed station wait, Until some friendly watch, whom you can trust, Shall give you notice of the secret visit?

ANDREWS. Thanks for this hint, it shall be so this night.

GOODWIN. Mean while, you must be calm, or may prevent The purposes you covet to accomplish. [They go off.]

SCENE II.

Mr. ANDREWS's house.

Mrs. ANDREWS and MARIA.

MARIA. Alas! what shall I do? 'tis I, 'tis I, That should be punish'd.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Punish'd! for what?

MARIA. I've brought my husband to a shameful end.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Why this alarm? explain the mystery.

MARIA. Your safety only, and a rash resentment (Not dreaming of the fatal consequence) Made me convey the key into his trunk.

And Jefferson by note, without his signature, Inform'd your husband he shou'd find it there.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Suspend, I pray you, your distress awhile.

As yet, he's but imprison'd in his room: You know my husband has a tender heart, And loves him much.

MARIA. Alas! his doom is fix'd: With everlasting infamy to wait On him, and his, how innocent soever; Nor shall I 'scape the bitter tongue of scandal.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Ere that shou'd happen, I'd accuse myself.

Again then, I beseech you, be compos'd.

And now, Maria, I've been just inform'd, That Jefferson withdrew some hours ago, And is not to be found.

MARIA. And what of this?

Mrs. ANDREWS. Shou'd it be true, it must be thought by all, That the discovery of the secret key Was schem'd by him alone to screen himself.