Fitzhugh. A gentleman, I hope, but rich—no. To-morrow I shall be a beggar. No, not a beggar, if I have your love, Rachel.
Rachel (making a lucky shot at his name). Hugh! (They embrace.)
Fitzhugh. Let us plight our troth here. See, I give you my ring!
Rachel. And I give you mine.
[She takes one from the end of a chain which is round her neck, and puts it on his finger. Fitzhugh looks at it and staggers back.
Fitzhugh. Heavens! They are the same ring! (In great excitement.)
Child, child, who are you? How came you by the crest of the
Fitzhughs?
Rachel. Ah, who am I? I never had any parents. When they found me they found that ring on me, and I have kept it ever since!
Fitzhugh. Let me look at you! It must be! The Squire's missing daughter!
[Gaffers Jarge and Willyum, having entered unobserved at the back some time ago, have been putting in a lot of heavy byplay until wanted.
Jarge (at last). Lor' bless 'ee, Willyum, if it bain't Squire a-kissin' our Rachel!