Horatia. [Speaking very fast.] You are so welcome—you came just a moment ...
Daresby. My Sophy! nothing is the matter with her?
Horatia. O no. It’s a poor soldier—got the cholera—lying in the vault ...
Daresby. In a vault!
Horatia. Run, run, dearest Daresby, or you will be too late.
Daresby. What do you mean? Explain yourself.
Horatia. The cholera, I say—in the vault—O! you put me in a fever. For my sake, for Sophy’s—O run, fly!
Daresby. Whatever can you ...
Horatia. Go, or I shall run wild! You know the way, go!
Daresby. If I can be of any use to the poor sufferer. [Exit.]