Horatia. Believe then these tears, this agony of apprehension in which you see me. This moment the soldiers may be mounting the staircase—cutting off all hope ...
Charles. Give me the slip then, and I will give them the slip! quick, quick, and the cloak and hood.
Horatia. Here, here! O despatch! while you remain here I tread on hot iron.
Charles. I am to personate your Aunt.
Horatia. Yes, yes, any one, but make haste.
Charles. So, I’m equipped. Farewell, Lady!
Horatia. Pull the hood over your face. O farewell! [Exit Charles.]
Horatia. One hour more of excitement, and then ... [Exit.]