Chancellor. Off with him!
Mr. D. Look, at him; he is almost expiring. Rob him of his money, but let his soul depart in peace.
Clerk. Silence!
Mr. D. Cease, torturer! He is a dying man—In one hour, perhaps, his soul will be in Heaven, accusing thee of murder——cease!
Chancellor. Here! Constables!
Mr. D. My last strength for his grey hairs.
(CLERK going, meets PHILIP BROOK.)
Philip [joyfully]. Drave, we are saved, we are saved!
Mr. D. Is it true?
Philip. It is! it is.