George. It cannot be! It shall not be!
Scud. Hold your tongue—it must. Be calm—darn the things; the proceeds of this sale won't cover the debts of the estate. Consarn those Liverpool English fellers, why couldn't they send something by the last mail? Even a letter, promising something—such is the feeling round amongst the planters. Darn me, if I couldn't raise thirty thousand on the envelope alone, and ten thousand more on the post-mark.
George. Zoe, they shall not take you from us while I live.
Scud. Don't be a fool; they'd kill you, and then take her, just as soon as—stop; Old Sunnyside, he'll buy her! that'll save her.
Zoe. No, it won't; we have confessed to Dora that we love each other. How can she then ask her father to free me?
Scud. What in thunder made you do that?
Zoe. Because it was the truth; and I had rather be a slave with a free soul, than remain free with a slavish, deceitful heart. My father gives me freedom—at least he thought so. May Heaven bless him for the thought, bless him for the happiness he spread around my life. You say the proceeds of the sale will not cover his debts. Let me be sold then, that I may free his name. I give him back the liberty he bestowed upon me; for I can never repay him the love he bore his poor Octoroon child, on whose breast his last sigh was drawn, into whose eyes he looked with the last gaze of affection.
Mrs. Pey. O, my husband! I thank Heaven you have not lived to see this day.
Zoe. George, leave me! I would be alone a little while.
George. Zoe! [Turns away overpowered.]