Gil. Not a word; if you are inclined to ask questions, a little farther on there’s a finger post—when you have read one side, you know you can walk round to the other.
Gray. I shall but make my agitation the more apparent. Never till this moment did I feel the fulness of my passion. Come, rouse man, stand no longer like a coward, eying the game, but take the dice, and at one bold throw, decide your fate.
[Exit L.
Gil. Aye, it’s all no use, master Grayling; Lucy Fairlove is no match for you. No, no, if I mistake not there’s another, smoother faced young man has been asking if any body’s at home at the heart of Lucy—but mum—I’m sworn to secrecy,—and now for Jenny! dear me, I’ve been loitering so long, and have so much to say to her—then I’ve so much to do—for the Judges are coming down to-morrow to make a clear place of the prison—and then there’s—but stop, whilst I am running to Jenny, I can think of these matters by the way.
[Exit L.
SCENE II.—Wood.
Enter Ambrose Gwinett. (running.) L.
Gwin. I’ve distanced them—but i’faith I’ve had to run for it.—No, no, fair gentlemen, I hope yet to have many a blithe day ashore—high winds, roaring seas, and the middle-watch have no relish for Gwinett—make a sailor of me, what, and leave Lucy Fairlove?—I’ve hurt my wrist in the struggle with one of the gang—(takes his handkerchief, which is stained with blood, from around his arm.) It is but a scratch—if I bind it up again it may excite the alarm of Lucy—no, Time is the best surgeon, and to him I trust it. (puts the handkerchief in his pocket.) Eh! who have we here? by all my hopes, Lucy herself.
Enter Lucy Fairlove. R.
Lucy. Ambrose.