Mary. Master Collins.
Label. Collins! (aside.) the devil; there may be some of my marks found upon him—and—and what have they done with the body?
Mary. That can’t be found any where: it’s supposed that Ambrose—no, no, not Ambrose, but the villains that did the horrid act, threw the body into the sea.
Label. Ah! very likely—I begin to feel very uncomfortable—well go home, my good girl, go home.
Mary. Home! no that I won’t; I’ll go and see if I can’t comfort poor Miss Lucy.
[Exit. L.
Label. I’m puzzled, the body not to be found; if I go and tell all that I know—inform the judges that I bled master Collins, perhaps they may secure me, and by some little trick of the law, make me accompany master Gwinett—again, allowing I should get clear off, the tale might occasion some doubt of my skill, and so my trade would be cut up that way—no no, better as it is, let the guilty suffer, and no more said about it—it will all blow over in a week or two. That same Gwinett, for all he used to laugh and joke so gaily, had I now begin to remember a kind of hanging look—he had a strange, suspicious—but bless me when a man falls into trouble, how soon we begin to recollect all his bad qualities. I declare the whole country seems in a bustle—in the confusion I may get off without notice—’tis the wisest course, and when wisdom comes hand-in-hand with profit, he’s a fool indeed that turns his back upon her.
[Exit. R.
Enter Blackthorn and Will Ash. L.
Black. Tut tut—all trifling I tell you—all the fears of a foolish girl—come, come, Will Ash, be a man.