Black. Well, no matter, we can even do this job without him; but one lucky hit and we are made men.
Ash. Aye, this has been your cry year after year—luck! I think I see our luck in every tree, and in every rope.
Black. Well, farewell, for the present, but meet me round the lane, leading to the back part of the house.
Ash. Round by the lane—no, that I can’t do: I must pass my wife and children’s graves—I have not dared to look upon them this many a day.
Black. You refuse then?
Ash. No; I’ll meet you, but for the path, that I’ll chuse myself.
[Exeunt R.
SCENE III.—Interior of the Blake’s Head.
Enter Lucy and Gilbert. L.
Gil. Nay, but you must see him; I promised you should.