Gray. Did I say revenge was gone?—no, it rages again with redoubled fury—he shall not foil me—this time his death is sure.
Gil. Unhappy wretch—give me those papers.
Gray. Millions should not buy them, till they had served my purpose—oh, it all bursts on my maddened brain—relieved—pitied by him!—
Gil. Grayling—yield ere your fate is certain.
Gray. Never!
Gil. Call in assistance. (Label goes up stage and beckons on neighbours, &c. Gwinett and Lucy come on. L.)
There, secure the prisoner.
Gray. Aye—secure the prisoner.
Offi. Which is he?
Gil. There—Grayling the robber.