Bev. Ay, would and cannot. Leave it to time then; 'twill satisfy all doubts.
Char. Mine are already satisfied.
Bev. 'Tis well. And when the subject is renewed, speak to me like a sister, and I will answer like a brother.
Char. To tell me I'm a beggar. Why, tell it now. I that can bear the ruin of those dearer to me, the ruin of a sister and her infant, can bear that too.
Bev. No more of this—You wring my heart.
Char. Would that the misery were all your own! But innocence must suffer. Unthinking rioter! whose home was heaven to him: an angel dwelt there, and a little cherub, that crowned his days with blessings—How has he lost this heaven, to league with devils!
Bev. Forbear, I say; reproaches come too late; they search, but cure not. And for the fortune you demand, we'll talk to-morrow on't; our tempers may be milder.
Char. Or if 'tis gone, why, farewel all. I claimed it for a sister. She holds my heart in hers; and every pang She feels, tears it in pieces—But I'll upbraid no more. What heaven permits, it may ordain; and sorrow then is sinful. Yet that the husband! father! brother! should be its instrument of vengeance!—'Tis grievous to know that.
Bev. If you're my sister, spare the remembrance—It wounds too deeply. To-morrow shall clear all; and when the worst is known, it may be better than your fears. Comfort my wife; and for the pains of absence, I'll make atonement. The world may yet go well with us.
Char. See where she comes!—Look chearfully upon her. Affections, such as hers, are prying; and lend those eyes that read the soul.