Riv. Not till we’ve fought, and thus expressed our hate.
Rod. Good Sirs, I deem that I am fortunate.
I’ll fight you on the morrow—not to-day.
Excuse me if I’m acting in a sordid way;
But—
Ber. Pa. Ho! guards, bring forth the prison van, and bear her hence.
(They carry Berlinda to the perambulator—en route she says:)
Dear Roderigo, dreadful is suspense;
But write to me, prepaid, and when you see your way
All clear, be good enough to name the day.