Mary. Indeed, I cou'dn't help his coming; and he made me come with him.
Frank. I—I am almost glad, Mary, that it has happened.
Mary. Are you?
Frank. Yes—when a weight of concealment is on the mind, remorse is relieved by the very discovery which it has dreaded. But you must not be waiting here, Mary. There is one in the house, to whose care I will entrust you.
Mary. I hope it isn't the person you sent to me to-day.
Frank. He! I would sooner cradle infancy with serpents.—Yet this is my friend! I will, now, confide in a stranger:—the stranger, Mary, who saved your life.
Mary. Is he here!
Frank. He is:—Oh, Mary, how painful, if, performing the duty of a son, I must abandon, at last, the expiation of a penitent! but so dependent on each other are the delicate combinations of probity, that one broken link perplexes the whole chain, and an abstracted virtue becomes a relative iniquity.
[Exeunt.