Jessie. Is he dead? Speak: let me know the worst; I can bear it.
Thornton. Be quiet, my child. He is not dead; better if he were, for death covers all the evils of a life,—death wipes out all disgrace.
Jessie. Disgrace? Oh, speak, Mr. Thornton! why is he silent? what misfortune has befallen him?
Thornton. The worst, Jessie. Perhaps I should hide his wretched story from you; but I'm here to tell it to his friends, and you are the dearest, the one who trusted him as none other can. Jessie, the man you loved has been false to you, to all. He has abused the trust I placed in him. He has become a spendthrift, a libertine, a gambler, and a drunkard.
Jessie. I will not believe it: 'tis false. Harry Maynard is too noble. Mr. Thornton, you have been misled, or you are not his friend.
Thornton. I was his friend till he betrayed and robbed me. I am his friend no longer. Jessie, you must forget him; he will never return to his old home, his first love. He has broken away from my influence: he associates with the vilest of the vile, and glories in his shame.
Jessie. Stop, stop! I cannot bear it.
Thornton. Jessie, you know not how it pains me to tell you this; but 'tis better you know the worst. I have striven hard to make his path smooth,—to make his way to fortune easy, for your sake, Jessie. For I,—yes, Jessie, even in this dark hour I must say it,—I love you, as he never could love.
Jessie. You—love—me? You! Oh! this is blasphemy at such a time.