Thornton. Take her away, take her away: I can't bear her touch! (Crawls down stage.) Her eyes glare at me! There's the look of her dead mother in them. Oh, spare me, spare me!
Harry. O Thornton, Thornton, this is terrible!
Thornton. Thornton! you're wrong. Call me by my rightful name: you must have heard it,—William Bragg.
John. William Bragg?
Capt. No, no; it cannot be! You, you my Bill? Curse you: you stole that name! That was my boy's,—a handsome, noble fellow!
Thornton. I am your son!
Capt. It's a lie: you're a miserable wretch! Think you a Bragg would come home in such a plight? I'll not believe it. (Looks at him, then sinks on his knees, covers his face.) It's false! I can not, will not believe it.
Thornton. You must, you do, old man. You might have made me a better man; but you nursed my vanity, and—well, well, it's all over now. I've dug my grave: let me rest in peace.
Capt. (rising to his feet). No, no peace for you: you have disgraced my name. Die, die like a dog! Why did you come back here to ruin me, to drag me down from my position, to make me a by-word and a scorn among my neighbors? Why didn't you die in the gutters of your infamous city? But here, here! Die, but take my—