Lucy. No. He has written, and now awaits my answer.
Dilly. And you, Lucy; do you love him?
Lucy. Why do you ask, Dilly?
Dilly. Because it would break my heart to know you did. O Lucy! think of Harry, your dear brother, falsely accused. Think of his words five years ago regarding this man.
Lucy. I do think of them, Dilly, often, very often; and, remembering them, I can say to you, No, I do not love him.
Dilly. Oh! bless you for those words: they lift a weary load from my heart. While Harry is away—
Lucy. I am heart whole. I know your suspicions, Dilly; and, till they are proven true or false, Fred Hastings can have no claim upon me. Good-by! he’s waiting.
Dilly. Good-by, Lucy! (Exit Lucy, C.) The time will surely come, but when—when that old man tottering on the brink of madness shall be in his grave, when this loved home shall have passed from us, when old age and gray hairs shall be upon us. Faith,—yes, I have faith; but this watching and waiting is weary and wearing. No clew by which to work, nothing but bare suspicion; and yet I have faith. This man Hastings, after nearly five years’ absence, appears again among us. He knows I suspect him; and yet he dares to woo the sister of his betrayed friend. Oh! why don’t Harry come? If he would only write; but no, no word, no sign. Pride keeps him silent; but I know he will one day return. Heaven grant it be not too late to save his father! (Enter Butts, C.)
Butts. O Dilly, Dilly! such a crime! such an outrage, a high-handed, diabolical assault on law and justice!
Dilly. Why, Mr. Butts, what’s the matter now?