GREEN. Yes—I’m ready now!
MRS. G. Very well, then—look sharp! (GREENFINCH ducks behind the stove) Death!
GREEN. Glory! (both fire; MRS. G. drops her pistol and falls into chair, R.C., with a groan) Hallo! What’s that? Have I hit you?
MRS. G. Hit me? yes; the ball has penetrated my side—here—close to the heart! I feel—I’m dying—give—give me your hand old fellow!
GREEN. Where are you?
MRS. G. Here—here! (GREENFINCH stumbles against her)
GREEN. Ha! he is floored! What shall I do?—shall I call for help?—run for the doctor? (crosses to R.)
MRS. G. No—’tis no use! (faintly) Assist me to my room—will you? (GREENFINCH assists her) Ah, you’re a dead shot, Greenfinch!
GREEN. Ha! then I am Greenfinch—you confess it?
MRS. G. Yes, you’re the real original Greenfinch. Good bye, my boy, I forgive you; but you’ll be hanged for my murder if you’re caught!