Millie. Be quiet, May. Can’t you all see how ’tis. Giles has done the cruel hard task set him by Father—and is back again with the bushel of silver and that of gold to claim my hand. [Giles enters.] But Giles—I’d have given it to you had you come to me poor and forlorn and ragged, for my love has never wandered from you in all this long time.
Andrew. No, Giles—and that it has not. Millie has never given me one kind word nor one gentle look all the years that I’ve been courting of her, and that’s the truth. And you can call witness to it if you care.
Giles. Uncle, Aunt, I’ve done the task you set me years ago—and now I claim my reward. I went from this house a poor wretch, with nothing but the hopeless love in my heart to feed and sustain me. I have returned with all that the world can give me of riches and prosperity. Will you now let me be the husband of your daughter?
Millie. O say ye, Uncle, for look how fine and grand he is in his coat—and the bags are stuffed full to the brim and ’tis with gold and silver.
Elizabeth. Well—’tis a respectabler end than I thought as you’d come to, Giles. And different nor what you deserved.
Daniel. Come, come, Mother.—The fewer words to this, the better. Giles, my boy—get you into the trap and take her along to the church and drive smart.
Andrew. Annet—will you come there with me too?
Annet. O Andrew—what are you saying?
Daniel. Come, come. Where’s the wind blowing from now? Here, Mother, do you listen to this.
Elizabeth. I shall be deaf before I’ve done, but it appears to me that Annet’s not lost any time in making the most of her chances.