Mar. I have kept my promise, sir, and now must leave.
Your wound is healed.
Pal.I fear I scarce can thank thee,
If ’tis thy word to go. Or, if thou stayest
But to cure wounds,—I have another wound
I shewed thee not, which hath a deeper seat:
This hand may cure it.
Mar.Nay, what mean you, sir?
Pal. Margaret, I love thee. There, thou hast it all.
Thou hast stolen my soul. I thought—my pride, my hope—