Falk. Can he, who has sustained so long the reproaches of his conscience, fear the world’s revilings?—Oh, Austencourt! Once you had a heart.
Sir R. Sir, it is callous now to every thing but shame; when it lost you, its dearest only friend, its noblest feelings were extinguished: my crime has been my punishment, for it has brought on me nothing but remorse and misery: still is my fame untainted by the world, and I will never court its contumely.
Falk. You are determined—
Sir R. I am!
Falk. Have you no fear from me?
Sir R. None! You have renewed your promise, and I am safe.
Falk. Nothing then remains for me but to return to that obscurity from whence I have emerged—had I found you barely leaning to the side of virtue, I had arguments to urge that might have fixed a wavering purpose; but I find you resolute, hardened and determined in guilt, and I leave you to your fate.
Sir R. Stay, Falkner, there is a meaning in your words.
Falk. A dreadful precipice lies before you: be wary how you tread! there is a being injured by your——by lord Austencourt, see that he makes her reparation by an immediate marriage—look first to that.
Sir R. To such a degradation could I forget my noble ancestry, he never will consent.