Fan. I never should have doubted; but my father has alarmed me sadly—he says my lord Austencourt is certainly on the point of marriage with you.
Hel. And how, my dear girl, if it were so, could that affect you? Come, you must be explicit.
Fan. Affect me! merciful Heaven! can I see him wed another? He is my husband by every tie sacred and human.
Hel. Suffering, but too credulous girl! have you then trusted to his vows?
Fan. How, madam! was I to blame, loving as I did, to trust in vows so solemn? could I suppose he would dare to break them, because our marriage was performed in secret?
Hel. Your marriage, child! Good Heavens, you amaze me! but here we may be interrupted—this way with me. If this indeed be so all may be well again: for though he may be dead to feeling be assured he is alive to fear: the man who once descends to be a villain is generally observed to be at heart a coward. [Exeunt.
[SCENE II.]—The door of a country inn.—Ponder sitting on a portmanteau.
Ponder. I’ve heard that intense thinking has driven some philosophers mad!—now if this should happen to me, ’twill never be the fate of my young patron, Mr. Charles Austencourt, whom I have suddenly met on his sudden return from sea, and who never thinks at all. Poor gentleman, he little thinks what—
Enter Charles Austencourt.
Charles. Not gone yet? How comes it you are not on the road to my father? Is the fellow deaf or dumb. Ponder! are ye asleep?