Tell all you know. Tell the whole truth, Dorcas, cried Polly Horton.—His honour loves his lady too well to make her suffer much: little as she requites his love!——
Every body sees that, cried Sally—too well, indeed, for his honour, I was going to say.
Till now, I thought she deserved my love—But to bribe a servant thus, who she supposed had orders to watch her steps, for fear of another elopement; and to impute that precaution to me as a crime!—Yet I must love her—Ladies, forgive my weakness!——
Curse upon my grimaces!—if I have patience to repeat them!—But thou shalt have it all—thou canst not despise me more than I despise myself!
But suppose, Sir, said Sally, you have my lady and the wench face to face! You see she cares not to confess.
O my carelessness! cried Dorcas—Don’t let my poor lady suffer!—Indeed, if you all knew what I know, you would say her ladyship has been cruelly treated—
See, see, see, see!—repeatedly, every one at once—Only sorry for the detection, as your honour said—not for the fault.
Cursed creature, and devilish creature, from every mouth.
Your lady won’t, she dare not come out to save you, cried Sally; though it is more his honour’s mercy, than your desert, if he does not cut your vile throat this instant.