Fellow. I do, Madam.
Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend?
Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business.
Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well?
Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too.
Widow. I am too full of grief to be well.
Fellow. So belike I have hard to say.
Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must beg of you to let me know your business.
Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but to give this letter into your own partiklar hands—here it is.
Widow. [Taking it.] From my dear friend Miss Howe?—Ah, my head!