O. Book. But still, the poor young lady!——
Y. Book. Here was I seized. Meantime, Matilda wakes from her trance, beholding me held like a ruffian, both her brothers bleeding. She was returning to it. What should I do? I saw the hoary father in the divided sorrow, for his sons' lives and daughter's honour, of both which he thought me the invader. She, with pitying, dying and reproaching looks, beseeched me, and taught me what I owed her constant love. I yielded, sir, I own I yielded to the just terror of their family resentment, and to my mistress's more dreadful upbraiding. Thus am I, sir, the martyr of an honest passion——
O. Book. That I most blame is, that you concealed it from your best friend. I'll instantly to Penelope's father, and make my apology. He is my friend. [Exit.
Lat. This marriage strangely surprised me.
Y. Book. Why, did you believe it, too, as well as the old gentleman? Why, then, I did it excellently. Ha! ha! ha!
Lat. What,[63] the watch! The pistol! Lady swooning! Her pitying, upbraiding look! All chimera?
Y. Book. Nothing but downright wit, to keep myself safe for Victoria.
Lat. May I desire one favour?
Y. Book. What can I deny thee, my privado?