(Feels for the Letter.
Isab. A Letter! give it me quickly.
Patch. Bless me! what's become on't— I'm sure I put it—
(Searching still.
Isab. Is it possible, thou could'st be so Careless— Oh! I'm undone for ever if it be lost.
Patch. I must have drop'd it upon the Stairs. But why are you so much alarm'd, if the worst happens no body can read it, Madam, nor find out whom it was design'd for.
Isab. If it falls into my Father's Hands the very Figure of a Letter will produce ill Consequences. Run and look for it upon the Stairs this Moment.
Patch. Nay, I'm sure it can be no where else.— (As she's going out of the Door meets the Butler.) How now, what do you want?
Butl. My Master order'd me to lay the Cloth here for his Supper.
Isab. Ruin'd past Redemption—