Sir Philip. Well, behold your victim in his last stage of human wretchedness! Come you to insult me;
[Morrington clasps his hands together, and hides his face.]
Ah! can even you pity me? Speak—still silent—still mysterious—Well, let me employ what remains of life, in thinking of hereafter—[Addressing Heaven.] Oh, my brother! we soon shall meet again—And let me hope, that, stripped of those passions which make men devils, I may receive the heavenly balm of thy forgiveness, as I, from my inmost soul, do pardon thee.
[Morrington becomes convulsed with agony, and falls into Gerald's arms.]
Ah! what means that agony? He faints! give him air!
[They throw open his cloak and hat.]
[Starts.] Angels of mercy! my brother! 'tis he! he lives! Henry, support your father!
Henry. [Running to Morrington.] Ah, my father! he revives!
Sir Philip. Hush!
[Morrington recovers—seeing his brother, covers his face with shame, then falls at his feet.]