Henry. But my father——
Sir Philip. [Approaching.] Charles!
Mor. Philip!
Sir Philip. Brother, I forgive thee.
Mor. Then let me die—blest, most blest!
Sir Philip. No, no. [Striking his breast.] Here—I want thee here—Raise him to my heart.
[They raise Morrington—in the effort to embrace, he falls into their arms exhausted.]
Again! [They sink into each other's arms.]
Handy, jun. [Comes forward.] If forgiveness be an attribute which ennobles our nature, may we not hope to find pardon for our errors—here?
[The Curtain falls.]