Dame. Nay, Tummas—I dare say—if—you know best—but I think I could find——
Ash. Well, Eh!—you can just try you knaw [Greatly agitated.] You can try, just vor the vun on't: but mind, dan't ye make a noise. [She opens it.] Why, thee hasn't opened it?
Dame. Nay, Tummas! you told me!
Ash. Did I?
Dame. There's the letter!
Ash. Well, why do ye gi't to I?—I dan't want it, I'm sure. [Taking it—he turns it over—she eyes it eagerly—he is about to open it.]—She's coming! she's coming! [He conceals the letter, they tremble violently.] No, she's gone into t'other room. [They hang their heads dejectedly, then look at each other.] What mun that feyther an mother be doing, that do blush and tremble at their own dater's coming. [Weeps.] Dang it, has she desarv'd it of us—Did she ever deceive us?—Were she not always the most open hearted, dutifullest, kindest—and thee to goa like a dom'd spy, and open her box, poor thing!
Dame. Nay, Tummas——
Ash. You did—I zaw you do it myzel!—you look like a thief, now—you doe—Hush!—no—Dame—here be the letter—I won't reead a word on't; put it where thee vound it, and as thee vound it.
Dame. With all my heart.
[She returns the letter to the box.