Cas. What, Beefington too! [discovering him.] Then is my joy complete.
Beef. Our fellow-traveller, as it seems.
Cas. Yes, Beefington—but wherefore to Hamburgh?
Beef. Oh, Casimere[211]—to fly—to fly—to return—England—our country—Magna Charta—it is liberated—a new era—House of Commons—Crown and Anchor—Opposition——
Cas. What a contrast! you are flying to liberty and your home—I, driven from my home by tyranny—am exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign country.
Beef. How domestic slavery?
Cas. Too true—two wives [slowly, and with a dejected air—then after a pause]—you knew my Cecilia?
Pudd. Yes, five years ago.
Cas. Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in Wetteravia—my Matilda was under her protection—alighting at a peasant's cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread-and-butter for the children, in a light-blue riding habit. The simplicity of her appearance—the fineness of the weather—all conspired to interest me—my heart moved to hers—as if by a magnetic sympathy—we wept, embraced, and went home together—she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience—her Rogero is languishing in captivity—if I could restore her to him!
Beef. Let us rescue him.