Geof. The time of parting draws near—a few weeks—a few days—a few hours. These few hours we have passed in silence, sitting hand in hand, thou and I. There are tears in my eyes, though I strive to check them, and there are sad thoughts in thine heart, also. Well, at last the horse is at the door, and it is time to go. I am at thy porch—one foot in stirrup—one hurried “God-speed”—and—I am gone!
Dor. Oh no, no, Geoffrey. I cannot bear it.
Geof. Months pass by and no news of me. The village seems blank at first without me, the walks to church seem long and lonely, and the evenings sad and cheerless. At last come tidings of a wrecked ship—thine heart beats quickly, for the name of the ship is the name of mine. Of all the crew but one man is saved, and that man’s name—is not Geoffrey Wynyard—for Geoffrey has gone down to his death in the dark waters.
Dor. (rising—throwing her arms round him). No, no, Geoffrey, be silent. I cannot bear it—I cannot bear it—I cannot bear it; have mercy, for I cannot bear it!
Geof. And dost thou love me?
Dor. (bashfully, hiding her head in his bosom). Oh, Geoffrey! (Pause.)
Geof. Art thou happy there, Dorothy?
Dor. Passing happy! And thou?
Geof. Passing happy. (He places a ring on her finger.)