Jas. I’ll send thee strong wines that shall put the courage and strength of youth into thine old heart, Dan’l Druce. There, there, bear up, man. And Dorothy must come to the Hall, Dan’l. Old Bridget shall take good care of her; and I own I should like to see how the old place would shine in the sunlight shed by so fair a little lady. There, be of good cheer, man; I did but jest when I spake of thy daughter leaving thee.
Dan. Ay, ay—thou didst but jest, eh?
Jas. Why, to be sure. (Aside.) To think that those few light words should have so shaken him. (Looking at Dorothy.) Well, I can understand it. (To Dan’l, after a pause.) Master Druce, I’m an old man now, and a very grave and sober old man too. I had a fair young wife once; she had eyes like thy daughter’s eyes. There’s a strange whim in my head, but I’m an old man, and—and—and—may I kiss thy little daughter?
Dan. (much moved). Ay, ay, thou—thou mayst kiss her if thou wilt!
[Dorothy goes up to Sir Jasper, who kisses her on the forehead.
Jas. God bless thee, maiden. Dan’l Druce, I thank thee!
[Exit Sir Jasper.
Dor. Oh, father, didst thou hear? I am to go to the Hall! I have heard that it is a goodly place, as big as a village, and bravely decked with velvets and rich silks and pictures and vast mirrors! Oh, I long to see the mirrors! Then the gardens are beyond everything fair to view, and there are deer in the park, and a spacious lake, and carriages and horses too! Oh, it must be brave to live in so fair a place!
Dan. (in a broken voice). Why, Dorothy—these things are but vanities. Oh, Dorothy, my darling, be content with thy lot!
Dor. Nay, father—but indeed I envy not Sir Jasper. I grieve to think how solitary the poor gentleman must be, all alone in so vast a house, with neither wife nor child to solace him in his old age!