Tom. Then farewell, Matilda; I go to my doom. Whipple, during my decease I confide her to you. Be a mother to her. (Kissing photograph.) Farewell, unhappy Matilda; be true to my memory, for I’m as good as dead, and you’re engaged to a body! (He staggers out wildly, followed by Whipple.)
Enter Matilda.
Mat. Now, where’s he gone with Whipple, I’d like to know? That Whipple’s up to some bedevilment with him, I’ll go bail.
Enter Biddy.
Bid. Please, miss, here’s a young lady as says she must see you, and won’t take no denial.
Mat. A young lady?
Enter Caroline, in great agitation. She is a romantic-looking young lady, with long curls and gushing, poetical demeanour. She pauses melodramatically.
Car. Matilda! Don’t ye know me?
Mat. ’Deed, and I don’t. Why, if it isn’t my old schoolfellow, Carrie Effingham! It’s Carrie, as I’m a living sinner!
Car. Yes; I came to town yesterday; and though ten long weary years have flown since last we met, I could not pass my dear old friend’s abode without one effort to awake those slumbering chords that, struck in unison, ever found ready echoes in our sister hearts.