Ezra:
But, that’s not empty!
How could you open it, when I’d the key
Strung safely on a bootlace next my skin?
Eliza:
The key—you should have chained the kist, itself,
As a locket round your neck, if you’d have kept
Your precious hoard from your own flesh and blood.
Ezra:
To think a man begets the thieves to rob him!
But, how ...
Eliza:
I had no call to open it.
I caught my foot against the splintered lid,
When I went to make the bed.
Ezra:
The splintered lid!
And the kist—the kist! You say ’twas empty?