_A handsomely fitted Chamber in London.--A practicable window in F._ _Enter ARTHUR WALTON, FLORENCE, the LADY ELIZABETH CROMWELL._ _Eliz._ [_To Arthur._] Urge not your suit through me, when she is here. Give half Love's reasons that to me you gave, Why she should not be cruel, and I think You'll hardly find her so--[_To Florence._] Nay! be not scornful, You know I can betray you--[_Goes to the window._] _Flor._ Oh, be silent! _Arth._ Dear cousin, will you forth to walk? The day Is fine. Eliz. [_Running to the window._] I do protest it has been raining long. _Arth._ To-morrow I must leave-- _Flor._ To-morrow, really? Shall you be absent long? Adieu, then, sir. [_Going._] _Arth._ Distraction! I deserve not this unkindness. Florence, why spurn my love thus?-- _Flor._ Nay, I think But just escaped one brother's persecution, 'tis Too bad another should annoy me. _Arth._ Pardon, Madam, my cousin; henceforth I'll not grieve you. [_Going._] _Flor._ Stay! _Arth._ [_Rushing to her._] What is it? _Flor._ Nothing, but I think you promis'd To ride my horse; you know she is too gay; Nay, 'tis no matter if you have forgotten. It is no wonder, since you walked so long With those two foreign ladies yesterday: The youngest dresses somewhat out of taste To suit our English fancy. Did you not The other evening speak of English dress As something prudish, not quite to your taste? Are you going far to-morrow?-- _Arth._ They are not foreign, I do assure you; I have known them long, The daughters of my honour'd friend, John Milton. _Eliz._ [_Aside._] She knows it well as he does. _Flor._ No? Indeed? _Arth._ [_Pointing to Elizabeth._] Ask her. _Flor._ I am not curious, sir, to hear With whom you walk; but, if you mention them, Of course 'tis natural I speak of it-- Elizabeth! Will you come here and answer him! he talks Of one old Milton's daughters, when I'd ask About the fashions. _Eliz._ [_With emotion, at the window._] See, there goes another Doom'd to the block; the excellent Laud scarce cold Within his grave-- It makes me heart-sick, girl! To live, when just men die, that love their king, And I, his daughter, _his_, that wills it so, And does not stir to save them--nay, approves, Condemns, and sanctions; O 'tis dreadful! dreadful! _Arth._ [_To FLORENCE._] Is she thus often! _Flor._ Ay, too often thus Of late she suffers. [_Runs to her._] Dear Elizabeth! There, Walton, go! _Arth._ And may I hope?-- _Flor._ Is this a time? Do you not see she is ill?-- You will return, Ere long--go, call a servant! [_He looks at her, she waves her hand impatiently, he goes out. Exit ARTHUR, L._] _Eliz._ [_Points to the window._] Is it gone?-- He was quite young. Think you my father sat In judgment on him? _Flor._ Know you not he is Now with the army? _Eliz._ True! true! [_Passes her hand over her brow._] It is o'er. Where is your cousin gone? _Flor._ Who? _Eliz._ Arthur Walton. _Flor._ Oh! he has left.