(_For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then_ Dorothy _puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something horrible._) ~Dorothy.~ Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay! ~Roger~ (_very brave_). Am I a puling child to be afraid? ~Dorothy.~ My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter. ~Roger.~ The black-livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point to teach him manners. (_He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair._) ~Dorothy.~ Oh, you are wounded! ~Roger.~ Faugh, 'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling---- (_He faints. She binds up his ankle._) _Enter_ Lord Carey _with two soldiers._ ~Carey.~ Arrest this traitor! (_Roger is led away by the soldiers._) ~Dorothy~ (_stretching out her hands to him_). Roger! (_She sinks into a chair._) ~Carey~ (_choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal_). Dorothy, I love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang. 'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed. ~Dorothy~ (_refusing him_). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you. ~Carey.~ By heaven---- (_Thinking better of it._) I go to fetch your father. (_Exit._) _Enter_ Roger _by secret door L._ ~Dorothy.~ Roger! You have escaped. ~Roger.~ Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we so often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar the thick-skulled knaves immured me. ~Dorothy.~ Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our enemies? ~Roger~ (_missing the point rather_). Nay, if I die, let me die like a man, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart---- _Enter_ Lord Carey _by ordinary door._ ~Carey~ (_forgetting himself in his confusion_). Odds my zounds, dod sink me! What murrain is this? ~Roger~ (_seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally left behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing threateningly_). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come. Wilt say a prayer? (_They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other._) ~Carey~ (_dying game_). Strike, Master Dale! ~Roger.~ Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood. (_He throws down his sword._ Lord Carey _exhibits considerable emotion at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf._) _Enter two soldiers._ ~Carey.~ Arrest that man! (Roger _is seized again._) Mistress Dorothy, it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner. ~Dorothy~ (_standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if she was standing up_). Ah, give him to me, my lord! ~Carey~ (_joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy_). I trust to you, sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.