HENRY. What! banish us from a prison? ELEANOR. And although it is a prison, you could not be happy under such a restriction. HENRY. Happy!--When was I happy last? ELEANOR. Yesterday, when your father thanked you for your kindness to him. Did we not all three weep with affection for each other? and was not that happiness? HENRY. It was--nor will I give up such satisfaction, for any enticement that can offer.----Be contented, Eleanor,--for your sake and my father's, I will be honest.--Nay, more,--I will be scrupulously proud--and that line of conduct which my own honour could not force me to follow, my love to _you_ and _him_, shall compel me to.--When, through necessity, I am tempted to plunder, your blushes and my father's anguish shall hold my hand.--And when I am urged through impatience, to take away my own life, your lingering death and his, shall check the horrid suggestion, and I will live for you. ELEANOR. Then do not ever trust yourself away, at least from one of us. HENRY. Dear sister! do you imagine that your power is less when separated from me? Do you suppose I think less frequently on my father and his dismal prison, because we are not always together? Oh! no! he comes even more forcibly to my thoughts in his absence--and then, more bitterly do I feel his misery, than while the patient old man, before my eyes, talks to me of his consolations; his internal comforts from a conscience pure, a mind without malice, and a heart, where every virtue occupy a place.--Therefore, do not fear that I shall forget either him or you, though I might possibly forget myself. [_Exit._ ELEANOR. If before him I am cheerful, yet to myself I must complain. [_Weeps_] And that sound of festivity at the house adjoining is insupportable! especially when I reflect that a very small portion of what will be wasted there only this one night, would be sufficient to give my dear father liberty. [_A rapping at the door of her chamber, on the opposite entrance._] ELEANOR. Who's there? MR. BLACKMAN. Open the door. [_Without._ ELEANOR. The voice of our landlord. [_Goes to the door._ Is it you, Mr. Blackman? BLACKMAN. Yes, open the door. [_Rapping louder._ [_She opens it:_ BLACKMAN _enters, followed by_ BLUNTLY.] BLACKMAN. What a time have you made me wait!--And in the name of wonder, why do you lock your door? Have you any thing to lose? Have not you already sold all the furniture you brought hither? And are you afraid of being stolen yourself? [ELEANOR _retires to the back of the Stage_. BLUNTLY. Is this the chamber? BLACKMAN. Yes, Sir, yes, Mr. Bluntly, this is it. [BLACKMAN _assumes a very different tone of voice in speaking to_ BLUNTLY _and_ ELEANOR; _to the one he is all submissive humility, to the other all harshness._] BLUNTLY. This! [_Contemptuously._