_Dan._ Poor child, poor child! My heart smites me for deceivin’ her--for harmful as he’s been to me, he never had thought for aught but her. I’m a’most sorry I was so rough wi’ him--he did not know--but the harm’s done, and there’s no undoin’ it! So, old forge, the time has come when thou and I must part for ever! May he who comes arter me have as good cause to love thee as I have, for I have been ower happy here! (_Weeping._) _REUBEN has entered and overheard the last few lines._ _Reu._ What, Dan’l Druce on the eve of a journey? Nay, thou’lt take no journey to-night, I promise thee. Unstrap thy pack and burn thy staff; for thou’lt eat here, drink here, sleep here, make money here, lose money here, laugh with joy, frown with anger, groan with pain--mope here, sicken here, dwindle here, and die here; take an old warrior’s word for it! _Dan._ Reuben Haines, art thou here to take her from me? _Reu._ No, Master Dan’l, I am _not_ here to take her from thee--and yet, in a sense, _yes_, Master Dan’l, I _am_ here to take her from thee. Weigh these words well, and store them away in the museum of thy mind, for they are rare words--containing, as they do, truth commingled with wisdom, which is an observable union, as these qualities consort but rarely together--for he hath no wisdom who tells the plain truth, and he hath no need to tell the plain truth who hath wisdom enough to do without it. It is a paradox. _Dan._ (_impatiently_). To the devil wi’ thy chop-logic, I canna wait for it. Speak out, and let me know the best and the worst. Does--does thy master know? _Reu._ He does _not_ know, as yet. And why does he not know? Because the mighty should be merciful--and I have refrained. _Dan._ If thou art not mocking at my sorrow, speak plainly. _Reu._ Then observe. I am a Potent Magician, or, if thou preferrest it, a Benevolent Fairy, who hath certain gifts to dispose of. On the one hand, I have Family Union, Domestic Happiness, and Snug Old Age--on the other, Blank Misery, Abject Despair, and Desolation, utter and complete. Which shall I give to Sir Jasper, and which to thee? Now, I am a pleasant old gentleman--well to do--not so very old neither, yet old enough to marry. Dorothy and I are good friends; she listens to me when I talk, which many won’t; it is a good sign and augurs well, for I love a good listener. How say you? Come, give me _thy_ daughter, and I will give thee Sir Jasper’s daughter. (_Aside._) Ha! ha! It is neatly put. It is a quip. _Dan._ Give thee my Dorothy! (_With an effort to be calm._) No, no--it canna be--she is promised. True, I drove him forth; but still she loves him. No, no--I canna do that--I canna do that!