_Geof._ Yet it behoves one to be neighbourly, and if Farmer Such-a-one says to me, “Come and see Susan, for she’s lonely and wants cheering”---- _Dor._ Susan? _Geof._ That’s the farmer’s daughter. _Dor._ Is she fair? _Geof._ Very fair. What then? _Dor._ Why, then, thou wouldst not go. _Geof._ (_slyly_). And wherefore not? _Dor._ Wherefore not? Oh, well, wherefore not indeed! Go to Susan if thou wilt, Geoffrey. It is not for me to hinder thee! _Geof._ Well, then, I would _not_ go. And so we live on--happy--very, very happy, for, say a year. But a change is at hand. My crops fail, my cattle die, and one evil night my homestead is burnt to the ground, and I am penniless! _Dor._ Oh! _Geof._ So there is nothing for it but to go to sea again, for three long years! _Dor._ No, no, Geoffrey--oh no! _Geof._ The time of parting draws near--a few weeks--a few days--a few hours. These few hours we have passed in silence, sitting hand in hand, thou and I. There are tears in my eyes, though I strive to check them, and there are sad thoughts in thine heart, also. Well, at last the horse is at the door, and it is time to go. I am at thy porch--one foot in stirrup--one hurried “God-speed”--and--I am gone! _Dor._ Oh no, no, Geoffrey. I cannot bear it. _Geof._ Months pass by and no news of me. The village seems blank at first without me, the walks to church seem long and lonely, and the evenings sad and cheerless. At last come tidings of a wrecked ship--thine heart beats quickly, for the name of the ship is the name of mine. Of all the crew but one man is saved, and that man’s name--is not Geoffrey Wynyard--for Geoffrey has gone down to his death in the dark waters. _Dor._ (_rising--throwing her arms round him_). No, no, Geoffrey, be silent. I cannot bear it--I cannot bear it--I cannot bear it; have mercy, for I cannot bear it! _Geof._ And dost thou love me? _Dor._ (_bashfully, hiding her head in his bosom_). Oh, Geoffrey! (_Pause._) _Geof._ Art thou happy there, Dorothy? _Dor._ Passing happy! And thou? _Geof._ Passing happy. (_He places a ring on her finger._) _Dor._ Oh, Geoffrey, what is this? _Geof._ A ring that I have brought thee from Venice, where there are cunning workers in such matters. Let it stay there in earnest of another ring of plainer workmanship that is not beyond the craft of our English goldsmiths to fashion. _Dor._ But I know not if I may wear it. It is a vanity--but it is very beautiful. See how it shineth! Oh, pity that I may not wear it, for in truth it is very beautiful. _Geof._ Thou hast a silver chain with thy mother’s locket on thy neck. Wear it on thy chain. Will it be a vanity if it is Concealed beneath thy kerchief? _Dor._ Nay; for none will know of it. (_Withdraws a silver locket from her bosom_). See, the clasp will not hold them both. Stay! the locket shall be thine, and thy ring shall take its place. (_Detaches locket and gives it to him. He kisses her._) _Enter DAN’L DRUCE. They stand confused._