_Reu._ Why, sir, I am an old horse-soldier, and yet not so very old neither but that I can wield quarter-staff or give the Cornish fling as well as another. No mere trooper neither, but a sergeant of horse, if you please; and one that hath cut his way through war’s intestine, as a hot knife cuts butter. One who has so snicked, chipped, chopped, slashed, cut, drilled, and carbonaded, with sword, with pistolet, with mace, with arquebus, with petronel, and with what-not, that he’d make no more of passing a rapier through that boy’s body of thine than of spitting a penny herring. And now, sir, who are _you_? _Geof._ Why, sir, I am a sailor, and I hate brag. _Reu._ Come, come, civil words, young master, lest we quarrel; and when _I_ quarrel, sextons lay in tolling grease and grave-diggers strip to their work. Dost thou know this Dan’l Druce? _Geof._ I do. _Reu._ A comfortable old man, they tell me, and one who can portion his pretty Dorothy. Pretty Dorothy and I are very good friends. She listens when I talk, which many won’t. (_GEOFFREY makes an angry gesture._) And talking of pretty Dorothy, we have here a bauble or locket, or, as one may say, a trinket that belongeth to her, I’ll go bail. (_Picking up locket which GEOFFREY dropped._) _Geof._ Sir, that locket is mine. _Reu._ It is very like--it is very like, yet for that I have but thy word. I care for no man’s word--no, not even for mine own, for though it is as good as another’s, yet it is worth nothing. If the trinket be thine, describe it with circumstance, and I will give it up to thee. _Enter DAN’L, unperceived. He listens in great agitation._ _Geof._ It is fashioned like a heart, and bears an inscription “To the best loved of all,” and it is dated seventeen years since. It is a love-token, sir, and I desire you to yield it up without further parley. _Reu._ (_who has recognized it_). Why, surely, I should know this locket well. From whom did you receive it? _Geof._ (_taking it from him_). That is a question that I have no will to answer. It is a token of betrothal--let that suffice. _Reu._ But it don’t suffice. Do you know who I am? I am bailiff to Sir Jasper Combe---- _Geof._ Sir Jasper Combe! _Reu._ Ay; and I recognize that locket as one that he placed about the neck of his missing daughter the very day he abandoned her. Come, sir, from whom did you receive it? It is a love-token--a token of betrothal. To whom are you betrothed? _Geof._ (_much agitated_). I decline to say. _Enter DOROTHY at back. DAN’L stops her, and motions her to be silent. They both listen together._ _Reu._ Shall I hazard a conjecture or guess? Thou art here, making free in the blacksmith’s forge. The blacksmith hath a daughter--her name is Dorothy. Shall we say that it is to Dorothy that thou art betrothed? _Geof._ (_with an effort to speak unconcernedly_). What, Dorothy Druce? No, no, Master Bailiff, not Dorothy Druce! [_DOROTHY expresses surprise and pain._