_Pam._ See, Clinia, That is our house, & here the hedge & paling bounds Your father’s. _Clin._ Here? _Pam._ You see what a stroke of luck it was To meet me when you did. You must have betrayed yourself 181 By making enquiries, but I at the merest hint have led you Straight to the place: besides, if you wish to be near your father Without his knowing that you are returned, my governor Can put you up. _Clin._ Is it here? _Pam._ Yes, there. _Clin._ For heaven’s sake Be careful; may he not see me? _Pam._ If he looked over the myrtles No doubt he might. _Clin._ Hush! hush! He’ll hear you. _Pam._ All serene. He’s not this side: stand there: I’ll go & spy around. Keep out of sight. _Clin._ Stay, Pamphilus; are you really sure This is my father’s? _Pam._ This is the place they told me, and here A Menedemus lives, and has for the last six months. We’re right enough. _Clin._ I fear he’ll see us: pray come back. _Pam._ I thought you wished to see him. _Clin._ Ay, and so I do; But nothing less in the world, if it should be the occasion 194 Of his seeing me. _Pam._ Trust me: he won’t. I’ll speer about. He’s sure to be digging somewhere near. _Clin._ Digging? _Pam._ If not, It is not old Menedemus. (_Goes round peering._) _Clin._ Oh what can it mean, My father’s sudden change of home and manner of life? He that so loved the town: himself the very centre Of all good company, the best invited man, 200 And most besought in Athens. Nothing but great disgust Could thus have turned his temper. I am the cause, and one Of two things it must be; either he is more offended with me Than I supposed; or else, and this I hope and think, My flight, breaking the bond that surely was the nearest And dearest to him, has wrought upon him, and now he turns And will consent: if that, ’tis well I am here: if not, He must not come to know I am back in Athens: nay, ’Twould only vex him more: I must hide from him still: For though there is nothing in the extremest scope of duty 210 In which I would not obey him but one thing, ’tis this thing I am pledged to. Love absolves me. Nay, ’tis not for him I am now returned. I have chosen; I am not ashamed: I made One dutiful effort—oh intolerable! I am come, Sweetest Antiphila, to marry thee, and I will marry thee; Without consent, if must be, against my father’s will— Yet now I have hope; and whether rightly or wrongly I hope I must discover. (_Pamphilus returns to Clinia._)