_Henry._ Thus, then, I annihilate the act--and thus I tread upon a villain's friendship. [_Tearing the bond._ _Sir Philip._ Rash boy! what have you done? _Henry._ An act of justice to Sir Philip Blandford. _Sir Philip._ For which you claim my thanks? _Henry._ Sir, I am thanked already--here. [_Pointing to his heart._] Curse on such wealth! compared with its possession, poverty is splendour. Fear not for me--I shall not feel the piercing cold; for in that man, whose heart beats warmly for his fellow creatures, the blood circulates with freedom--My food shall be what few of the pampered sons of greatness can boast of, the luscious bread of independence; and the opiate, that brings me sleep, will be the recollection of the day passed in innocence. _Sir Philip._ Noble boy!--Oh Blandford! _Henry._ Ah! _Sir Philip._ What have I said? _Henry._ You called me Blandford. _Sir Philip._ 'Twas error--'twas madness. _Henry._ Blandford! a thousand hopes and fears rush on my heart. Disclose to me my birth--be it what it may, I am your slave for ever. Refuse me, you create a foe, firm and implacable as---- _Sir Philip._ Ah! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with. _Henry._ I will not. Oh! forgive me. _Sir Philip._ Yes, on one condition--leave me.--Ah! some one approaches. Begone, I insist--I entreat. _Henry._ That word has charmed me! I obey: Sir Philip, you may hate, but you shall respect, me. [_Exit._ _Enter_ HANDY, _jun._ _Handy, jun._ At last, thank Heaven, I have found somebody. But, Sir Philip, were you indulging in soliloquy?--You seem agitated. _Sir Philip._ No, sir; rather indisposed. _Handy, jun._ Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to find you. Compared with this castle, the Cretan labyrinth was intelligible; and unless some kind Ariadne gives me a clue, I shan't have the pleasure of seeing you above once a-week. _Sir Philip._ I beg your pardon, I have been an inattentive host. _Handy, jun._ Oh, no; but when a house is so devilish large, and the party so very small, they ought to keep together; for, to say the truth, though no one on earth feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I do--I soon get heartily sick of his company--whatever he may be to others, he's a cursed bore to me. _Sir Philip._ Where's your worthy father? _Handy, jun._ As usual, full of contrivances that are impracticable, and improvements that are retrograde; forming, altogether, a whimsical instance of the confusion of arrangement, the delay of expedition, the incommodiousness of accommodation, and the infernal trouble of endeavouring to save it--he has now a score or two of workmen about him, and intends pulling down some apartments in the east wing of the Castle. _Sir Philip._ Ah! ruin!--Within there!--Fly to Sir Abel Handy--Tell him to desist! order his people, on the peril of their lives, to leave the Castle instantly! Away!