_Sir Philip._ [_Weeps._] Will you? [_Embraces him._] I am unused to kindness from man, and it affects me. Oh! can you press to your guiltless heart that bloodstained hand! _Handy, jun._ Sir Philip, let men without faults condemn--I must pity you. [_Exeunt_ HANDY, jun. _leading_ SIR PHILIP. ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. _A wooded view of the country._ _Enter_ SUSAN ASHFIELD, _who looks about with anxiety, and then comes forward._ _Susan._ I fear my conduct is very imprudent.--Has not Mr. Handy told me he is engaged to another? But 'tis hard for the heart to forego, without one struggle, its only hope of happiness; and, conscious of my honour, what have I to fear? Perhaps he may repent of his unkindness to me--at least I'll put his passion to the proof; if he be worthy of my love, happiness is for ever mine; if not, I'll tear him from my breast, though from the wound my life's blood should follow. Ah! he comes--I feel I am a coward, and my poor alarmed heart trembles at its approaching trial--pardon me, female delicacy, if for a moment I seem to pass thy sacred limits. [_Retires up the stage._ _Enter_ HANDY, _jun._ _Handy, jun._ By Heavens! the misfortunes of Sir Philip Blandford weigh so heavily on my spirits, that--but confusion to melancholy! I am come here to meet an angel, who will, in a moment, drive away the blue devils like mist before the sun. Let me again read the dear words; [_Reading a letter._] "I confess, I love you still;" [_Kisses the letter._] but I dare not believe their truth till her sweet lips confirm it. Ah! she's there--Susan, my angel! a thousand thanks. A life of love can alone repay the joy your letter gave me. _Susan._ Do you not despise me? _Handy, jun._ No; love you more than ever. _Susan._ Oh! Robert, this is the very crisis of my fate.----From this moment we meet with honour, or we meet no more. If we must part, perhaps, when you lead your happy bride to church, you may stumble over your Susan's grave. Well, be it so. _Handy, jun._ Away with such sombre thoughts! _Susan._ Tell me my doom--yet hold--you are wild, impetuous--you do not give your heart fair play--therefore promise me (perhaps 'tis the last favour I shall ask), that before you determine whether our love shall die or live with honour, you will remain here alone a few moments, and that you will give those moments to reflection. _Handy, jun._ I do--I will. _Susan._ With a throbbing heart I will wait at a little distance. May virtuous love and sacred honour direct his thoughts! [_Aside.--Exit._