Be silent! (_begins reading to herself_). WAITWELL (_aside_). Oh! If he could see her himself! SARA (_after reading a few moments_). Ah, Waitwell, what a father! He calls my flight "an absence." How much more culpable it becomes through this gentle word! (_continues reading and interrupts herself again_). Listen! he flatters himself I shall love him still. He flatters himself! He begs me--he begs me? A father begs his daughter? his culpable daughter? And what does he beg then? He begs me to forget his over-hasty severity, and not to punish him any longer with my absence. Over-hasty severity! To punish! More still! Now he thanks me even, and thanks me that I have given him an opportunity of learning the whole extent of paternal love. Unhappy opportunity! Would that he also said it had shown him at the same time the extent of filial disobedience. No, he does not say it! He does not mention my crime with one single word. (_Continues reading_.) He will come himself and fetch his children. His children, Waitwell! that surpasses everything! Have I read it rightly? (_reads again to herself_) I am overcome! He says, that he without whom he could not possess a daughter deserves but too well to be his son. Oh that he had never had this unfortunate daughter! Go, Waitwell, leave me alone! He wants an answer, and I will write it at once. Come again in an hour! I thank you meanwhile for your trouble. You are an honest man. Few servants are the friends of their masters! WAITWELL. Do not make me blush, Miss! If all masters were like Sir William, servants would be monsters, if they would not give their lives for them. (_Exit_.) Scene IV. SARA (_sits down to write_). If they had told me a year ago that I should have to answer such a letter! And under such circumstances! Yes, I have the pen in my hand. But do I know yet what I shall write? What I think; what I feel. And what then does one think when a thousand thoughts cross each other in one moment? And what does one feel, when the heart is in a stupor from a thousand feelings. But I must write! I do not guide the pen for the first time. After assisting me in so many a little act of politeness and friendship, should its help fail me at the most important office? (_She pauses, and then writes a few lines_.) It shall commence so? A very cold beginning! And shall I then begin with his love? I must begin with my crime. (_She scratches it out and writes again_.) I must be on my guard not to express myself too leniently. Shame may be in its place anywhere else, but not in the confession of our faults. I need not fear falling into exaggeration, even though I employ the most dreadful terms. Ah, am I to be interrupted now? Scene V. Marwood, Mellefont, Sara. MELLEFONT.