_Riv._ Aye, what of her, indeed? why nam'd you Julia? You could not surely think?--no, that were wild. Why did you mention Julia? _Em._ (_confusedly._) Nay, 'twas nothing, 'Twas accident, nor had my words a meaning; If I did name her--'twas to note the time---- To mark the period of Orlando's coldness---- The circumstance was casual, and but meant To date the change; it aim'd at nothing further. _Riv._ (_agitated._) 'Tis very like--no more--I'm satisfied---- You talk as I had doubts: what doubts have I? Why do you labour to destroy suspicions Which never had a birth? Is she not mine? Mine by the fondest ties of dear affection?---- But _did_ Orlando change at her return? _Did_ he grow cold? It could not be for that; You may mistake.--And yet you said 'twas _then_; Was it _precisely_ then--I only ask For the fond love I bear my dearest sister. _Em._ 'Twas as I said. _Riv._ (_recovering himself._) He loves thee, Emmelina: These starts of passion, this unquiet temper, Betray how much he loves thee: yes, my sister, He fears to lose thee, fears his father's will May dash his rising hopes, nor give thee to him. _Em._ Oh, flatterer! thus to soothe my easy nature With tales of possible, unlikely bliss! Because it _may_ be true, my credulous heart Whispers it is, and fondly loves to cherish The feeble glimmering of a sickly hope. _Riv._ This precious moment, worth a tedious age Of vulgar time, I've stol'n from love and Julia; She waits my coming, and a longer stay Were treason to her beauty and my love. Doubts vanish, fears recede, and fondness triumphs. [_Exeunt._ ACT III. SCENE--_A Garden._ _Em._ Why do my feet unbidden seek this grove? Why do I trace his steps? I thought him here; This is his hour of walking, and these shades His daily haunt: oft have they heard his vows: Ah! fatal vows, which stole my peace away! But now he shuns my presence: yet who knows, He may not be ungrateful, but unhappy! Yes he will come to clear his past offences, With such prevailing eloquence will plead, So mourn his former faults, so blame his coldness, And by ten thousand graceful ways repair them, That I shall think I never was offended. He comes, and every doubt's at once dispell'd: 'Twas fancy all; he never meant to wrong me. _Enter_ ORLANDO. _Or._ Why, at this hour of universal joy, When every heart beats high with grateful rapture, And pleasure dances her enchanting round, O tell me why, at this auspicious hour, You quit the joyful circle of your friends, Rob social pleasure of its sweetest charm, And leave a void e'en in the happiest hearts, An aching void which only you can fill? Why do you seek these unfrequented shades? Why court these gloomy haunts unfit for beauty; But made for meditation and misfortune?