_Mrs. H._ Why for ever picture winter like old age, torpid, tedious, and uncheerful? Winter has its own delights: this is the time to instruct and mend the mind by reading and reflection. At this season, too, I often take my harp, and amuse myself by playing or singing the little favourite airs that remind me of the past, or solicit hope for the future. _Bar._ Happy indeed are they who can thus create, and vary their own pleasures and employments. _Enter PETER._ _Pet._ Well--well--Pray now--I was ordered--I can keep him back no longer--He will come in. _Enter TOBIAS, forcing his way._ _Tob._ I must, good Heaven, I must! _Mrs. H._ [_Confused._] I have no time at present--I--I--You see I am not alone. _Tob._ Oh! this good gentleman will forgive me. _Bar._ What do you want? _Tob._ To return thanks. Even charity is a burden if one may not be grateful for it. _Mrs. H._ To-morrow, good Tobias; to-morrow. _Bar._ Nay, no false delicacy, madam. Allow him to vent the feelings of his heart; and permit me to witness a scene which convinces me, even more powerfully than your conversation, how nobly you employ your time. Speak, old man. _Tob._ Oh, lady, that each word which drops from my lips, might call down a blessing on your head! I lay forsaken and dying in my hut: not even bread nor hope remained. Oh! then you came in the form of an angel, brought medicines to me; and your sweet consoling voice did more than those. I am recovered. To-day, for the first time, I have returned thanks in presence of the sun: and now I come to you, noble lady. Let me drop my tears upon your charitable hand. For your sake, Heaven has blessed my latter days. The Stranger too, who lives near me, has given me a purse of gold to buy my son's release. I am on my way to the city: I shall purchase my Robert's release. Then I shall have an honest daughter-in-law. And you, if ever after that you pass our happy cottage, oh! what must you feel when you say to yourself, "This is my work!" _Mrs. H._ [_In a tone of entreaty._] Enough, Tobias; enough! _Tob._ I beg pardon! I cannot utter what is breathing in my breast. There is One, who knows it. May His blessing and your own heart reward you. [_Exit, PETER following. MRS. HALLER casts her eyes upon the ground, and contends against the confusion of an exalted soul, when surprised in a good action. The BARON stands opposite to her, and from time to time casts a glance at her, in which his heart is swimming._ _Mrs. H._ [_Endeavouring to bring about a conversation._] I suppose, my lord, we may expect the Count and Countess every moment now?