_Fra._ Good day, Master Peter. _Pet._ You're not going yet, are you? _Fra._ Mrs. Haller will be waiting for an answer. _Pet._ So she will. And I have another place or two to call at. [_Takes off his hat to STRANGER._] Servant, sir! _Stra._ Pshaw!-- _Pet._ Pshaw! What--he's angry. [_PETER turns to FRANCIS, in a half whisper._] He's angry, I suppose, because he can get nothing out of me. _Fra._ It almost seems so. _Pet._ Ay, I'd have him to know I'm no blab. [_Exit._ _Fra._ Now, sir? _Stra._ What do you want? _Fra._ Were you not wrong, sir? _Stra._ Hem! wrong! _Fra._ Can you still doubt? _Stra._ I'll hear no more! Who is this Mrs. Haller? Why do I always follow her path? Go where I will, whenever I try to do good, she has always been before me. _Fra._ You should rejoice at that. _Stra._ Rejoice! _Fra._ Surely! That there are other good and charitable people in the world beside yourself. _Stra._ Oh, yes! _Fra._ Why not seek to be acquainted with her? I saw her yesterday in the garden up at the Castle. Mr. Solomon, the steward, says she has been unwell, and confined to her room almost ever since we have been here. But one would not think it, to look at her; for a more beautiful creature I never saw. _Stra._ So much the worse. Beauty is a mask. _Fra._ In her it seems a mirror of the soul. Her charities-- _Stra._ Talk not to me of her charities. All women wish to be conspicuous:--in town by their wit; in the country by their heart. _Fra._ 'Tis immaterial in what way good is done. _Stra._ No; 'tis not immaterial. _Fra._ To this poor old man at least. _Stra._ He needs no assistance of mine. _Fra._ His most urgent wants indeed, Mrs. Haller has relieved; but whether she has or could have given as much as would purchase liberty for the son, the prop of his age-- _Stra._ Silence! I will not give him a doit! [_In a peevish tone._] You interest yourself very warmly in his behalf. Perhaps you are to be a sharer in the gift. _Fra._ Sir, sir, that did not come from your heart. _Stra._ [_Recollecting himself._] Forgive me! _Fra._ Poor master! How must the world have used you, before it could have instilled this hatred of mankind, this constant doubt of honesty and virtue! _Stra._ Leave me to myself! [_Throws himself on a seat; takes from his pocket "Zimmerman on Solitude," and reads._ _Fra._ [_Aside, surveying him._] Again reading! Thus it is from morn to night. To him nature has no beauty; life, no charm. For three years I have never seen him smile. What will be his fate at last? Nothing diverts him. Oh, if he would but attach himself to any living thing! Were it an animal--for something man must love. _Enter TOBIAS, from the Hut._ _Tob._ Oh! how refreshing, after seven long weeks, to feel these warm sun beams once again! Thanks! thanks! bounteous Heaven, for the joy I taste.