Ha!--what! Manly! and have I been thus concerned for him! embracing him! and has he his jewels again too! What means this? O, 'tis too sure, as well as my shame! which I'll go hide for ever. [_Offers to go out,_ MANLY _stops her._ _Man._ No, my dearest; after so much kindness as has passed between us, I cannot part with you yet.--Freeman, let nobody stir out of the room; for notwithstanding your lights, we are yet in the dark, till this gentleman please to turn his face--[_Pulls_ VERNISH _by the sleeve._] How, Vernish! art thou the happy man then? thou! thou! speak, I say; but thy guilty silence tells me all.--Well, I shall not upbraid thee; for my wonder is striking me as dumb as thy shame has made thee. But what? my little volunteer hurt, and fainting! _Fid._ My wound, sir, is but a slight one in my arm; 'tis only my fear of your danger, sir, not yet well over. _Man._ But what's here? more strange things--[_Observing_ FIDELIA'S _hair untied behind, and without a peruke, which she lost in the scuffle._] What means this long woman's hair, and face! now all of it appears too beautiful for a man; which I still thought womanish indeed! What, you have not deceived me too, my little volunteer? _Oliv._ Me she has, I'm sure. [_Aside._ _Man._ Speak! _Enter_ ELIZA _and_ LETTICE. _Eliza._ What, cousin, I am brought hither by your woman, I suppose, to be a witness of the second vindication of your honour? _Oliv._ Insulting is not generous. You might spare me, I have you. _Eliza._ Have a care, cousin, you'll confess anon too much; and I would not have your secrets. _Man._ Come, your blushes answer me sufficiently, and you have been my volunteer in love. [_To_ FIDELIA. _Fid._ I must confess I needed no compulsion to follow you all the world over; which I attempted in this habit, partly out of shame to own my love to you, and fear of a greater shame, your refusal of it; for I knew of your engagement to this lady, and the constancy of your nature; which nothing could have altered but herself. _Man._ Dear madam, I desired you to bring me out of confusion, and you have given me more. I know not what to speak to you, or how to look upon you; the sense of my rough, hard, and ill usage of you, (though chiefly your own fault,) gives me more pain now 'tis over, than you had when you suffered it: and if my heart, the refusal of such a woman--[_Pointing to_ OLIVIA]--were not a sacrifice to profane your love, and a greater wrong to you than ever yet I did you, I would beg of you to receive it, though you used it as she had done; for though it deserved not from her the treatment she gave it, it does from you. _Fid._ Then it has had punishment sufficient from her already, and needs no more from me; and, I must confess, I would not be the only cause of making you break your last night's oath to me, of never parting with me; if you do not forget or repent it.