Allen. Right, Dick Hanningford! (_They grasp hands._) And now we’ll say good-bye for to-day if you don’t mind. Mr. Purtwee will see thee to-morrow, and arrange things. I’d like to be quiet a bit just now. Hann. You’ve had a rough morning, cousin, and I guess the kindest thing I can do is to take myself off. Good-bye. (_Shakes hands._) Good-bye, Mr. Purtwee. Purt. Good-bye, Mr. Hanningford; I will write to you to-morrow. Hann. (_Goes to door c._) No hurry. Good-bye. (_Exit c._) Purt. Well, I can’t understand you, my boy. It’s really a very Quixotic thing to do. Why shouldn’t the man suffer for his crime? Allen, (_l._) Because he can’t suffer without bringing suffering to them as I’d rather spare--because he’s the husband of the woman I have been calling Clara Dexter. Purt. (_Astonished._) You don’t say that, lad! When did you learn it? Allen. About five minutes ago. (_Crosses to r.; leans on chair._) Purt. (_After a pause._) Hanningford said true; it’s been a rough morning for you. (_Going up to Allen and laying his hand on his shoulder._) Would you rather that I stopped with you a bit, lad, or left you alone? Allen. Leave me alone, old friend. (_Purt. goes to c. door._) I shall be off soon. Purt. (_At door c._) Where are you going to? Allen. I’m going back to Woodbarrow Farm. I’ve had eno’ of the big world. I’ve had enough of fine folks and their ways. I’m going back to my own people--I’m going back to see the faces of them as I know loves me, to feel the hands of them as I know thinks well of me--I’m going back home. (_Purt. exit R., Allen stands l. by fire, stage darkens, and scene changes. Slow tableau. Music plays till change of scene and through Scene 2._) Scene 2. Same as Act i. Time, evening, fire burning brightly, and lamp lit on table, where supper is laid. Deb. discovered by fire, attending to cooking operations; Mrs. R. by fire, laying supper. Mrs. R. Be it done, lass? Deb. (_Who is kneeling down, looking into oven._) Yes, aunt, just to a turn. Mrs. R. (_Crossing and looking over Deb’s shoulder._) Ah, that be just right. Thee’s a good cook, lass. (_Crossing back to table._) Ah, how un used to like a veal pasty. (_Sighs._) Deb. It’s a bad thing going to bed, though, ain’t it, aunt? Mrs. R. Ah, anything be bad for them as ain’t got no stomachs, and underdone bricks be all right for them as has. (_Gets dishes from dresser; lays table._) Besides, we bain’t going to bed yet. Us’ll sit and have a chat after supper. Deb. It seems so lonely of an evening here now. (_Looking into fire._) Mrs. R. (_In front of table r.c._) So it do, lass. (_Crossing L._) Ah, the lads bean’t so big to look at, but they leaves a rare space behind ’em when they goes away. Deb. (_After a pause, still gazing dreamily into fire._) I wonder if he’ll ever come back. Mrs. R. Aye, aye; he’ll come back, never fear. Deb. (_Turns._) What, to stop? Mrs. R. (_l. sits on settle._) Ah, to stop. Deb. What makes you think so, aunt?