class="c1">Enter Reef, disguised in a large great coat.  L.

Reef.  I say young man, (Gilbert starts.) why what are you starting at?

Gil.  Nothing—only at first I didn’t know whether it was a man or a bear.

Reef.  Indeed—and which do you think it is now?

Gil.  Why, upon my word, it’s a very nice distinction: I can’t judge very well, so I’ll take you at your own word.

Reef.  I’ve a little business here with a gentleman: do you know one Mr. Gwinett?

Gil.  Gwinett! what, Ambrose Gwinett?

Reef.  The same.

Gil.  Know him!—I believe I do—a very fine, noble spirited,—

Reef.  Aye, that’s enough; I want to see him—he’s in he house.

Gil.  No, indeed.

Reef.  Would you tell me a lie now?

Gil.  Yes I would, if I thought it would answer any right purpose; I tell you he’s not in the house—and pray who are you?

Reef.  Who am I? why—I’m—I’m—an honest man.

Gil.  Aye, that’s so general a character; couldn’t you descend a little to particulars?

Reef.  I’ve a letter to Mr. Gwinett—it’s of great consequence.

Gil.  Who does it come from?

Reef.  The writer!

Gil.  Now it strikes me that this letter contains some mischief.

Reef.  Why?

Gil.  Because it’s brought by so black-looking a postman.

Reef.  Will you deliver it? if as you say he’s not here when he comes?

Gil.  Deliver it? why I don’t mind, but if you’ve any tricks you know.

Reef.  Tricks, you lubber, give him the letter, and no more palaver.  (going.)

Gil.  Here—(Reef returns.)  No—no matter—I thought you had left your civility behind you.

Reef.  Umph!

[Exit.  R.

Gil.  I warrant me, that’s a fellow that never passes a rope maker’s shop without feeling a crick in the neck.

Enter Lucy.  L.

Lucy.  Oh, Gilbert!

Gil.  How now, Miss Lucy, you seem a little frightened or so?

Lucy.  Oh, no—not frightened, only hurried a little—is my uncle in the house?

Gil.  Oh, yes—and has been asking for you these dozen times,—here by-the-by is a letter for—but mum—here comes master.

Enter Mr. Collins.  L.

Col.  Well, Lucy child, where hast been all day, I havn’t caught a glance of you since last night—what have you got there, Gilbert?

Gil.  Where, sir?

Col.  Why, there in your hand—that letter.

Gil.  Oh—aye—it is a letter.

Col.  For me?

Gil.  No, sir—it’s for master Ambrose Gwinett.

Col.  Give it to me—I expect him here to-night.

Lucy.  Expect master Ambrose here to-night, uncle?

Col.  Aye, standing at the door just now, his uncle told me that he expected him at Deal to-day, but being compelled to be from home until to-morrow, he had left word that master Ambrose should put up here, and asked me to make room for him.

Gil.  What here, master? why there’s not a corner—not a single corner to receive the visit of a cat—the house is full to the very chimney pots.

Col.  Aye, as it is but for once, we must contrive—let me see—as we have no other room, master Ambrose can take part of mine—so bustle Gilbert, bustle, and see to it.

Gil.  Yes, sir, yes.—(Aside.)  I’m sorry master’s got that letter though; it was an ugly postman that brought it, and it can’t be good.

[Exit.  L.

Col.  Now, Lucy, that we are together, I would wish to have some talk with you.  You know, girl, I love you, as though you were my own, and were sorrow or mischance to light upon you, I think ’twould go nigh to break my heart.  Now answer me with candour—you know Grayling—honest Ned Grayling? why, what do you turn so pale at?

Lucy.  Oh! uncle, I beseech you, name him not.

Col.  Tut—tut—this is all idle and girlish—the man loves you, Lucy.

Lucy.  Loves me!

Col.  Aye; Ned is not so sprightly and trim a lad as many, but he hath that which makes all in a husband, girl—he has a sound heart and a noble spirit.

Lucy.  Possibly—I do not know.

Col.  But you do know, and so does all the town know; come, be just to him if you cannot love him; but for my part, I see not what should prevent you becoming his wife.

Lucy.  His wife? oh, uncle, if you have the least love—the least regard for me, speak no more upon this theme—at least for the present.  I will explain all to-morrow, will prove to you that my aversion is not the result of idle caprice, but of feelings which you yourself must sanction.  In the mean while be assured I would rather go down into my grave, than wed with such a man as Grayling.

Col.  Eh! why—what’s all this?—Grayling has not—if he has—

Lucy.  No, no, it is I who am to blame, for speaking thus strongly—wait, dearest uncle—wait till to-morrow.

Col.  Well, as it is not long, and the time will be slept out, I will,—but take heed, Lucy, and let not a foolish distaste prejudice you against a worthy and honourable man.

Enter Ambrose Gwinett and Gilbert.  L.

Gwin.  Your servant, master Collins—I must I find be your tenant for the night.

Col.  And shall be welcome, sir; come, Lucy, Gilbert, stir, and prepare supper; there’s a rough night coming on I fear, and you might fare worse, master Ambrose, than as guest at the Blake’s Head—here, by the way, is a letter for you.

[Whilst Gwinett is reading the letter, the supper-table is arranged, and Collins sits down and begins counting some money.

Gwin.  This is a most mysterious assignation.  (Reads.)  “If you are a man, you will not fail to give me a meeting at twelve outside the house, I have to unfold a plot to you which concerns not you alone.—Your’s, a Friend.”  (Whilst Gilbert and Lucy are off for provisions.)  Master Collins, I may rise to-morrow morning ’ere any of your good people are stirring, you will therefore not be surprised to find me gone.

Col.  But why so early?

Gwin.  A little appointment—I shall return to breakfast.

Col.  Then go out by the back gate; but stop, as the latch is broken in the inside, you had better take this knife (giving Gwinett a clasp-knife.) to lift it; we shall wait breakfast until your return.

[Collins, Gwinett, and Lucy, seat themselves at table.—Grayling enters, takes a chair, and placing it between Lucy and Gwinett, sits down.

Col.  How now, master Grayling, you have mistaken the room.

Gray.  Mistaken—how so? isn’t this the Blake’s Head?

Col.  That may be; but this is my private apartment.

Gray.  Private! than what does he here—Gilbert, some ale.

Gwin.  (aside.)  The very ruffian I encountered in the wood.