Gray.  (to Gwinett.)  What are you looking at man?  I shall pay my score—aye, every farthing o’t, though I may not dress so trimly as some folks.

Col.  Grayling, will you quit the room?

Gray.  No!

Col.  Then expect to lose—

Gray.  Lose! and what can I lose? hasn’t he all that I could lose?

Col.  What do you mean?

Gray.  Ask Lucy—the wood, Lucy, the wood.

Gwin.  Wretch! dare you beneath her uncle’s roof—

Gray.  Dare I? you have among you awakened the wolf within my heart, and beware how it snaps.

Col.  This is needless; good Grayling leave us.

Gray.  Good, and you think I am to be hushed with fair words like a child, whilst he, that thief, for he has stolen from me all that made life happy, whilst he bears away Lucy and leaves and broken hearted.

Col.  He bear away Lucy—you are deceived.

Gray.  No, you are deceived, old man—you are deceived; but let to-morrow shew, I’ll not ’cumber your room, master Collins; I leave it to more gay visitors than Ned Grayling; I leave it till to-morrow—good-night—good-night, gay master Gwinett,—a pleasant night’s rest—ha! ha! ha!

[Exit L.

Lucy.  Dear uncle, is not this sufficient excuse for my aversion.

Col.  No matter, we’ll talk more of this to-morrow.  Go to your chamber, girl.  (Music.—Lucy goes off.  R.) and now, sir, we will to ours.

[Music.—Exeunt R.

SCENE IV.—Another Room in the Blake’s Head.

Enter Gilbert, with lamp.  R.

Gil.  Well, I’ve looked all through the house, fastened the doors, hung up the keys, and now have nothing to do but to go and sleep until called up by the cock.  Well I never saw love make so much alteration in any poor mortal as in master Grayling—he used to be a quiet, plain spoken civil fellow—but now he comes into a house like a hurricane.  I wonder what that letter was about, it bothers me strangely—well, no matter—I’ll now go to bed—I’ll go across the stable yard to my loft, and sleep so fast that I’ll get ten hours into six.

[Exit L.

Enter Collins from C.D. in flat.

Col.  A plague take that doctor, he has bound my arm up rarely—scarcely had I got into bed, than the bandage falling off, the blood gushed freshly from the wound; if I can reach Gilbert, he will assist me to stop it—or stay, had I not better return to master Gwinett, who as yet knows nothing of the matter? no, I’ll even make my way to Gilbert, and then to bed again.

[Exit L.

Enter Gwinett, from door in flat.

Gwin.  I have armed myself—and am determined to meet the appointment; if there be any foul play intended, they will find me prepared, if not, the precaution is still a reasonable one—the latch is broken, said the landlord, the knife however will stead me.

[Exit R.

[Collins cries without, “Murder! murder! within—Lucy! Gilbert! murder! murder!”—Lucy screams without, and rushes through door in flat, then runs on exclaiming

Lucy.  Oh, heaven! my uncle’s murdered!

Servants and others run on.  R.

Omnes.  What say you, murdered! where?—how?—

Lucy.  I know not—hearing his cries, I rushed into his room—he was not there, but his bed was steeped in blood.

Enter Grayling and Gilbert.  L.

Gray.  What cries are these? master Collins murdered! where is Gwinett?

Lucy.  Alas! oh, heaven—he is—

Gray.  Ah! let search be made.

Enter Gwinett.  R.

Gray.  He is the assassin.

Gwin.  Villain! (rushes at Grayling—they struggle; Grayling wrenches a knife from Gwinett’s grasp; his coat files open, and the handkerchief stained with blood, falls out.)

Gray.  Ah! this knife—

Lucy.  It is my uncle’s—

Gray.  Your uncle’s—behold the murderer!

[Gwinett stands petrified with horror, Lucy shrieks and turns away from him; Gilbert picks up the handkerchief stained with blood, and holds it at one side of Gwinett, whilst Grayling on the other, points to the knife with looks of mingled detestation and revenge.—Characters form themselves at back, &c.—End of Act I.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—Outside view of the Sessions’ House.

Enter Gilbert and Jenny.  L.

Gil.  Come along, Jenny, come along; it will be all over in a few minutes.

Jenny.  Oh what a shocking thing!  Master Gwinett tried for murder—I’d lay my life he’s innocent.

Gil.  Why I don’t know what to think: matters stand very strong against him—but then he looks as freshly, and speaks as calmly—no he can’t be guilty—and yet the knife—and my master’s bed filled with blood—and then where is my poor master—every search has been made for the body, and all in vain—if Gwinett be guilty—

Enter Grayling from Sessions’ House.  L.

Gray.  If he be guilty—who can doubt his guilt?

Gil.  Those, master Grayling, who do not let their hate stand in the light of their clear judgment.  This is, I warrant me, a rare day of triumph for you.

Gray.  Aye, and ought to be to every honest man! ’tis for rogues to be sad, when rogues are caught.

Gil.  I dare say now you think this will serve your turn with Miss Lucy.

Gray.  Perhaps I do, and what then?

Gil.  What then! why then you overcount your profits: take my simple word for it, she hates you! hates you as much as she loves—

Gray.  Her uncle’s murderer, eh? are not those the words? with all my heart, I would rather have the deadly hate of Lucy Fairlove, than the softest pity of Lucy Gwinett.  Oh! I thought there was a world of mischief under the smooth face of the assassin—had he struck for a deep revenge I could have pardoned him, for it might have been my own fate—but to murder a man for gold! for a few pieces of shining dross—’tis a crime to feel one touch of pity for so base a miscreant.

Gil.  Bless me—’tis all like a dream—’twas but yesterday, and we were all as happy as the best.

Gray.  Aye, it was but yesterday when the gay trim master Ambrose scorned and contemned me! but yesterday, and Lucy hung upon his arm! and to-day—ha! ha! ha!—I stood against him at the fatal bar; as I passed, his brow blackened, and his lips worked—his eyes shot the