be found; if I go and tell all that I know—inform the judges that I bled master Collins, perhaps they may secure me, and by some little trick of the law, make me accompany master Gwinett—again, allowing I should get clear off, the tale might occasion some doubt of my skill, and so my trade would be cut up that way—no no, better as it is, let the guilty suffer, and no more said about it—it will all blow over in a week or two.  That same Gwinett, for all he used to laugh and joke so gaily, had I now begin to remember a kind of hanging look—he had a strange, suspicious—but bless me when a man falls into trouble, how soon we begin to recollect all his bad qualities.  I declare the whole country seems in a bustle—in the confusion I may get off without notice—’tis the wisest course, and when wisdom comes hand-in-hand with profit, he’s a fool indeed that turns his back upon her.

[Exit.  R.

Enter Blackthorn and Will Ash.  L.

Black.  Tut tut—all trifling I tell you—all the fears of a foolish girl—come, come, Will Ash, be a man.

Ash.  That’s what I would be, master Blackthorn, but you will not let me—I would be a man, and return this same bag of money.

Black.  And get a prison for your pains.

Ash.  But the truth—

Black.  The truth! it is too dangerous a commodity for us to deal in at present—we know we picked it up a few paces from the Blake’s Head, doubtless dropped from Collins in his struggle with the murderers—but how are we to make that appear—our characters, Will Ash, are not altogether as clear as yonder white cloud, they are blackened a little ever since that affair with the Revenue Officers—you know we are marked men.

Ash.  Yes, but unjustly so; I am conscious of my innocence.

Black.  Yes, and a man may be hanged in that consciousness—be hanged as I say, and leave the consciousness of his innocence, as food and raiment for his helpless family.

Ash.  Oh!—

Black.  You are in no situation, Will Ash, to study niceties—when your children shriek “Bread” within your ears, is it a time for a man to be splitting hairs, and weighing grains of sand?

Ash.  Do not, Blackthorn, do not speak thus; for in such a case it is not reason, but madness that decides.

Black.  Even as you will, I speak for your own good.

Ash.  I am assured of it, and could I satisfy myself—

Black.  Satisfy! why you may be satisfied—the men who killed Collins, doubtless did it for his gold—they were disappointed, and instead of the money going to villains and blood-shedders, it has fallen into the hands of honest men.