as 'tis probably
already buried in the grave with Falkner.

_Falk._ 'Tis false--'tis buried only in his heart!

_Sir R._ Falkner!

_Falk._ 'Tis eighteen years since last we met. You have not, I find,
forgotten the theme on which we parted.

_Sir R._ Oh, no! my heart's reproaches never would allow me! Oh
Falkner--I and the world for many years have thought you numbered with
the dead.

_Falk._ To the world I was so--I have returned to it to do an act of
justice.

_Sir R._ Will you then betray me?

_Falk._ During eighteen years, sir, I have been the depositary of a
secret, which, if it does not actually affect your life, affects what
should be dearer than life, your honor. If, in the moment that your
ill-judged confidence avowed you as the man you are, and robbed me of
that friendship which I held sacred as my being--If in that bitter
moment I concealed my knowledge of your guilt from an imperious
principle of honor, it is not likely, that the years which time has
added to my life, should have taught me perfidy--your secret still is
safe.

_Sir R._ Oh, Falkner--you have snatched a load of misery from my heart;
I breathe, I live again.

_Falk._ Your exultation flows from a polluted source--I return to the
world to seek you, to warm and to expostulate; I come to urge you to
brave the infamy you have deserved; to court disgrace as the punishment
you merit: briefly to avow your guilty secret.

_Sir R._ Name it not for mercy's sake! It is impossible! How shall I
sustain the world's contempt, its scorn, revilings and reproaches?

_Falk._ Can he, who has sustained so long the reproaches of his
conscience, fear the world's revilings?--Oh, Austencourt! Once you had a
heart.

_Sir R._ Sir, it is callous now to every thing but shame; when it lost
_you_, its dearest only friend, its noblest feelings were extinguished:
my crime has been my punishment, for it has brought on me nothing but
remorse and misery: still is my fame untainted by the world, and I will
never court its contumely.

_Falk._ You are determined--

_Sir R._ I am!

_Falk._ Have you no fear from me?

_Sir R._ None! You have renewed your promise, and I am safe.

_Falk._ Nothing then remains for me but to return to that obscurity from
whence I have emerged--had I found you barely leaning to the side of
virtue, I had arguments to urge that might have fixed a wavering
purpose; but I find you resolute, hardened and determined in guilt, and
I leave you