for you.

[_Exit CROMWELL, R._]

_Arth._ Lady! deem
My heart coin'd into words to thank you nothing
For payment of this service.

_Eliz._ Sympathy
Is just as often born of happiness,
As bitter suffering of the world's contempt.
Within the magic circle of a home,
Happy and loved as mine is,
The heart is touched with pity's gentle wand
To do her lightest bidding--
But in this,
There is no kind emotion worth the name;
For I would see my school-fellow and friend
To talk old nothings, something still to us,
And look beneath the lashes of her eyes,
To learn her plaint against the selfish world,
And read her trust in Heaven--
Is she fair
As childhood promised ?--[_Looking archly at Arthur._]
Do you know, I think
You love her more than cousinship demands?

_Arth._ Nay! she is worthy of all love.

_Eliz._ Well, well, sir!
I shall know when I see you both together.

_Exeunt ELIZABETH, R., ARTHUR, L._

SCENE II.

[_1st Cut._] [_2nd Grooves._]

_A Hall in a Manor House.--Discovered SIR SIMON,
in an easy chair, supported by servants, BASIL and
FLORENCE attending._

_Sir Sim._ I am thy father. Would'st kill me, girl?
O dear! I saw Master Stacker, the court physician
that was, to-day. [Coughs.] Oh, I am very ill.

_Flor._ Dear father! what said he?

_Sir Sim._ That I have a disease of the heart. Now
I don't agree with him. There he is mistaken. Why
I might die instantly with a disease of the heart.
He is a clever man, but quite mistaken there. You
see, my heart never beats fast, but when I am
agitated, and I was out of breath this morning with
the stairs--O dear! [_Places his hand to his heart._]
Thou dost agitate me, girl--but there is no disease
here--no! no! I am very ill--but I shall not die
yet!

_Flor._ Dear father! pray be careful.

_Sir Sim._ Now, had he said 'twas asthma--'tis a
long-lived complaint. I have known very old men
with asthma. Our chirurgeon, Master Gilead Stubbs,
said I was asthmatic, and we have been much together.
Many a good flagon of claret have we drank, and
should he not know my constitution?

_Basil._ Uncle!

_Sir Sim._ Yes, yes, I know. [_To Florence._] Come,
thou must marry him. Curse on this physician. I
never felt so before. [_Places his hand to his heart._]

_Flor._ Oh, father; do not urge this suit!

_Sir Sim._ Girl! I will leave thee nought if thou
dost not--save my curse!

_Flor._ No, no!

_Si