r Sim._ All my hopes----'Tis very odd. Stop,
stop! I have a pain here, here! Wilt thou promise?

_Basil._ Murderess!

_Flor._ I will do all. O God!

_Enter ARTHUR, L._

_Sir Sim._ Who is this? 'Tis their father! I
promised him that Arthur should wed my daughter.
He is come to claim her, and see, he beckons me--

[_Falls back and dies in the chair, servants bear him off, R._]

_Basil._ Dead, dead! I am frustrated.

_Flor._ Oh, Arthur! look to my father.

_Arth._ [_Returning and supporting her._] Thou hast
no father, Florence! I have a home for thee, with
one that's young and gentle like thyself. [_She faints._]

_Basil._ Mark, thou art my brother! I swear [_Aside._]
I will have vengeance! At the moment too
She yielded. Beggar, thus to thwart me--Oh,
If I dar'd, I could smite him, as he smiles
On that unconscious, pretty piece of goods.

[_Retires, L., surly, looking at ARTHUR. Servants
come in with BARBARA._]

_Arth._ Take her unto her chamber 'till we leave.

[_Servants take FLORENCE off, exeunt, R., all but BASIL._]

_Enter WYCKOFF stealthily to BASIL, L._

_Wyck._ As for your brother, in these troublesome
times, as I said, it were less trouble to put him out of
the way in a broil. Colour it with the affectation of
party spirit, and, as you are on both sides, in a
manner, it matters not on which you disagree. You
might draw swords yourselves, and have me and one
or two stout fellows near, who would rush in and stab
him, as it were, to prevent mischief between you.

_Basil._ I tell you, it will not do. He is a favourite
with Cromwell. How often am I to tell you that I
would not break with Noll. There are secrets! You
see one does not know yet which side will prevail.

_Wyck._ Well, I cannot help you. If, now, it were
to circumvent a woman, to betray a saucy piece of
virtue--then I would go great lengths in deception;
remind me that I tell thee a story will make thee
laugh. 'Twas ere my trip to America. I would
have sold her to the plantations. 'Sblood, will not
that do for him?--

_Basil._ I tell there is better.

_Wyck._ Doth he know that by your father's disposition
of the property, his relinquishment of it in your
favour is void! I say, the old fellow knew thee well,
eh? [_Laughs._]

_Basil._ Curse on thy ribald jests; keep them for the
girls thou betrayest. No, no, he knows nothing.

_Wyck._ Let me tell thee of the girl. She loved a
mean fe