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!

Sir 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.]