SCENE V.

Enter BATES.

Look to your men, Bates; there’s money stirring.  We meet to-night upon this spot.  Hasten and tell them so.  Beverley calls upon me at my lodgings, and we return together.  Hasten, I say; the rogues will scatter else.

Bates. Not till their leader bids them.

Stu. Come on then.  Give them the word, and follow me; I must advise with you.  This is a day of business.
    [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. changes to BEVERLEY’S_ lodgings_.

Enter BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE.

Char. Your looks are changed too; there’s wildness in them.  My wretched sister! how will it grieve her to see you thus!

Bev. No, no; a little rest will ease me.  And for your Lewson’s kindness to her, it has my thanks:  I have no more to give him.

Char. Yes; a sister and her fortune.  I trifle with him; and he complains.  My looks, he says, are cold upon him.  He thinks too—­

Bev. That I have lost your fortune—­He dares not think so.

Char. Nor does he—­You are too quick at guessing.  He cares not if you had.  That care is mine.  I lent it you to husband; and now I claim it.

Bev. You have suspicions then?

Char. Cure them, and give it me.

Bev. To stop a sister’s chiding.

Char. To vindicate her brother.

Bev. How if he needs it not?

Char. I would fain hope so.

Bev. Ay, would and cannot.  Leave it to time then; ’twill satisfy all doubts.

Char. Mine are already satisfied.

Bev. ’Tis well.  And when the subject is renewed, speak to me like a sister, and I will answer like a brother.

Char. To tell me I’m a beggar.  Why, tell it now.  I that can bear the ruin of those dearer to me, the ruin of a sister and her infant, can bear that too.

Bev. No more of this—­You wring my heart.

Char. Would that the misery were all your own!  But innocence must suffer.  Unthinking rioter! whose home was heaven to him:  an angel dwelt there, and a little cherub, that crowned his days with blessings—­How has he lost this heaven, to league with devils!

Bev. Forbear, I say; reproaches come too late; they search, but cure not.  And for the fortune you demand, we’ll talk to-morrow on’t; our tempers may be milder.

Char. Or if ’tis gone, why, farewel all.  I claimed it for a sister.  She holds my heart in hers; and every pang She feels, tears it in pieces—­But I’ll upbraid no more.  What heaven permits, it may ordain; and sorrow then is sinful.  Yet that the husband! father! brother! should be its instrument of vengeance!—­’Tis grievous to know that.

Bev. If you’re my sister, spare the remembrance—­It wounds too deeply.  To-morrow shall clear all; and when the worst is known, it may be better than your fears.  Comfort my wife; and for the pains of absence, I’ll make atonement.  The world may yet go well with us.