Daw. Say you so, Sir? You should have named the devil that tempted me.
Stu. ’Tis false. I found you a villain;
therefore employed you—But no more of this—We
have embarked too far in mischief to recede.
Lewson is dead; and we are all principals in his murder.
Think of that. There’s time enough for pity,
when ourselves are out of danger. Beverley still
lives, though in a jail. His ruin will sit heavy
on him; and discoveries may be made to undo us all.
Something must be done, and speedily. You saw
him quarrelling with Lewson in the street last night?
Bates. I did; his steward, Jarvis, saw him too.
Stu. And shall attest it. Here’s
matter to work upon. An unwilling evidence carries
weight with him. Something of my design I have
hinted t’you before. Beverley must be the
author of this murder; and We the parties to convict
him. But how to proceed, will require time and
thought—Come along with Me; the room within
is fitter for privacy. But no compassion, Sir—(To
Dawson) We want leisure for’t—This
SCENE II. changes to BEVERLEY’S_ lodgings_.
Enter Mrs. BEVERLEY, and CHARLOTTE.
Mrs. Bev. No news of Lewson yet?
Char. None. He went out early, and knows not what has happened.
Mrs. Bev. The clock strikes eight—I’ll wait no longer.
Char. Stay but till Jarvis comes. He has sent twice to stop us till we see him.
Mrs. Bev. I have no life in this separation. O! what a night was last night! I would not pass another such, to purchase worlds by it. My poor Beverley too! What must He have felt!—The very thought distracts me! To have him torn at midnight from me! A loathsome prison his habitation! A cold damp room his lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to lull him to his rest! and no reflections but to wound and tear him!—’Tis too horrible! I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me. They should have parted soul and body first. I was too tame.
Char. You must not talk so. All that we could we did; and Jarvis did the rest. The faithful creature will give him comfort. Why does he delay coming?
Mrs. Bev. And there’s another fear. His poor master may be claiming the last kind office from him—His heart perhaps is breaking.
Char. See where he comes!—His looks are chearful too.
Mrs. Bev. Are tears then chearful? Alas, he weeps! Speak to him Charlotte: I have no tongue to ask him questions.
Char. How does your master, Jarvis?
Jar. I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my words—But don’t You weep. (To Mrs. Beverley.) I have a tale of joy for you.