Roger.  My love!

Dorothy (opening her eyes).  Roger!

Roger.  At last!

[For the moment they talk in short sentences like this.  Then Dorothy puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something horrible.

Dorothy.  Roger!  Now I remember!  It is not safe for you to stay!

Roger (very brave).  Am I a puling child to be afraid?

Dorothy.  My Lord Carey is here.  He has read your letter.

Roger.  The black-livered dog!  Would I had him at my sword’s point to teach him manners.

[He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair.

Dorothy.  Oh, you are wounded!

Roger.  Faugh,’tis but a scratch.  Am I a puling—­

[He faints.  She binds up his ankle.

Enter Lord Carey with two soldiers.

Carey.  Arrest this traitor! (Roger is led away by the soldiers.)

Dorothy (stretching out her hands to him).  Roger! (She sinks into a chair.)

Carey (choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal).  Dorothy, I love you!  Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang.  ’Tis your father’s wish that you and I should wed.

Dorothy (refusing him).  Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you.

Carey.  By heaven—­(thinking better of it) I go to fetch your father.

[Exit.

Enter Roger by secret door, L.

Dorothy.  Roger!  You have escaped!

Roger.  Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we so often played as children?  ’Twas in that same cellar the thick-skulled knaves immured me.

Dorothy.  Roger, you must fly!  Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our enemies?

Roger (missing the point rather).  Nay, if I die, let me die like a man, not like a puling girl.  Yet, sweetheart—­

Enter Lord Carey by ordinary door.

Carey (forgetting himself in his confusion).  Odds my zounds, dod sink me!  What murrain is this?

Roger (seizing Sir Thomas’s sword, which had been accidentally left behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing threateningly).  It means, my lord, that a villain’s time has come.  Wilt say a prayer?

[They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other.

Carey (dying game).  Strike, Master Dale!

Roger.  Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood.

[He throws down his sword.  Lord Carey exhibits considerable emotion at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf.

Enter two soldiers.

Carey.  Arrest that man! (Roger is seized again.) Mistress Dorothy, it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner.

Dorothy (standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if she was standing up).  Ah, give him to me, my lord!

Carey (joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy).  I trust to you, sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.