_Dick._ Talk about fiddlesticks. Show her the pewter and she'll snap her fingers. Here she comes. I'll let her into the gammon.
_Dick._ Summit worth sneezing at, Nell. We are up to a rig to-night. Got a bit of a frolic for pewter.
_Nelly._ Yes it will do for you (_pointing to her neck_). I know the Hall well. It must not be thought of.
_Dick._ But we _have_ thought on it, and _will_ think on it. We be all determined, so there be an end of the matter, and an end of your palaver.
_Dick._ None o' your gammon--pewter arn't to be picked up in the highways. The thing be settled.
_Dick._ You mind your own business, missus. Go and tell fortunes to fools and women; leave men alone.
_Nelly._ I can tell your fortune. A dance in the air till you are out of breath.
_Dick._ Didn't require a wise woman to find out that. (_Aside._) But we must keep our eyes upon her--she's queer. (_Aloud._) Come Bill. [_Exeunt Bill and Dick._
Am I so fallen, never to recover? Must I sink deeper and deeper with these villains? Since I joined them they have never yet attempted anything like this. Petty theft, to support existence, I have participated in, but nothing more. Can I retreat? Ah, when I look upon these hills, and remember the time when I roved here, careless, innocent, and happy, how often do I wish that I could retrace my steps! Yonder is the church where I used to pray. How long is it now since I have dared perform that sacred duty? Yet, how often, since I have returned to this spot, have I longed to fall upon my knees! But I am an outcast. Pride and vanity have made me so, and pride has reduced me so to remain, although I loathe myself, and those connected with me. This intention of theirs has, however, resolved me. The deed shall not take place. I will, by some means, warn them at the Hall--a letter, but how to get it there? It shall be done, and done directly. They can but murder me if I am discovered, and what is my life now?--a burden to myself. [_Exit._
_An Ornamental Shrubbery near the Lodge of the Hall._
_Peter._ What a stupid old woman not to confess, after the stars had told the truth! As to old Bargrove, I will have my revenge upon him. Beat me! me, Sir Peter's heir to the property! How confounded strong he is! the old brute! Out of respect to his age, I did not strike him again; but I should like to see, just like to see the next man who will venture to lay his stick across _my_ back. Now I'll to the Hall, and make myself known to Lady Etheridge. How affected she will be! I'll lay my life there will be a scene. Who comes here? O, the fictitious heir to the property, Captain Bargrove, as he will find himself in a very short time. I must hold myself rather high; it will prepare him, as it were, for the bad news. Poor fellow!