Part 37 (2/2)

_Capt. Mer._ You are not down yet, Peter. (_Captain Etheridge continues striking._)

_Peter_ (_throwing himself down, and panting_). Now I am.

_Capt. Mer._ Yes, and now I may help you up. Then you may go at it again.

_Peter._ What! am I to have more of it if I am up?

_Capt. Mer._ I rather suspect so.

_Peter._ Then I prefer lying here. You need not wait, Captain Bargrove.

I sha'n't get up this half-hour. (_Rubbing his shoulders._)

_Capt. Eth._ You observe, Peter, I told you your fortune correctly. The stars would have it so. I hope, when next we meet, you will be a little more reasonable, and also a little more respectful. If not, I hold your fortune in my hands. (_Holding up his cane._)

_Peter._ Didn't I tell you that you did? Why don't you return it like an honest man? As I said before, I'll make you an allowance.

_Capt. Eth._ That's more than I will for you, if I have any more impertinence. Come, Mertoun, he'll not come to time, that's clear.

_Capt. Mer._ No, nor to his fortune or t.i.tle either, I'm afraid. Good morning, Peter. Ha! ha! ha!

_Capt. Eth._ Farewell, Sir Peter! Ha! ha! ha! [_Exeunt Captains Mertoun and Etheridge._

_Peter_ (_sitting up_). _Come to time_--nor to my t.i.tle and fortune.

Well, I hope they'll both come to the gallows. I thought of that as a repartee when they were here, but it was too good to be thrown away upon them. (_Rises._) It _is_ very odd that n.o.body will believe me when the facts are so plain. As Shakespeare says, the ”ladder of my ambition is so hard to climb.” I presume these are all the sticks I am to get up by.

I'm almost tired of it already; but, however, after two misses comes a hit; and I'll try the last. Now to Lady Etheridge, discover myself to her, sob upon her bosom, as the gipsy foretold I should; and then if she is but on my side, why I defy all the men in the family. [_Exit._

_Scene III._

_A parlour in the homestead._

_Enter Old Bargrove and Mrs Bargrove._

_Old Bar._ Why, dame, I can make nothing out of it. I have questioned Lucy as closely as possible, and it appears that it was a gipsy woman who told their fortunes. But still, as Lucy told me the story, there is something very strange about it.

_Mrs Bar._ Lucy appears to take it very much to heart, poor thing!

_Old Bar._ She does, dame, but in the right way. She thinks of others, and not of herself. I tell you this, dame, if I thought that Lucy was not my daughter, it would almost break my heart.

_Mrs Bar._ She's a good girl, and content with her father and mother. I only wish that Peter was the same.

_Old Bar._ Peter was born a fool, dame, and he'll never be anything else. But I hope this may prove of service to him. I hear that he has already been up to the Hall.

_Mrs Bar._ Had we not better go there, too, Bargrove, and see Sir Gilbert, or they may suppose we be parties to the report.

_Old Bar._ Why should they, and who knows the report as yet?

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