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FREEMANTLE.

It may be so, but his dialect belongs to no county in England that I am acquainted with.—(Mary heard speaking without). Don't stand here, young man; keep below till you are called for.

Re-enter Mary.

MARY.

Here is the letter,—a love-letter from an old schoolmaster to his mistress: but you must read it, sister, for I can't do it justice.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

As you please, but make us some tea first; the cramp words that are in it require a ready articulation.

Mary begins to prepare tea, when enter Dickenson, and Charville peeping behind him.

DICKENSON.

Ladies, I am sorry to alarm you, but there is a man below who says, he has found a person at the foot of a tree, not far from the house, who seems to be in pain, and that when he spoke to him the voice which answered him again resembled my master's.

MRS. CHARVILLE.

Foolish fancy! but let us relieve the poor man whoever he may be. (Exeunt Mary and Freemantle hastily.) It is a cold night, sister;