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a better friend to thy master than he is to himself, and I will prove it. He shan't remain long in prison: be pacified.—(To Freemantle.) Let him go: I'll be his warrant that he shall follow us quietly to the house.—Wont you, Sancho?

SANCHO.

Me not promise.

CRAFTON.

But I will trust you without a promise.

FREEMANTLE.

Be it so, then; but he must not have the pistol again. (Lets go his hold, while Crafton takes the pistol from the ground.)

CRAFTON.

But where is Charville? Let us go to him.

FREEMANTLE.

I cannot. He knows my secret, and is so sternly offended, it is impossible for me to speak to him in his present unaccountable frenzy.

CRAFTON.

Never mind that. Come along; here is a letter that will make you stand firmly before him.

FREEMANTLE. (snatching the letter).

The long lost papers are found.