MRS. S. He will never resign the hand of her he loves, beggared though
she be. (_here POSTLETHWAITE comes out of room cautiously, slips the
letter into RATCLIFFE'S hand, and runs out at door, L. C._)
RAT. (_presenting letter to MRS. SOMERTON_) From Mr. Percy
Postlethwaite, madam. (_aside_) If he has deceived me I'll make
Arabella Row, Pimlico, the scene of a terrific drama.
MRS. S. (_reading letter_) "Ever beloved cousin, I need not say that
the loss of your fortune is nothing to me----" (_to RATCLIFFE_) You
hear?
RAT. (_aside_) The devil take him!
MRS. S. (_reading_) "----But as the presence of a handsome, dashing
young man like Captain Ratcliffe, under your roof in the middle of the
night will necessarily afford materials for all the scandal mongers in
the neighbourhood, I reluctantly tear your image from my heart, and
bid you farewell for ever."
RAT. Then you are free--free to bestow your heart, your hand!
MRS. S. Nay, sir, what if my heart were no longer at my disposal?
(_RATCLIFFE starts_) What if it had long since been given to one who
once preserved my life at the peril of his own, and whose letters
faithfully preserved (_slowly and with emotion drawing forth a packet
of letters from her bosom, and looking down_) enabled me to recognise
his handwriting.