Fitzhugh. Let us plight our troth here. See, I give you my ring!
Rachel. And I give you mine.
[She takes one from the end of a chain which is round her neck, and
puts it on his finger. Fitzhugh looks at it and staggers back.
Fitzhugh. Heavens! They are the same ring! (In great excitement.)
Child, child, who are you? How came you by the crest of the
Fitzhughs?
Rachel. Ah, who am I? I never had any parents. When they found me
they found that ring on me, and I have kept it ever since!
Fitzhugh. Let me look at you! It must be! The Squire's missing
daughter!
[Gaffers Jarge and Willyum, having entered unobserved at the back
some time ago, have been putting in a lot of heavy byplay until
wanted.
Jarge (at last). Lor' bless 'ee, Willyum, if it bain't Squire
a-kissin' our Rachel!
Willyum. Zo it du be. Here du be goings-on! What will t' passon say?
Jarge (struck with an idea). Zay, bor, don't 'ee zee a zort o'
loikeness atween t' maid and t' Squire?
Willyum. Jarge, if you bain't right, lad. Happen she do have t' same
nose!
[Hearing something, Fitzhugh and Rachel turn round.
Fitzhugh. Ah, my men! I'm your new Squire. Do you know who this is?
Willyum. Why, her du be our Rachel.
Fitzhugh. On the contrary, allow me to introduce you to Miss
Fitzhugh, daughter of the late Squire!
Jarge. Well, this du be a day! To think of our Rachel now!
Fitzhugh. MY Rachel now.
Rachel (who, it is to be hoped, has been amusing herself somehow
since her last speech). Your Rachel always!