[_Tearing the bond._

_Sir Philip._ Rash boy! what have you done?

_Henry._ An act of justice to Sir Philip Blandford.

_Sir Philip._ For which you claim my thanks?

_Henry._ Sir, I am thanked already--here. [_Pointing to his heart._]
Curse on such wealth! compared with its possession, poverty is
splendour. Fear not for me--I shall not feel the piercing cold; for in
that man, whose heart beats warmly for his fellow creatures, the blood
circulates with freedom--My food shall be what few of the pampered sons
of greatness can boast of, the luscious bread of independence; and the
opiate, that brings me sleep, will be the recollection of the day passed
in innocence.

_Sir Philip._ Noble boy!--Oh Blandford!

_Henry._ Ah!

_Sir Philip._ What have I said?

_Henry._ You called me Blandford.

_Sir Philip._ 'Twas error--'twas madness.

_Henry._ Blandford! a thousand hopes and fears rush on my heart.
Disclose to me my birth--be it what it may, I am your slave for ever.
Refuse me, you create a foe, firm and implacable as----

_Sir Philip._ Ah! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity
my breast is warmed with.

_Henry._ I will not. Oh! forgive me.

_Sir Philip._ Yes, on one condition--leave me.--Ah! some one approaches.
Begone, I insist--I entreat.

_Henry._ That word has charmed me! I obey: Sir Philip, you may hate, but
you shall respect, me. [_Exit._

_Enter_ HANDY, _jun._

_Handy, jun._ At last, thank Heaven, I have found somebody. But, Sir
Philip, were you indulging in soliloquy?--You seem agitated.

_Sir Philip._ No, sir; rather indisposed.

_Handy, jun._ Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to find you. Compared
with this castle, the Cretan labyrinth was intelligible; and unless some
kind Ariadne gives me a clue, I shan't have the pleasure of seeing you
above once a-week.

_Sir Philip._ I beg your pardon, I have been an inattentive host.

_Handy, jun._ Oh, no; but when a house is so devilish large, and the
party so very small, they ought to keep together; for, to say the truth,
though no one on earth feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I
do--I soon get heartily sick of his company--whatever he may be to
others, he's a cursed bore to me.

_Sir Philip._ Where's your worthy father?

_Handy, jun._ As usual, full of contrivances that are impracticable, and
improvements that are retrograde; forming, altogether, a whimsical
instance of the confusion of arrangement, the delay of expe