] Come, Florence. Mr. Coyle, we will join you in the
park. Come, my love, take my arm. [Hurries her off, L. 1 E.]

Coyle Shallow, selfish fool. She warned you of me did she? And you did
not heed her; you shall both pay dearly. She, for her suspicions, and
you that you did not share them. [Walks up and down.] How lucky the
seals were not cut from that mortgage, when the release was given.
'Tis like the silly security of the Trenchard's. This mortgage makes
Ravensdale mine, while the release that restores it to its owner lies in
the recess of the bureau, whose secret my father revealed to me on
his death bed. [Enter Murcott, L. 1 E.] Write to the mortgagee of the
Fanhill and Ellenthrope estates, to foreclose before the week is out,
and tell Walters and Brass to put in execution to-day. We'll prick this
wind-bag of a Baronet. Abel, we have both a bone to pick with him and
his daughter. [Murcott starts.] Why, what's the matter?

Mur Nothing, the dizziness I've had lately.

Coyle Brandy in the evening, brandy in the morning, brandy all night.
What a fool you are, Murcott.

Mur Who knows that as well as I do?

Coyle If you would but keep the money out of your mouth, there's the
making of a man in you yet.

Mur No, no, it's gone too far, it's gone too far, thanks to the man
who owns this house, you know all about it. How he found me a thriving,
sober lad, flogging the village children through their spelling book.
How he took a fancy to me as he called it, and employed me here to teach
his son and Miss Florence. [His voice falters.] Then remember how I
forgot who and what I was, and was cuffed out of the house like a dog.
How I lost my school, my good name, but still hung about the place, they
all looked askance at me, you don't know how that kills the heart of a
man, then I took to drink and sank down, down, till I came to this.

Coyle You owe Sir Edward revenge, do you not? You shall have a rare
revenge on him, that mortgage you found last week puts the remainder
of the property in my reach, and I close my hand on it unless he will
consent to my terms.

Mur You can drive a hard bargain. I know.

Coyle And a rare price I ask for his forbearance, Abel--his daughter's
hand.

Mur Florence?

Coyle Yes, Florence marries Richard Coyle. Richard Coyle steps into Sir
Edward's estates. There, you dog, will not that be a rare revenge. So
follow me with those papers. [Crosses to L.] And now to lay the mine
that will topple o