._ Not that title, I beseech you! I am not a child, who wishes to
avoid deserved punishment. What were my penitence, if I hoped advantage
from it beyond the consciousness of atonement for past offence?

_Countess._ But if your husband himself--?

_Mrs. H._ Oh! he will not! he cannot! And let him rest assured I never
would replace my honour at the expense of his.

_Bar._ He still loves you.

_Mrs. H._ Loves me! Then he must not--No--he must purify his heart from
a weakness which would degrade him!

_Bar._ Incomparable woman! I go to my friend--perhaps, for the last
time! Have you not one word to send him?

_Mrs. H._ Yes, I have two requests to make. Often when, in excess of
grief, I have despaired of every consolation, I have thought I should be
easier if I might behold my husband once again, acknowledge my injustice
to him, and take a gentle leave of him for ever. This, therefore, is my
first request--a conversation for a few short minutes, if he does not
quite abhor the sight of me. My second request is--Oh--not to see, but
to hear some account of my poor children.

_Bar._ If humanity and friendship can avail, he will not for a moment
delay your wishes.

_Countess._ Heaven be with you.

_Mrs. H._ And my prayers. [_Exit BARON._

_Countess._ Come, my friend, come into the air, till he returns with
hope and consolation.

_Mrs. H._ Oh, my heart! How art thou afflicted! My husband! My little
ones! Past joys and future fears--Oh, dearest madam, there are moments
in which we live years! Moments, which steal the roses from the cheek
of health, and plough deep furrows in the brow of youth.

_Countess._ Banish these sad reflections. Come, let us walk. The sun
will set soon; let nature's beauties dissipate anxiety.

_Mrs. H._ Alas! Yes, the setting sun is a proper scene for me.

_Countess._ Never forget a morning will succeed. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The skirts of the Park, Lodge, &c. as before._

_Enter BARON._

_Bar._ On earth there is but one such pair. They shall not be parted.
Yet what I have undertaken is not so easy as I at first hoped. What can
I answer when he asks me, whether I would persuade him to renounce his
character, and become the derision of society? For he is right: a
faithless wife is a dishonour! and to forgive her, is to share her
shame. What though Adelaide may be an exception; a young deluded girl,
who has so long and so since