Yes, the man that you asked the ostler at the George to recommend you; the trustworthy man that knows all the by-roads well, and can keep a secret; the man that you wanted to lend you a hand in a job that—
FLAM. Hush, hush!
MARTIN. Oh! you’re beginning to hush now, are you?
FLAM. Haven’t I seen your face before?
MARTIN. To be sure you have. You recollect admiring my manners at Benson’s yesterday. You must remember Mr. Martin Stokes. You can’t have forgotten him—not possible!
FLAM (aside). A friend of Benson!—a dangerous rencontre. Another moment, and our conversation might have taken an awkward turn. (To him.) So you are Stokes, eh? Benson’s friend Stokes?
MARTIN. To be sure. Ha, ha! I knew you couldn’t have forgotten me. Pleasant Stokes they call me, clever Stokes sometimes;—but that’s flattery.
FLAM. No, surely.
MARTIN. Yes, ’pon my life! it is. Can’t bear flattery,—don’t like it at all.
FLAM. Well, Mr. Stokes—
MARTIN (aside). Now for the secret.
FLAM. I am very sorry you have had the trouble of coming up here, Mr. Stokes, because I have changed my plan, and shall not require your valuable services. (Goes up to the table.)
MARTIN (aside). Something wrong here: try him again. You’re sure you don’t want me?
FLAM. Quite.
MARTIN. That’s unlucky, because, as I have quarrelled with Benson—
FLAM. Quarrelled with Benson!
MARTIN. What! didn’t you know that?
FLAM. Never heard of it. Now I think of it, Mr. Stokes, I shall want your assistance. Pray, sit down, Mr. Stokes.
MARTIN. With pleasure. (They sit.) I say, I thought you wanted me.
FLAM. Ah! you’re a sharp fellow.
MARTIN. You don’t mean that?
FLAM. I do, indeed.
MARTIN (aside). You would, if you knew all.
FLAM (aside). Conceited hound!
MARTIN (aside). Poor devil!
FLAM. Mr. Stokes, I needn’t impress upon a gentleman of your intelligence, the necessity of secrecy in this matter.
MARTIN. Of course not: see all—say nothing. Capital custom:—(aside) not mine though. Go on.
FLAM. You wouldn’t mind playing Benson a trick,—just a harmless trick?
MARTIN. Certainly not. Go on.
FLAM. I’ll trust you.
MARTIN. So you may. Go on.
FLAM. A chaise and four will be waiting to-night, at ten o’clock precisely, at the little gate that opens from the garden into the lane.
MARTIN. No: will it though? Go on.
FLAM. Don’t interrupt me, Stokes. Into that chaise you must assist me in forcing as quickly as possible and without noise—
MARTIN. Yes. Go on.
FLAM. Whom do you think?
MARTIN. Don’t know.
FLAM. Can’t you guess whom?
MARTIN. No.
FLAM. Try.
MARTIN. Eh! what!—Miss—
FLAM. Hush, hush! You understand me, I see. Not another word; not another syllable.
MARTIN. But do you really mean to run away with—
FLAM (stopping his mouth). You understand me;—that’s quite sufficient.
MARTIN (aside). He’s going to run away with Rose. Why if I hadn’t found this out, John Maddox,—one of my most particular friends,—would have gone stark, staring, raving mad with grief. (To him.) But what will become of Miss Lucy, when she has lost Rose?
FLAM. No matter. We cannot take them both, without the certainty of an immediate discovery. Meet me at the corner of the avenue, before the ball commences, and I will communicate any further instructions I may have to give you. Meanwhile take this (gives him money) as an earnest of what you shall receive when the girl is secured. Remember, silence and secrecy.
MARTIN. Silence and secrecy, (exit FLAM)—confidence and two guineas. I am perfectly bewildered with this tremendous secret. What shall I do? Where shall I go?—To my particular friend, old Benson, or young Benson, or George Edmunds? or—no; I’ll go and paralyse my particular friend, John Maddox. Not a moment is to be lost. I am all in a flutter. Run away with Rose! I suppose he’ll run away with Lucy next. I shouldn’t wonder. Run away with Rose! I never did—
[Exit hastily.
SCENE II.—An open spot in the Village.
Enter SQUIRE NORTON.
SQUIRE. My mind is made up. This girl has opened her whole heart to me; and it would be worse than villainy to pursue her further. I will seek out Benson and Edmunds, and endeavour to repair the mischief my folly has occasioned. I have sought happiness in the dissipation of crowded cities, in vain. A country life offers health and cheerfulness; and a country life shall henceforth be mine, in all seasons.
Song.—SQUIRE NORTON.