SCENE IV.—_Another Room in the Blake’s Head_.

_Enter_ GILBERT, _with lamp_. R.

_Gil_. Well, I’ve looked all through the house, fastened the doors, hung up the keys, and now have nothing to do but to go and sleep until called up by the cock. Well I never saw love make so much alteration in any poor mortal as in master Grayling—he used to be a quiet, plain spoken civil fellow—but now he comes into a house like a hurricane. I wonder what that letter was about, it bothers me strangely—well, no matter—I’ll now go to bed—I’ll go across the stable yard to my loft, and sleep so fast that I’ll get ten hours into six.

[_Exit_ L.

_Enter_ COLLINS _from_ C.D. _in flat_.

_Col_. A plague take that doctor, he has bound my arm up rarely—scarcely had I got into bed, than the bandage falling off, the blood gushed freshly from the wound; if I can reach Gilbert, he will assist me to stop it—or stay, had I not better return to master Gwinett, who as yet knows nothing of the matter? no, I’ll even make my way to Gilbert, and then to bed again.

[_Exit_ L.

_Enter_ GWINETT, _from door in flat_.

_Gwin_. I have armed myself—and am determined to meet the appointment; if there be any foul play intended, they will find me prepared, if not, the precaution is still a reasonable one—the latch is broken, said the landlord, the knife however will stead me.

[_Exit_ R.

[_Collins cries without_, “_Murder_! _murder_! _within_—_Lucy_! _Gilbert_! _murder_! _murder_!”—_Lucy screams without_, _and rushes through door in flat_, _then runs on exclaiming_

_Lucy_. Oh, heaven! my uncle’s murdered!

_Servants and others run on_. R.

_Omnes_. What say you, murdered! where?—how?—

_Lucy_. I know not—hearing his cries, I rushed into his room—he was not there, but his bed was steeped in blood.

_Enter_ GRAYLING _and_ GILBERT. L.

_Gray_. What cries are these? master Collins murdered! where is Gwinett?

_Lucy_. Alas! oh, heaven—he is—

_Gray_. Ah! let search be made.

_Enter_ GWINETT. R.

_Gray_. He is the assassin.

_Gwin_. Villain! (_rushes at Grayling_—_they struggle_; _Grayling wrenches a knife from Gwinett’s grasp_; _his coat files open_, _and the handkerchief stained with blood_, _falls out_.)

_Gray_. Ah! this knife—

_Lucy_. It is my uncle’s—

_Gray_. Your uncle’s—behold the murderer!

[_Gwinett stands petrified with horror_, _Lucy shrieks and turns away from him_; _Gilbert picks up the handkerchief stained with blood_, _and holds it at one side of Gwinett_, _whilst Grayling on the other_, _points to the knife with looks of mingled detestation and revenge_.—_Characters form themselves at back_, _&c._—_End of Act I_.