[_Runs up the stage, WILLIAM follows, ARTHUR
and FLORENCE advancing._]

_Arth._ Break not my dream. It is not late. The night
Will lose her beauty as thy footsteps fade
In distance from me. Florence, go not yet.
I had a thousand loyal thoughts, I swear,
To utter, and as many questions, Florence,
To ask thee of thyself. Thou lovest not,
Thou canst not love my brother; for thou saidst
As much, nay more, this moment.

_Flor._ Did I so?
Perchance I might have done; but then I love
My father--

_Arth._ Tell me so again!

_Flor._ Indeed, I love
My father!

_Arth._ Cruel! no, I'd have thee say
If thou dost love my brother.

_Flor._ He's my cousin.

_Arth._ Or any one!

_Barb._ Dear lady, it is time.