_Giles._ My duty, lass.

_Olive._ Father, you will not die this dreadful death?

_Giles._ That will I, lass.

_Olive._ Then I say to you, father, so will I also. The stones will
press you down a few hours' space, and they will press me down so
long as I may live. You will be soon dead and out of the pains, but
you will leave your death with the living.

_Giles._ Then must the living bear it.

_Olive._ Father, you may yet be acquitted. Plead at your trial.

_Giles._ Work the bellows in the face of the north wind. Oh, lass,
why came you here? 'Tis worse than the stones. Talk no more to me,
good lass; womenkind should meddle not with men's plans. But promise
me you will wed with Paul here within three weeks.

_Olive._ I will never wed.

_Giles._ Ye will not, hey? Ye will wed with Master Paul Bayley
within three weeks. 'Tis the last command your father gives thee.

_Olive._ Think you I can wed when you--

_Giles._ Ay, I do think so, lass, and so ye will.