MILLER. Ay, and you too, with your pestilential baron--you, too, must
put my bristles up. You're never more stupid than when you have the most
occasion to show a little sense. What's the meaning of all that trash
about your daughter being a great lady? If it's to be cried out about
the town to-morrow, you need only let that fellow get scent of it. He is
one of your worthies who go sniffing about into people's houses, dispute
upon everything, and, if a slip of the tongue happen to you, skurry with
it straight to the prince, mistress, and minister, and then there's the
devil to pay.



SCENE III.

Enter LOUISA with a book in her hand.

LOUISA. Good morning, dear father!

MILLER (affectionately). Bless thee, my Louisa! I rejoice to see thy
thoughts are turned so diligently to thy Creator. Continue so, and his
arm will support thee.

LOUISA. Oh! I am a great sinner, father! Was he not here, mother?

MRS MILLER. Who, my child?

LOUISA. Ah! I forgot that there are others in the world besides him--my
head wanders so. Was he not here? Ferdinand?

MILLER (with melancholy, serious voice). I thought my Louisa had