his hand, starts, (as if at seeing his master)
and affects to conceal the letter.]

ANDREWS. You seem confus'd--What paper's that?

BOY. 'Tis, sir--'tis a letter--

ANDREWS. From whom? and to whom?

BOY. From, sir,--Why, 'tis--

[He seizes the boy's hand, who drops the letter, and whilst
his master is taking it up, runs off.]

ANDREWS. Ha! what, gone off! how guilt betrays itself!
Here is some secret scheme--'tis in my wife's hand.
The superscription to my old friend Wilson--
I never yet approv'd of opening letters
By any, save by those to whom address'd;
But to detect deceit, such means are just;
And here it seems, as matters were on foot,
With which, 'tis meant I should not be acquainted.
Besides, of late, I have at times surpriz'd them
in close and intimate discourse together;
When, it now strikes me, they seem'd much confounded.
Upon the whole, I think I ought to read it:
Necessity demands the doubtful deed. [He opens and reads the letter.]

"Sir,
I might have thought the repulse you so lately receiv'd,