DORA (_aside_).
How worn he looks, poor man! who is it, I wonder.
How can I help him? (_Aloud_.) Might I ask your name?
HAROLD.
Harold.
DORA.
I never heard her mention you.
HAROLD.
I met her first at a farm in Cumberland--
Her uncle's.
DORA.
She was there six years ago.
HAROLD.
And if she never mention'd me, perhaps
The painful circumstances which I heard--
I will not vex you by repeating them--
Only last week at Littlechester, drove me
From out her memory. She has disappear'd,
They told me, from the farm--and darker news.
DORA.
She has disappear'd, poor darling, from the world--
Left but one dreadful line to say, that we
Should find her in the river; and we dragg'd
The Littlechester river all in vain:
Have sorrow'd for her all these years in vain.
And my poor father, utterly broken down
By losing her--she was his favourite child--
Has let his farm, all his affairs, I fear,
But for the slender help that I can give,
Fall into ruin. Ah! that villain, Edgar,
If he should ever show his face among us,
Our men and boys would hoot him, stone him, hunt him
With pitchforks off the farm, for all of them
Loved her, and she was worthy of all love.
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