Then he disappears when I turn my back, and re-appears before I turn my face. He has discovered that I am a rogue, yet retains me in his service. His chamber is always locked when he goes out, and I am obliged to wait below upon board wages. There's some mystery about that chamber. I have watched repeatedly on the staircase to see him enter, but never can; and when I would swear that he is not in, it is I only who am out; for I am summoned to his presence. There's mystery! When he does appear, who is he? Don Gaspar; but of what family, and from what part of Spain, no one can tell. Mystery upon mystery! He may be the devil, and I feel my conscience touched; for no good ever came from the devil's wages. I'll to my confessor, and seek his counsel. He's a good man, and lenient too, to such poor rogues as I. But he insists that I appear each se'nnight, and sum the catalogue of my offences: perhaps he's right; for if I staid longer away, some of them—as I am no scholar,—say half—would be forgotten. [Enter Nina veiled, who passed by him, and exit.] There's a nice girl! What a foot and ankle! Now had my master seen her, there had been a job for me to dog her home. We lacqueys are like sporting dogs; we follow up the game, and when they stop their running, make a dead point, until our masters bag them for themselves. [Nina returns. Enter.] She's coming back. This time I'll poach a little for myself. Fair lady, can I serve you? [Nina stops, but turns away. Antonio kneels.]

"Turn not away, fair angel, for since last
 You bless'd my eyes, my thoughts have been on you;
 For weeks I've follow'd, not daring to address you.
 As I'm a bachelor, and free to wed,
 Might I your favour gain, a life of tenderness,
 To you, my love, I'd tender."

(Aside.) I borrow'd that speech, excepting the last flourish, from my master: but since he has used it like his cast-off clothes, 'tis mine by custom. (Aloud.) Will you not answer? I love you, madam, have loved you long; and, by my soul! ne'er said so much before to any woman breathing. [Nina turns round and lifts her veil, Antonio turns away.] (Aside.) By all that's intolerable, my Toledo wife! (Turning to her.) Holy Saint Frances! It is, it is my wife!

Nina. Yes, sir, your injured, your deserted wife!

Ant. And are you still alive? then I am once more happy! (Offers to embrace her.)

Nina. Forbear! When was I dead, you wretch?

Ant. Why, Nina, I've a letter from Toledo, that states that you are dead; you died a treble death, yourself and twins.

Nina. What?

Ant. Twins, my love, sweet pledges of affection. I've the letter in my pocket; I've kept it there for months, pored over it for weeks, and cried over it for days. (Fumbles in his pocket.) Now I recollect it is in the pocket of my gala suit. What an infamous forgery! Come to my arms, my dear lamented, but now recovered wife!

Nina. Keep off, you wretch! What did you say just now? "I've loved you long, and ne'er have said so much to any woman breathing."

Ant. Well, my love, no more I had, except to yourself; and you I thought were dead. Why, my dearest Nina, it is a proof of my constancy. When I first saw you, I said to myself "that is the only woman I ever saw with a foot and ankle so pretty as my Nina's;" and the more I looked at you, the more your sweet figure reminded me of yourself. In fact, it was your likeness to yourself that created the first emotion in my widowed heart. Had I fallen in love with anybody else, my dearest Nina, you might have cause for anger; but I assert, to fall in love with my own wife proves me a paragon of fidelity.

Nina. O, Lopez, could I but believe you!

[Antonio turns away and takes out his handkerchief.] (Aside.) As my master says (turning to Nina),

"Lay bare my heart, my Nina, read each thought,
 And there your image, deeply graven, find."

[She turns away. He pretends to be much affected; at last she embraces him.

Ant. (Aside.) Into her arms and out of that scrape, thank my wits! (Aloud.) And now, my love, how long have you resided in this city?

Nina. But a few days. I serve the Donna Isidora. I was left behind in sickness, at their country seat, some time ago, and but now have joined her. Where have you been, my dear Lopez?

Ant. Wandering about everywhere and anywhere, a lost man, since I heard of your loss;—yes, a miserable man.