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Henriquez is a man whose native feelings Of honour and of justice rise indignant Against the slightest breach of honest faith. The interests of his house to him were nothing Opposed to generous ties—to simple right. I will to him—ah, no! I dare not do it. (Looking out.) He is at hand. That paper keeps his eye Intently occupied.—What can it be? Perhaps some letter dropp'd by poor Antonio, And then all is discovered.

You twist that letter in your hand, my Lord, As a most worthless thing. May I presume? I am not curious.

Yet thou hast a mind, Not being curious, just to peep into it. Well; it might case thy silken threads, perhaps, Or wrap thy scented comfits. Take it then. (Offering her the letter, and then drawing it back.) No; spells lurk in such crooked lines as these To work unhappy fancies out of nothing. Perhaps some hateful witch has mutter'd o'er it Her blasting benison; thou shalt not have it: I'll put it up to light my ev'ning lamp. Thou goest?