Otto.

Don't begin pleading for him again, Margaret. It drives me mad. I hate him! I hate him! To kill him will be God's own vengeance.

Margaret.
Otto, when it's over you must get away quickly.

Otto.
I shall.

Margaret.
Uncle, aunt, everybody—you should leave London to-morrow.

Otto.
We are going to-night—at twelve-thirty.

Margaret.
Twelve-thirty?

Otto.
Yes. we sail for America in the morning.

Margaret.
But what about passports?

Otto.
We found some that father had hidden away.

Margaret.
Father? It's just as if it had to be—as if everything had been arranged beforehand.

Otto.
Everything!