The Bride of Fort Edward | Page 7

it strikes so deep, that the joy grows up from it,
genuine, not feigned; and yet I have found her weeping once or twice
of late, in unexplained agony. Helen!
Helen. Oh mother! is it you? Thank God. I thought----
_Mrs. G_. What did you think? What moves you thus?
Helen. I thought--'tis nothing. This is very strange.
_Mrs. G_. Why do you look through that window thus? There's no one
there! What is it that's so strange?
Helen. Is it to-morrow that we go?
_Mrs. G_. To Albany? Why, no; on Thursday. You are bewildered,
Helen! surely you could not have forgotten that.
Helen. I wish it was to-day. I do.
_Mrs. G_. My child, yesterday, when the question was debated here,
and wishing might have been of some avail, 'tis true you did not say
much, but I thought, and so we all did, that you chose to stay.
Helen. Did you? Mother, does the road to Albany wind over a hill like
that?
_Mrs. G_. Like what, Helen?
Helen. Like yonder wooded hill, where the soldiers are stationed now?
_Mrs. G_. Not that I know of? Why?

Helen. Perhaps we may cross that very hill,--no--could we?
_Mrs. G_. Not unless we should turn refugees, my love; an event of
which there is little danger just now, I think. That road, as indeed you
know yourself, leads out directly to the British camp.
Helen. Yes--yes--it does. I know it does. I will not yield to it. 'Tis folly,
all.
_Mrs. G_. You talk as though you were dreaming still; my child. Put on
your hat, and go into the garden for a little, the air is fresh and pleasant
now; or take a ramble through the orchard if you will, you might meet
Annie there,--no, yon she comes, and well too. It's quite time that I
were gone again. I wish that we had nothing worse than dreams on
hand. Helen, I must talk with you about these fancies; you must not
thus unnerve yourself for real evil.
[Exit.
Helen. It were impossible,--it could not be!--how could it be?--Oh!
these are wild times. Unseen powers are crossing their meshes here
around us,--and, what am I--Powers?--there's but one Power, and that--
----"He careth for the little bird, Far in the lone wood's depths, and
though dark weapons And keen eyes are out, it falleth not But at his
will."
[Exit.

PART SECOND
* * * * *
LOVE
* * * * *
DIALOGUE I.
SCENE. _A little glen in the woods near Fort Edward. A young British
Officer appears, attended by a soldier in the American uniform; the
latter with a small sealed pacquet in his hand_.

Off. Hist!
Sol. Well, so I did; but----
Off. Hist, I say!
Sol. A squirrel it is, Sir; there he sits.
Off. By keeping this path you avoid the picket on the hill. It will bring
you out where these woods skirt the vale, and scarcely a hundred rods
from the house itself.
[Calling without.]
Sol. Captain Andre--Sir.
Off. It were well that the pacquet should fall into no other hands. With a
little caution there is no danger. It will be twilight ere you get out of
these woods--
Sol. I beg your pardon, Sir; but here is that young Indian guide of mine,
after all, above there, beckoning me.
Off. Stay--you will come back to the camp ere midnight?
Sol. Unless some of these quick-eyed rebels see through my disguise.
Off. Do not forget the lodge as you return. A little hut of logs just in the
edge of the woods, but Siganaw knows it well.
[Exit the Soldier.
(_The call in the thicket above is repeated, and another young officer
enters the glen_.)
_2nd Off_. Hillo, Maitland! These woods yield fairies,--come this way.
_1st Off_. For God's sake, Andre! (motioning silence.) Are you mad?

Andre. Well, who are they?
Mait. _Who_? Have you forgotten that we are on the enemy's ground?
Soldiers from the fort, no doubt. They have crossed that opening twice
since we stood here.
Andre. Well, let them cross twice more. I would run the risk of a year's
captivity, at least, for one such glimpse. Nay, come, she will be gone.
Mait. Stay,--not yet. There, again!
Andre. Such a villainous scratching as I got in that pass just now. It
must have cost the rogues an infinite deal of pains though. A regular,
handsome sword-cut is nothing to a dozen of these same ragged
scratches, that a man can't swear about. After all, Captain Maitland,
these cunning Yankees understand the game. They will keep out of our
way, slyly enough, until we are starved, and scratched, and fretted
down to their proportions, meanwhile they league the very trees against
us.
Mait. As to that, we have