Part 18 (1/2)

_2nd Sol_. Resistance is vain. Hear those shrieks! There is death in them. Resistance is vain.

_1st Sol_. Flight is vain. Look yonder! Francis,--the dark hour hath come!

_2nd Sol_. Is it so? Mother and sister I shall see no more.

(_A number of Indians, disfigured with paint and blood, and brandis.h.i.+ng their knives, come rus.h.i.+ng down the road, uttering short, fierce yells. Others from below, bringing back the fugitives_.)

_1st Sol_. We shall die together. G.o.d of Truth and Freedom, unto thee our youthful spirits trust we.

(_The Indians surround them. Fighting to the last, they fall_.)

DIALOGUE II.

SCENE. _The deserted house--the chamber--Helen by the table--her head bowed and motionless. She rises slowly from her drooping posture_.

_Helen_. It is my bridal day. I had forgotten that. (_Looking from the window_.) Is this real? Am I here alone? My mother gone? The army gone?

brothers and sisters gone, and those woods full of armed Indians? I am awake. This is not the light of dreams,--'tis the sun that's s.h.i.+ning there. Not the fresh arid tender morning sun, that looked in on that parting. Hours he has climbed since then, to turn those shadows thus,--hours that to me were nothing.--Alone?--deserted--defenceless? Of my own will too? There was a _law_ in that will, though, was there not?

(_Turning suddenly from the window_.) Shall I see him again? The living real of my thousand dreams, in the light of life, will he stand here to-day?--to-day? No, no. Is this swift flow of being leading on to _that_? Oh day of anguish, if in thine awful bosom, still, that dazzling instant sleeps, I can forgive the rest.

(_She stands by the toilette, and begins to gather once more the long hair from her shoulders. Suddenly a low voice at the door breaks the stillness. The Canadian servant looks in_.)

_Jan_. I ask your pardon--Shall I come in, Ma'amselle?

_Helen_. Ay, ay, come in. How strangely any voice sounds amid this loneliness. I am glad you are here.

_Jan_. (_Entering_.) Beautiful! Santa Maria! How beautiful! May I look at these things, Ma'amselle? (_Stopping by the couch strewn with bridal gear_.) Real Brussels! And the plume in this bonnet, was there ever such a lovely droop?

_Helen_. Come, fasten this clasp for me, Netty. I thought to have had another bridesmaid once, but--that is past--Yes, I am a bride to-day, and I must not wait here unadorned. (_Aside_.) He shall have no hint from me this day of ”_altered fortunes_.” As though these weary years had been but last night's dream, and my wedding-day had come as it was fixed, so will I meet him.--Yet I thought to have worn my shroud sooner than this robe.

_Jan_. This silk would stand alone, Ma'amselle,--and what a lovely white it is! Just such a bodice as this I saw my Lady Mary wear, two years ago this summer, in Quebec; only, this is a thought deeper. But, Santa Maria! how it becomes a shape like yours!

_Helen_. What a world of buried feeling lives again as I feel the clasp of this robe once more! Will he say these years have changed me?

_Jan_. (_Aside_) I do not like that altered mien. How the beauty flashes from her? Is it silk and lace that can change one so? Here are bracelets too, Ma'amselle; will you wear them?

_Helen_. Yes. Go, look from the window, Janette, down the lane to the woods. I am well-high ready now. He will come,--yes, he will come.

(_Janette retreats to the window,--her eye still following the lady_.)

_Jan_. I have seen brides before, but never so gay a one as this. It is strange and fearful to see her stand here alone, in this lonesome house, all in glistening white, smiling, and the light flas.h.i.+ng from her eyes thus. She looks too much like some radiant creature from another world, to be long for this.

_Helen_. He will come, why should he not? Netty, fix your eye on that opening in the woods, and if you see but a shadow crossing it, tell me quickly.

_Jan_. I can see nothing--nothing at all. Marie sanctissima!--how quiet it is! The shadows are straight here now, Miss Helen.