The bride of Fort Edward founded on an incident of the Revolution |
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| 3:3. | DIALOGUE III. |
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 | The bride of Fort Edward |  |
DIALOGUE III.
Scene. The porch. Helen waiting the return of her
messenger from the hut.
Helen.
How quiet and soft it all lies in this solemn
light. Is it illusion?—can it be?—that old, familiar look,
that from these woods and hills, and from this moon-lit
meadow, seems to smile on me now with such a holy
promise of protection and love?—The merry trill in this
apple-tree is the very sound that, waking from my infant
sleep in the hush of the summer midnight, of old lulled,
nay, wakened my first inward thought. Oh that my heart's
youngest religion could come again, the feeling with
which a little child looks up to these mighty stars, as the
spangles on his home-roof, while he stands smiling beneath
the awful shelter of the skies, as under a father's
dome. But these years show us the evil that mocks that
trust.
'Tis he,—What a mere thread of time separates me
from my fate, and yet the darkness of ages could not hide
it more surely. Already he has reached the lane. Another
his hand, or will it not? I will be calm—it shall be like
a picture to me.
Ah! there is an immeasurable power about us, a foreign
and strange thing, that answers not to the soul, that
seems to know or to heed nothing of the living suffering,
rejoicing being of the spirit. Why should I struggle
with it any longer? From my weeping childhood to this
hour, it hath set its iron bars about me; no—softly yielding,
hath it not sometimes, the long, undreamed-of vistas
opened, bright as heaven,—and now, maybe—how
slow he moves—even now perchance.—This is wrong.
The Infinite is One. The Goodness Infinite, whose
everlasting smile lighteth the inner soul, and the Power
Infinite, whose alien touch without, in darkness comes,
they are of One, and the good know it.
The Messenger.
(Coming up the path.)
Bless you, Miss! The pacquet had been gone this
hour!
Helen.
Gone! Well.—And Elliston—what said he?
Mess.
I brought this note of yours back, Miss Helen.
Father Elliston was gone. Here has been an Indian
killed on Sandy Hill this evening, Alaska's own son as
it turns out, and such a hubbub as they are making about
it you never heard. I met a couple of squaws myself,
yelling like mad creatures, and the woods are all alive
with them. The priest has gone down to their village
Miss Helen, for there was no one there but a little rascal
of an Indian, and I would not trust the worth of a feather
with one of them. Was I right?
Helen.
Yes. Give it to me. How far is it to the British
camp?
Mess.
Why, they are just above here at Brandon's
Mills they say, that is, the main body. It can't be over
three miles, or so.
Helen.
Three miles! only three miles of this lovely
moonlight road between us.—William McReady, go to
that camp for me to-night.
Mess.
To the British camp?
Helen.
Ay.
Mess.
To the British camp! Lord bless you, Miss.
I should be shot—I should be shot as true as you are a
living woman. I should be shot for a deserter, or, what's
worse, I should be hanged for a spy.
Helen.
What shall I do!
Mess.
And besides, there's Madame Grey will be
wanting me by this time. See how the candles dance
about the rooms there.
Helen.
Yes, you are right. We must go in and help
them. Come,
(They enter the house.)
| The bride of Fort Edward | |