The Bride of Fort Edward | Page 6

the boughs where th'
arches meet; Come to the dell, come to the dell, Oh come, come_.
_The birds are singing in the dell, Wee wee whoo, wee wee whoo; The
birds are singing wild and free, In every bough of the forest tree, Come
to the dell, come to the dell, Oh come, come_.
_And there the idle breezes lie, Whispering, whispering, Whispering
with the laughing leaves. And nothing says each idle breeze, But come,
come, come, O lady come, Come to th' dell_.
[_Mrs. Grey enters from without_.]
_Mrs. G_. Do not sing, Annie.
Annie. Crying would better befit the times, I know,--Dear mother, what
is this?
_Mrs. G_. Hush,--asleep--is she?
Annie. This hour, and quiet as an infant. Need enough there was of it

too. See, what a perfect damask mother!
_Mrs. G_. Draw the curtain on that sunshine there. This sleep has
flushed her. Ay, a painter might have dropped that golden hair,--yet this
delicate beauty is but the martyr's wreath now, with its fine nerve and
shrinking helplessness. No, Annie; put away your hat, my love,--you
cannot go to the lodge to-night.
Annie. Mother?
_Mrs. G_. You cannot go to the glen to-night. This is no time for idle
pleasure, God knows.
Annie. Why, you have been weeping in earnest, and your cheek is
pale.--And now I know where that sad appointment led you. Is it over?
That it should be in our humanity to bear, what in our ease we cannot,
cannot think of!
_Mrs. G_. Harder things for humanity are there than bodily anguish,
sharp though it be. It was not the boy,--the mother's anguish, I wept for,
Annie.
Annie. Poor Endross! And he will go, to his dying day, a crippled thing.
But yesterday I saw him springing by so proudly! And the mother----
_Mrs. G_. "_Words, words_," she answered sternly when I tried to
comfort her; "ay, words are easy. _Wait till you see your own child's
blood_. Wait till you stand by and see his young limbs hewn away, and
the groans come thicker and thicker that you cannot soothe; and then let
them prate to you of the good cause." Bitter words! God knows what is
in store for us;--all day this strange dread has clung to me.
Annie. Dear mother, is not this the superstition you were wont to chide?
_Mrs. G_. Ay, ay, we should have been in Albany ere this. In these
wild times, Annie, every chance-blown straw that points at evil, is
likely to prove a faithful index; and if it serve to nerve the heart for it,
we may call it heaven-sent indeed. Annie,--hear me calmly, my

child,--the enemy, so at least goes the rumor, are nearer than we
counted on this morning, and--hush, not a word.
Annie. She is but dreaming. Just so she murmured in her sleep last
night; twice she waked me with the saddest cry, and after that she sat
all night by the window in her dressing-gown, I could not persuade her
to sleep again. Tell me, mother, you say _and_--and what?
_Mrs. G_. I cannot think it true, 'tis rumored though, that these savage
neighbors of ours have joined the enemy.
Annie. No! no! Has Alaska turned against us? Why, it was but
yesterday I saw him with Leslie in yonder field. 'Tis false; it must be.
Surely he could not harm us.
_Mrs. G_. And false, I trust it is. At least till it is proved otherwise,
Helen must not hear of it.
Annie. And why?
_Mrs. Grey_. She needs no caution, and it were useless to add to the
idle fear with which she regards them all, already. Some dark fancy
possesses her to-day; I have marked it myself.
Annie. It is just two years to-morrow, mother, since Helen's wedding
day, or rather, that sad day that should have seen her bridal; and it
cannot be that she has quite forgotten Everard Maitland. Alas, he
seemed so noble!
_Mrs. G_. Hush! Never name him. Your sister is too high-hearted to
waste a thought on him. Tory! Helen is no love-lorn damsel, child, to
pine for an unworthy love. See the rose on that round cheek,--it might
teach that same haughty loyalist, could he see her now, what kind of
hearts 'tis that we patriots wear, whose strength they think to trample.
Where are you going, Annie?
Annie. Not beyond the orchard-wall. I will only stroll down the path
here, just to breathe this lovely air a little; indeed, there's no fear of my

going further now.
[Exit.
_Mrs. G_. Did I say right, Helen? It cannot be feigned. Those quick
smiles, with their thousand lovely meanings; those eyes, whose beams
lead straight to the smiling soul. Principle is it? There is no principle in
this, but joy, or else