SCENE. _A little glen, darkly shaded with pines. A fountain issuing from
one side, and falling with a curious murmur into the basin below_.
(_Mortimer and Maitland enter_.)
_Mor_. This is the place!--Well, if hallucinations like this can visit
mortal eyes, I'll ne'er trust mine again. 'Tis the spot, I'm sure of
it,--the place, too, that Andre was raving about just now.--The fairies'
drawing-room,--palace rather,--look at these graceful shafts,
Maitland,--and fairies' work, it must have been in good earnest.
_Mait_. If it's to admire this clump of pine trees you have brought me
hither, allow me to say you might have spared yourself that trouble. I
have seen the place already, as often as I care to.
_Mor_. Come this way a little,--yes, it was just above there that I
stood,--it must have been.
_Mait_. If you would give me some little inkling of what you are talking
about, Lieutenant Mortimer, I should be more likely to help you, if it's
help you need.
_Mor_. I do not ask you to believe me, but,--as I was springing on my
horse just now above there, the gurgling of this spring caught my ear,
and looking down suddenly--upon my word, Captain Maitland, I am ashamed
to describe what cannot but seem to you such an improbable piece of
fancy-work; and yet, true it seemed, as that I see you now. I was
looking down, as I said, when suddenly, among those low evergreens, the
brilliant hue of a silken mantle caught my eye, and then a woman's brow
gleamed up upon me. Yes, there in that dark cradle, calmly sleeping, all
flashing with gold and jewels, like some bright vision of olden time,
methought there lay--a lady,--a girl, young and lovely as a dream;--the
white plume in her bonnet soiled and broken, and the long bright hair
streaming heavily on her mantle,--and yet with all its loveliness, such
a face of utter sorrow saw I never. I _saw_ her, I saw her, as I see you
now,--the proud young form with such a depth of grace, in its strange
repose, and--where are you going?--what are you doing, Maitland?
_Mait_. Helen Grey!--
_Mor_. You are right. I did not mark that break--yes--there she lies.
Said I right, Maitland?
_Mait_. Helen Grey!--
_Mor_. Maitland! Heavens!--what a world of anguish that tone
reveals!--Why do you stand gazing on that lovely sleeper thus?
_Mait_. Bring water. There's a cup at yonder spring. Here has been
treachery! Devils and fiends have been working here against me. We must
unclasp this mantle. The treasure of the earth lies here.--Now doth mine
arm enfold it once, at last. 'Tis sweet, Helen, mine own _true_ love;
'tis sweet, even thus.
_Mor_. This letter,--see--from those loosened folds it just now dropped.
This might throw some light, perchance--
_Mait_. Let it be. There's light enough. I want no more. Water,--more
water,--do you see?
_Mor_. Maitland,--this is vain. Mark this dark spot upon her girdle--
_Mait_. Hush, hush,--there, cover it thus--'tis nothing, Loosen this
bonnet--so--'twas a firm hand that tied that knot; so--she can breathe
now.
_Mor_. How like life, those soft curls burst from their loosened
pressure! But mark you--there is no other motion, I am sorry to distress
you,--but--Maitland--this lady is dead.
_Mait. Dead_! Lying hell-hound! _Dead_! Say that again.
_Mor_. God help you!
_Mait. Dead_! Helen Grey, open these eyes. Here's one that, never having
seen them, talks of death. Oh God! is it thus we meet at last? At last
these arms are round her, and she knows it not. I look upon her, but her
eye answers me not. Dead!--for me? Murdered!--mine own hand hath done
it.
_Mor_. Why do you start thus?
_Mait_. Hush!--hush! There!--again--that slow heavy throb--again! again!
_Mor_. Good God! she breathes! This is life indeed.
_Mait_. (_Solemnly_.) Ay, thank God. This moment's sweetness is enough.
_Mor_. How like one in troubled sleep she murmurs! Mark those tones of
sweet and wild entreaty. Listen!
_Mait_. I have heard it again!--from the buried years of love and hope
that music came. She is here. 'Tis _she_. This is no marble mockery. She
is here! Her head is on my bosom. Death cannot rob me of this sweetness
now.
(_Talking without_.)
_A Lady_. This way--I hear their voices. Down this pathway--here they are.
(_Lady Ackland and Andre enter the Glen_.)
_Lady A_. I knew it could not be. They told us she was murdered,
Maitland. (_Starting back_.) Ah--ah--God help thee, Maitland!
_Mait_. Listen, listen. She was speaking but now. There--again!
_Lady A_. And this is she! Can the wilderness blossom thus? And did God
unfold such loveliness--for a waste so cruel?
_Helen_. (_In a low murmur_.) We are almost there. If we could but pass
this glen. Oh God! will they stop here? Go on,--go on. Was not that a
white tent I saw? Go on. They will not. 'Tis nothing,--do not weep.
_Mait_. Look at me, Helen.--Open these eyes. One more look--one more.
_Andre_. She hears your bidding.
_Mait_. Oh God! Do you see those eyes--those dim, bewildered eyes?--it
is quenched--quenched. Let her lean on you.
_Lady A_. Gently--gently, she does not see us yet.
_Helen_. Oh Mother, I am ill and weary. Here's this dream again! Blue
sky? and pine-tree boughs? Am I here indeed? Yes, I remember now,--we
stood upon that cliff--I am dying. Is there no one here? Whose tears are
these?
_Lady A_. Dear child, sweet one, nay, lean on me.
_Helen_. My mother, oh my mother, come to me. Come, Annie, come, come!
Strangers all!
_Mor_. Her eye is on him. Hush!
_Andre_. See in an instant how the light comes flashing up from those
dim depths again. _That_ is the eye that I saw yesterday.
_Lady A_. That slowly settling smile,--deeper and deeper--saw you ever
any thing so gay, so passing lovely?
_Helen_. Is it--is it--Everard Maitland--is it _thee_? The living real
of my thousand dreams, in the light of life doth he stand there now?
Doth he? _'Tis he!_
_Mait_. Helen!
_Helen_. 'Tis he! That tone's spell builds around me its all-sheltering
music-walls, and death is nothing. Oh God, when at thy dark will dimly
revealed, I trembled yesterday, I did not think in this most rosy bower
to meet its fearfulness.
_Mait_. Helen,--dost thou love me _yet_?
_Helen_. Doubter, am I dying here?
_Mait_. 'Tis her own most rich and blessed smile, even as of old in
mirth it shone upon me. Your murderer, you count me then?
_Helen_. Come hither,--let me lean on _you_. Star of the wilderness!--of
this life that is fading now, the sun!--_doth_ mine eye see thee, then,
at last? Oh! this is sweet! On its own holy home my head rests now.
Everard, in this dark world _Love leans on Faith_. How else, even in
God's love and loveliness, could I trust now for that strange future on
whose bloody threshold I am lying here; yes, and in spite of prayers and
trust, and struggling hopes. And yet--how beautiful it is--that love
invisible, invisible no more. Like glorious sunshine it is streaming
round me,--lighting all. The infinite of that thy smile hath imaged, as
real,--it beams on me now. Have faith, in _him_ I mean; for--if we meet
again--we'll need it then no more; and--how dim it grows--nay, let me
lean on you,--and--through _this_ life's darkening glass I shall see you
no more. Nay, hold me!--quick!--where art thou?--Everard!--He is
gone--gone!
_Lady A_. Dead!--
_Mor_. She is dead!
_Andre_. This was Love.
_Lady A_. See how her eyes are fixed on _you_. The light and love of the
vanished soul looks through them still. Cruelly hath it been sent
thence; and no other gleam of its changeful beauty will e'er dawn in
them. Sadly, oh lovely stranger, I close for ever now these dark-fringed
lids upon their love and beauty. Yes--_this_ was love!
_Andre_. And so there was a need-be in its doom. I'll ne'er believe
_that_ genuine, that is blessed. The fate of this life would not suffer
it. Ah! if it would, if Heaven should leave a gem like that outside her
walls, we should none of us go thither.
_Mait_. Dead? How beautiful! Yes--let her lie there--under that lovely
canopy. Dead!--it's a curious word--How comes it that we all stand here?
Ha, Andre?--is it you?
_Andre_. I heard the tale as I crossed just now, from an Indian, who was
one in the ambuscade this noon--and in the woods on the other side, I
found this lady, with her attendants, abiding the promise she made you
last night, to welcome this lovely stranger with her savage guides.
_Mait_. Hush, hush. Let it pass. See,--a bride!
_Mor_. (_Aside_.) Did he trust her with these murderers?
_Mait_. Ay--say yes.
_Andre_. Indeed, Maitland, you wrong yourself. It was the treachery of
this savage Manida that crossed your plans, working the mission of some
Higher power,--as for Alaska, you might as soon have doubted me.
The Chief he sent for her was one he had known years--but,
unfortunately, he was one in the ambuscade this morning--nay, the leader
of it; for the murdered Indian was his son; and meanwhile amid the fight
the treacherous Manida, who accompanied him to Maitland's tent last
night, and heard the promised reward, found means to steal from its
concealment the letter, with which he easily won this trusting lady to
accompany him.
_Mor_. Ah!--there it lies.
_Andre_. It was here in this glen that Alaska, discovering the
treachery, lay in wait for them with a band of chosen warriors, and on
that cliff above they fought.
_Lady A_. (_Aside_.) And she stood there, amid those yelling demons
alone! Methinks the angels should have come from their unseen dwellings
at her prayer. Can our humanity's darkest extremity wring no love from
the invisible?--
_Andre_. Alaska had regained his charge; but the malignant eye, and the
deadly arrow of the vanquished Indian followed her. She fell, even in
the place where you found her; for at that same instant a party from the
fort drove them hence, victor and vanquished. Alaska fled; but the
murderer, with a tale cunning enough to deceive the lover, boldly
demanded and obtained the prize.
_Mor_. Mark his changed mien. I would rather see tears for a grief like
this, than that calm smile with which he gazes on her now.
(_Burgoyne and St. Leger are seen talking in the road
above,--they enter the glen_.)
_Bur_. At a crisis like this we might better have lost a thousand men in
battle! Ah! ah!--a sight for our enemies, Lady Ackland! Where is this
Indian?
_St. L_. We have sent out for him. No one has seen him as yet.
_Bur_. Let him be found. Look to it. We will give them an example for
once. I say, at a crisis like this we might better have lost a thousand
men in battle, for it will turn thousands against us, and rouse the
slumbering spirit of resistance here, at the very crisis when, had it
slumbered on a little longer, all was ours.
_St. L_. But this was a quarrel among the Indians, and no fault of ours.
_Bur_. No matter. You will see what Schuyler will make of it. His wordy
proclamation will have its living sequel now. A young and innocent girl,
seeking the protection of our camp, is inhumanly murdered by Indians in
our pay. A single tale like this is enough to undo at a blow all that we
have accomplished here. With ten thousand wild aggravations, it will be
told in every cottage of these borders before to-morrow's sunset.
(_Another Officer enters hastily_.)
_Off_. Here is Arnold, with a thousand men, on the brow of the next
hill. One of the rebel guard escaped, and the news of the massacre here
has reached their camp below.
_Bur_. Said I right?
(_The three Officers go out together_.)
_Andre_. This story is spreading fast, there will be throngs here
presently. Maitland,--nay, do not let me startle you thus, but--
_Mait_. Is it you? What was it we were saying yesterday?--we should have
noted it. This were a picture worth your pencilling now. Those silken
vestments,--that long, golden hair,--this youthful shape,--there's that
same haughty grace about it, that the smile of these thought-lit eyes
would disown with every glance. Then that letter,--and the Lady Ackland
here,--Weeping?--This is most strange. I know you all,--but,--as I live
I can't remember how this chanced. How comes it that we all stand here?
Pearls?--and white silk?--a bridal?--Ha ha ha! (_Laughing wildly_.)
_Lady A_. Take me away. This is too terrible! lean stay here no longer.
Take me away, Andre.
[_Exeunt Andre and Lady A_.
(_An Officer enters_.)
_The Officer_. We are ordered to withdraw our detachment, Captain
Maitland. The rebels are just below, some two thousand strong, and in no
mood to be encountered.
_Mor_. He does not hear you. We must leave that murdered lady here, and
'tis vain to think of parting them. Come.
[_Exeunt Mortimer and Officer_.
_Mait_. They are gone at last. They are all gone. I am alone with my
dead bride. I must needs smile--I could not weep when those haughty and
prying eyes were upon me, but now--I am alone with my dead
bride.--Helen, they are all gone,--we are alone. How still she
lies,--smiling too,--on that same bank. She will speak, surely she will.
How lightly those soft lashes lie, as if a word would lift
them.--Helen!--I will be calm and patient as a child. This lovely smile
is deepening, it will melt to words again.--Hark! that spring,--that
same curious murmur! We have checked our sweetest words to hear it, we
have stood here listening to it, till we fancied, in its talk-like
tones, wild histories, beautiful and sad, the secrets of the woods.--Oh
God!--and have such memories no power here now? In mine ear alone doth
the spring murmur now. Death! what is't?--Awake! awake,--by the love
that is _stronger_ than death,--awake!--
I thought that scene would shift. It had a heavy, dream-like mistiness.
_This_ is reality again. _These_ are the pine trees that I dreamed of.
See! how beautiful! With the sharp outline and the vivid hue such as our
childhood's unworn sense yields, they are waving now. Look, Andre, there
she sits, the young and radiant stranger,--there, in the golden sunset
she is sitting still, braiding those flowers,--see, how the rich life
flashes in her eye, and yet, just now I dreamed that she was dead,
and--and--Oh my God!
(_A voice without_.)
Let go, who stays me?--where's my sister?
(_Captain Grey enters_.)
_Grey_. Ha! Murderer! art satisfied?
_Mait_. Ay.
_Grey_. What, do you mock me, Sir?
_Mait_. Let her be. She is mine!--all mine! my love, my bride,--my
_bride_?--_Murderer_?--Stay!--Don't glare at me! I know you, Sir. I can
hurl off these mountain shadows yet.--They'll send some stronger devil
ere they wrench this hold from me! I know you well. What make you here?
_Grey_. Madness!--there's little wonder!--It's the only good that Heaven
has left for him! My lovely playfellow,--my sister, is it so indeed?
Alas! all gently lies this hand in mine. There is no angry strength here
now. Helen!--Ah! would to God our last words had not been in bitterness.
_Mait_. He weeps. I never thought to see tears there. List!--she should
not lie there thus. Strange it should move you so!--Think it a picture
now. 'Tis but a well-wrought painting after all, if one but thinks so.
See,--'tis but a sleeping girl, with the red summer light upon her
cheek, and the slight breeze stirring her golden hair. Mark you that
shoulder's grace?--They come.
(_Leslie, Elliston, and others enter_.)
_Leslie_. Oh God, was there none other? My lovely cousin, and--were
_you_ the victim? In your bridal glory chosen,--nay, with your heart's
holiest law lured to the bloody altar! Yet this day's history, and
something in that calm, high mien, tells me, as freely you had moved
unto it, though God had spoken by a higher voice, and with a martyr's
garland beckoned you.
_Elliston_. Our cause is linked unto that ancient one, the cause of Love
and Truth; in which Heaven moves with unrelenting hand, not sparing its
own loveliest ones, but unto bloody death freely delivering them.
(_Grey and Leslie converse apart_.)
_Leslie_. Yes--we will bury her here. 'Tis a fitting spot; and unto
distant days, this lonely grave, with its ever-verdant canopy, shall be
even as Love's Shrine. Thither, in the calm and smiling summers of those
bloodless times shall many a fair young pilgrim come, to wonder at such
love; and living eyes shall weep, and living hearts shall heave over its
cruel fate, when unto her the long-told tale, and all the anguish of
this far-off day, shall be even as the dim passage of some troubled
dream. A martyr's garland she hath won indeed; true Love's young Martyr
there she lies.
_Elliston_. Yet was that love but the wreathed and glittering weapon of
a higher doom. In that holy cause, whose martyrs strew a thousand
fields, truth's, freedom's, God's, darkly, by _Power Invisible_ hath
this young life been offered here.
A thousand graves like this, over all this lovely land, in lanes and
fields, on the lonely hill-side, by the laughing stream, and in the
depths of many a silent wood, to distant days shall speak--of
blood-sealed destinies; with voices that no tyrant's power can smother,
they shall speak.--
_Leslie_. The light of that chamber window, through the soft summer
evening will shine here; no mournful memory of all the lovely past will
it waken. The autumn blaze will flicker within those distant walls, and
gather its pleasant circle again; but _she_ will lie calmly here. For
ever at her feet the river of her childhood shall murmur on, and many a
lovely spring-time, like the spring-times of her childhood, shall come
and go, but no yearning hope shall it waken here; the winter shall sing
through the desolate boughs, and rear its fairy temples around her, but
nought shall break her dreamless rest.--
_Mait_. Graves! Is it graves they are talking of? Will they bury this
gay young bride! 'Tis but the name; there's nothing sad in it. In the
lovely summer twilight shall her burial be, and thus; in all her bridal
array, with the glory of the crimson sunset shining through the
trees;--see what a fearful glow is kindling on her cheek, and that faint
breeze--or, is it life that stirs these curls? Stay!--whose young brow
is this?--Ha!--_whose_ smile is this? Who is this they would hurry away
into the darkness of death? The grave! Could you fold the rosy and
all-speading beauty of heaven in the narrow grave? Helen, is it
thee?--my heaven, my long-lost heaven; and, even now, but for mine own
deed--Oh God! was there no hand but mine?--but for me--They shall not
utter it,--there, thus. There's but _one_ cry that could unfold this
grief, but that would circle the round universe and fill eternity. A sad
sight this! Is't known who killed this lady, Sir?
_Leslie_. Of all the wrecks of beautiful humanity that strew these
paths, we have found none so sad as this!
_Elliston_. Mark you those groups of soldiers loitering on the road-side
there?
_An Officer_. Curiosity. The regiment that was dismissed to-day. They'll
be here anon.
_Leslie_. Ay, let them come.
_Off_. Look,--who comes up that winding pathway through the trees, with
such a swift and stately movement? A woman! See how the rude soldiers
turn aside with awe. Ah, she comes hither.
(_A voice without_.)
Where is she?--stand aside!--What have you here in this dark
ring?--Henry--nay, let me come.
(_Mrs. Grey enters the glen_.)
_Grey_. For God's sake, Madam, let me lead you hence. This is no place
for you. Look at this group of men, officers, soldiers--
_Mrs. G_. Would you cheat me _thus_? Is it no place for _me_? What kind
of place is't then for her, whose--Oh God!--think you I do not see that
slippered foot, nor know whose it is,--and whose plumed bonnet is it
that lies crushed there at their feet?--unhand me, Henry.
_Leslie_. Nay, let her come,--'tis best.
(_She passes swiftly through the parting group_.)
_Mrs. G_. My daughter!--_Blood_? My stricken child smile you? No pity
was there then? Speak to me, speak! Your mother's tears are on your
brow, and heed you not? Nay, tell me all, my smitten one. This day's
dark history will you never pour into my ear, that hath treasured so
often your lightest grief? Alone through that wild anguish have you
passed, and smile you now? I bade her trust in God. Did _God_ see this?
(_Arnold, and a group of Soldiers, enter the glen_.)
_Arnold_. Look there. Ay, ay, look there. You were right, Leslie;--this
_is_ better than a battle-field. They'll find that this day's work will
cost them dear.
_Mrs. G_. Did _God_, who loves as mothers love their babes, see this I
Had I been there, with my love, in the heavens, could _I_ have given up
this innocent and tender child a prey to the wild Indians? No!--and
legions of pitying angels waiting but my word. No,--no.
_Elliston_. Had you been there,--from that far centre whence God's eye
sees all, you had beheld what lies in darkness here. Forth from this
fearful hour you might have seen Peace, like a river, flowing o'er the
years to come; and smiles, ten thousand, thousand smiles, down the long
ages brightening, sown in this day's tears. Had you been there with
God's _all_-pitying eye, the pitying legions had waited your word in
vain, for once, unto a sterner doom, for the world's sake he gave his
Son.
_Mrs. G_. Words! Look there. That mother warned me yesterday. "_Words,
words! My own child's blood_,"--I _see_ it now.
(_A group of Soldiers enter_.)
_A. Soldier_. (_Whispering_.) Who would have thought to see tears on
_his_ face; look you, Jack Richards.
_Another Sol_. 'Twas his sister, hush!--
_Arnold_. Ay, ay, come hither. Look you there! Lay down your arms. Seek
the royal mercy;--here it is. Your wives, your sisters, and your
innocent children;--let them seek the royal shelter;--it is a safe one.
See.
_3d Sol_. It was just so in Jersey last winter;--made no difference
which side you were.
_Arnold_. Ask no reasons.--'Twas in sport may be. 'Tis but one, in many
such. Shameless tyranny we have borne long, and now, for resistance, to
red butchery we are given over. The sport of lawless soldiers, and
savages more cruel than the fiends in hell, are we, and the gentle
beings of our homes;--but, 'tis the Royal power. Lay down your arms.
_Soldiers_. (_Shouting_.) _No_.
_Arnold_. Nay, nay,--in its caprice some will be safe,--it may not light
on you. See, here's the proclamation. (_Throwing it among them_.) Pardon
for rebles.
_Soldiers_. No--no. (_Shouting_.) Away with pardon!--(_Tearing the
proclamation_.) To the death! Freedom for ever!