The Bride Of Fort Edward: Founded On An Incident Of The Revolution Part 14

_Helen_. Yes,--bid her come.

_Annie_. Heaven only knows what you mean with this wild talk of yours, but if you are not mad indeed, I intreat you, sister, waste no more of this precious time.

_Helen_. No, no,--we must not indeed. It was wrong, but I could not--go,--make haste, bid her come.

_Annie_. She is crazed, certainly!

[_Goes out_.

(_Helen stands with her arms folded, and her eye fixed on the door_.)

(_Mrs. Grey enters_.)

_Mrs. G_. My child! Helen, Helen! Why do you stand there thus?

_Helen_. Mother----

_Mrs. G_. Nay, do not stay to speak. There--throw this mantle around you. Where is your hat?--not here!--Bridal gear!

(_George enters_.)

_George_. On my word! Well, well, stand there a little longer, to dress those pretty curls of yours, and--humph--there's a style in vogue in yonder camp for rebels just now; we'll all stand a chance to try, I think.

_Helen_. George!--George Grey!--Be still,--be still.--We must not think of that. It was a dream.

_George_. Is my sister mad?

_Helen_. Mother--

_Mrs. G_. Speak, my child.

_Helen_. Mother--my blessed mother,--(_aside_.) 'Tis but a brief word,--it will be over soon.

_Mrs. G_. Speak, Helen.

_Helen_. I cannot go with you, mother.

_Mrs. G_. Helen?

_George_. Not go with us?

_Mrs. G_. Helen, do you know what you are saying?

_George_. You are in jest, Helen; or else you are mad,--before another sunset the British army will be encamping here.

_Helen_. Hear me, mother. A message from the British camp came to me last night,--

_Mrs. G_. The British camp?--Ha!--ha! Everard Maitland! G.o.d forgive him.

_Helen_. Do not speak thus. It was but a few cold and careless lines he sent me,--my purpose is my own.

_Mrs. G_. And--what, and he does not know?--Helen Grey, this pa.s.ses patience.

_Helen_. He does, Here is the answer that has just now come; for I have promised to meet him to-day at the hut of the missionary in yonder woods.--I can hardly spell these hasty words; but this I know, he will surely come for me,--though he bids me wait until I hear his signal,--so I cannot go with you, mother.

_Mrs. G_. Where will you go, Helen?

_Helen_. Everard is in yonder camp;--where should the wife's home be?

_Mrs. G_. The wife's?

_Helen_. These two years I have been his bride;--his wedded wife I shall be to-day. Yonder dawns my bridal day.

_George_. What does she say? What does Helen say? I do not understand one word of it.

_Mrs. G_. She says she will go to the British camp. Desertions thicken upon us. Hark!--they are calling us.

_George_. To the British camp?

_Mrs. G_. Go down, George, go down. Your sister talks wildly and foolishly, what you should not have heard, what she will be sorry for anon; go down, and tell them they must wait for us a little,--we will be there presently.

_George_. Hark! (_going to the door_.)--another message. Do you hear?--Helen may be ready yet, if she will.

_Mrs. G_. Blessed delay! Go down, George; say nothing of this. There is time yet. Tell them we will be there presently.

(_George goes out_.)

_Mrs. G_. Did you think I should leave you here to accomplish this frantic scheme?--Did you dream of it, and you call me mother?--but what do you know of that name's meaning? Do not turn away from me thus, my child; do not stand with that fixed eye as though some phantom divinity were there. I shall not leave you here, Helen, never.

Come, come; sit down with me in this pleasant window, there is time yet,--let us look at this moonlight scheme of yours a little. Would you stay here in this deserted citadel, alone? My child, our army are already on their march. In an hour more you would be the only living thing in all this solitude. Would you stay here alone, to meet your lover too?--Bethink yourself, Helen.

_Helen_. This Canadian girl will stay with me, and----

_Mrs. G_. A girl!--Helen, yesterday an army's strength, the armies of the nation, the love of mother, and brothers, and sisters, all seemed nothing for protection to your timid and foreboding thought; and now, when the enemy are all around us,--do you talk of a single girl? Why, the spirit of some strange destiny is struggling with your nature, and speaks within you, but we will not yield to it.

_Helen_. You have spoken truly, mother. There is one tie in these hearts of ours, whose strength makes destiny, and where that leads, there lie those iron ways that are of old from everlasting. This is Heaven's decree, not mine.

_Mrs. G_. Do not charge the madness of this frantic scheme on Heaven, my child.

_Helen. Everard!_--no, no, I cannot show to another the lightning flash, that with that name reveals my destiny,--yet the falling stone might as soon--question of its way. Renounce him?--you know not what you ask! all there is of life within me laughs at the wild impossibility.

Mother, hear me. There is no danger in my staying here,--none real. The guard still keep their station on yonder hill, and the fort itself will not be wholly abandoned to-day. Everard will come for me at noon.--It is impossible that the enemy should be here ere then; nay, the news of this unlooked-for movement will scarce have reached their camp.--_Real_ danger there is none, and--Do not urge me. I know what you would say; the bitter cost I have counted all, already, all--_all_. That Maitland is in yonder camp, that--is it not a strange blessedness which can sweeten anguish such as this?--that he loves me still, that he will come here to-day to make me his forever,--this is all that I can say, my mother.

_Mrs. G_. Will you go over to the British side, Helen? Will you go over to the side of wrong and oppression? Would you link yourself with our cruel and pursuing enemy? Oh no, no no,--that could not be--never, Amid the world of fearful thoughts that name brings, how could we place your image? Oh G.o.d, I did not count on this. I knew that this war was to bring us toil, and want, and fear, and haply b.l.o.o.d.y death; and I could have borne it unmurmuringly; but--G.o.d forgive me,--that the child I nursed in these arms should forsake me, and join with our deadly foes against us--I did not count on this.

_Helen_. Yes--that's the look,--the very look--all night I saw it;--it does not move me now, as it did then. It is shadows of these things that are so fearful, for with the real comes the unreckoned power of suffering. Mother, this dark coil hath Heaven wound, not we. The tie which makes his path the way of G.o.d to me, was linked ere this war was,--and war cannot undo it now. It is a bitter fate, I know,--a bitter and a fearful one.

_Mrs. G_. Ay, ay,--thank G.o.d! You had forgotten, Helen, that in that army's pay, nay, all around us even now are hordes and legions.