1st Sol. There was something in his hand, but he clenched it through it all,—this is a letter. Bring it to the fire.
2nd Sol. (reading.) "This by the Indian, as in case I am taken, he may reach the camp in safety. Not over three thousand men in all, I should think,—very little ammunition, soldiers mostly discouraged.—In Albany, they are tearing the lead off the windows of the houses, and taking the weights from the shops for ball. Talk of retreating on Thursday to the new encampment, five miles below. More when I get to you."
More! Humph! A pretty string of lies he has got here already. This must go to the General, Dick.
[Exeunt.
DIALOGUE II.
SCENE. Chamber in the Parsonage. Moonlight. Annie sitting by the window, the door open into an adjoining room.
Annie. (Calling.) Come, come,—why do you sit there scribbling so late, Helen? Come, and enjoy this beautiful night with me. Ay, what a world of invisible life amid the dew and darkness utters its glad voices; even the little insect we never saw by day, makes us feel for once the great brotherhood of being. This day week we shall be in Albany,—no more such scenes as this then.
(Helen approaches the window, and puts her arm gently around her sister.)
Helen. No more!—It was a sad word you were saying, Annie.