Mrs. G. Farewell, Helen.
Helen. Part we thus?
Mrs. G. Fare ye well, Helen Grey, my own sweet and precious child, my own lovely, lovely daughter, fare ye well, and the Lord be with you. The Lord keep you, for I can keep you now no more. The Lord watch over you, my helpless one, mine, mine, mine, all mine, though I leave you thus; my world of untold wealth, unto another. Nay, do not sorrow, my blessed child,—you will be happy yet. Fear nothing,—if this must be, I say, fear nothing. You think that you are doing right in forsaking us thus;—it may be that you are. If in the strength of a pure conscience you stay here to-day,—be not afraid. When you lay here of old, a lisping babe, I told you of One whose love was better than a mother's. Now farewell, and trust in Him. Farewell, mine eye shall see thee yet again. Farewell.
Helen. No, no; leave me not.
Mrs. G. Unclasp these hands, I cannot stay.
Helen. Never—never.
Mrs. G. Untwine this wild embrace, or, even now,—even now—
Helen. Farewell, mother. Annie Grey, farewell.
[They go.
Helen. This is a weary world. Take me home. To the land where there is no crying or bitterness, take me home.