DIALOGUE II.
SCENE. The deserted house—the chamber—Helen by the table—her head bowed and motionless. She rises slowly from her drooping posture.
Helen. It is my bridal day. I had forgotten that. (Looking from the window.) Is this real? Am I here alone? My mother gone? The army gone? brothers and sisters gone, and those woods full of armed Indians? I am awake. This is not the light of dreams,—'tis the sun that's shining there. Not the fresh arid tender morning sun, that looked in on that parting. Hours he has climbed since then, to turn those shadows thus,—hours that to me were nothing.—Alone?—deserted—defenceless? Of my own will too? There was a law in that will, though, was there not? (Turning suddenly from the window.) Shall I see him again? The living real of my thousand dreams, in the light of life, will he stand here to-day?—to-day? No, no. Is this swift flow of being leading on to that? Oh day of anguish, if in thine awful bosom, still, that dazzling instant sleeps, I can forgive the rest.
(She stands by the toilette, and begins to gather once more the long hair from her shoulders. Suddenly a low voice at the door breaks the stillness. The Canadian servant looks in.)
Jan. I ask your pardon—Shall I come in, Ma'amselle?
Helen. Ay, ay, come in. How strangely any voice sounds amid this loneliness. I am glad you are here.
Jan. (Entering.) Beautiful! Santa Maria! How beautiful! May I look at these things, Ma'amselle? (Stopping by the couch strewn with bridal gear.) Real Brussels! And the plume in this bonnet, was there ever such a lovely droop?
Helen. Come, fasten this clasp for me, Netty. I thought to have had another bridesmaid once, but—that is past— Yes, I am a bride to-day, and I must not wait here unadorned. (Aside.) He shall have no hint from me this day of "altered fortunes." As though these weary years had been but last night's dream, and my wedding-day had come as it was fixed, so will I meet him.—Yet I thought to have worn my shroud sooner than this robe.
Jan. This silk would stand alone, Ma'amselle,—and what a lovely white it is! Just such a bodice as this I saw my Lady Mary wear, two years ago this summer, in Quebec; only, this is a thought deeper. But, Santa Maria! how it becomes a shape like yours!