Helen. What a world of buried feeling lives again as I feel the clasp of this robe once more! Will he say these years have changed me?
Jan. (Aside) I do not like that altered mien. How the beauty flashes from her? Is it silk and lace that can change one so? Here are bracelets too, Ma'amselle; will you wear them?
Helen. Yes. Go, look from the window, Janette, down the lane to the woods. I am well-high ready now. He will come,—yes, he will come.
(Janette retreats to the window,—her eye still following the lady.)
Jan. I have seen brides before, but never so gay a one as this. It is strange and fearful to see her stand here alone, in this lonesome house, all in glistening white, smiling, and the light flashing from her eyes thus. She looks too much like some radiant creature from another world, to be long for this.
Helen. He will come, why should he not? Netty, fix your eye on that opening in the woods, and if you see but a shadow crossing it, tell me quickly.
Jan. I can see nothing—nothing at all. Marie sanctissima!—how quiet it is! The shadows are straight here now, Miss Helen.
Helen. Noon—the very hour has come! Another minute it may be.—Noon, you said, Netty?
(Joining Janette at the window.)
Jan. Yes, quite—you can see; and hark, there's the clock. Oh, isn't it lonesome though? See how like the Sunday those houses look, with the doors all closed and the yards and gardens still as midnight. If we could but hear a human voice!—whose, I would not care.