[Points to a tree.

You see yon oak just by the little birch—

Mrs. Secord. I do.

Widow. There is a little path leads down
To a small creek, cross that, and keep the sun
Behind you half a mile, and then you strike
The bush, uncleared and wild. Good God, to think—

Mrs. Secord. Think not, but pray, and if a chance occurs
Send aid to poor Fitzgibbon. Little help
Just in the nick of time oft turns the scale
Of fortune. God bless you, dear! Good bye.

[They embrace with tears. Exit MRS. SECORD.

[!-- Begin Page 39 --]

SCENE 2.—A beautiful glade.

Enter MRS. SECORD.—After scanning the spot searchingly, she seats herself on a fallen trunk.