Thanks, my mother.
Mrs. Bland.
M'Donald sent me hither. My woes are past.
Thy father, by the foe releas'd, already
Is in safety. This be forgotten now;
And every thought be turn'd to this sad scene.
Come, lady, home with me.
Honora.
Go home with thee?
Art thou my André's mother? We will home
And rest, for thou art weary—very weary.
[Leans on Mrs. Bland.
[André retires to the Guard, and goes off with them, looking on her to the last, and with an action of extreme tenderness takes leave of her. Melville and Bland accompany him.
Honora.
Now we will go. Come, love! Where is he?
All gone!—I do remember—I awake—
They have him. Murder! Help! Oh, save him! save him!
[Honora attempts to follow, but falls. Mrs. Bland kneels to assist her. Scene closes.