DIALOGUE II.

SCENE. _A little glen, darkly shaded with pines. A fountain issuing from one side, and falling with a curious murmur into the basin below_.

(_Mortimer and Maitland enter_.)

_Mor_. This is the place!--Well, if hallucinations like this can visit mortal eyes, I'll ne'er trust mine again. 'Tis the spot, I'm sure of it,--the place, too, that Andre was raving about just now.--The fairies'

drawing-room,--palace rather,--look at these graceful shafts, Maitland,--and fairies' work, it must have been in good earnest.

_Mait_. If it's to admire this clump of pine trees you have brought me hither, allow me to say you might have spared yourself that trouble. I have seen the place already, as often as I care to.

_Mor_. Come this way a little,--yes, it was just above there that I stood,--it must have been.

_Mait_. If you would give me some little inkling of what you are talking about, Lieutenant Mortimer, I should be more likely to help you, if it's help you need.

_Mor_. I do not ask you to believe me, but,--as I was springing on my horse just now above there, the gurgling of this spring caught my ear, and looking down suddenly--upon my word, Captain Maitland, I am ashamed to describe what cannot but seem to you such an improbable piece of fancy-work; and yet, true it seemed, as that I see you now. I was looking down, as I said, when suddenly, among those low evergreens, the brilliant hue of a silken mantle caught my eye, and then a woman's brow gleamed up upon me. Yes, there in that dark cradle, calmly sleeping, all flashing with gold and jewels, like some bright vision of olden time, methought there lay--a lady,--a girl, young and lovely as a dream;--the white plume in her bonnet soiled and broken, and the long bright hair streaming heavily on her mantle,--and yet with all its loveliness, such a face of utter sorrow saw I never. I _saw_ her, I saw her, as I see you now,--the proud young form with such a depth of grace, in its strange repose, and--where are you going?--what are you doing, Maitland?

_Mait_. Helen Grey!--

_Mor_. You are right. I did not mark that break--yes--there she lies.

Said I right, Maitland?

_Mait_. Helen Grey!--

_Mor_. Maitland! Heavens!--what a world of anguish that tone reveals!--Why do you stand gazing on that lovely sleeper thus?

_Mait_. Bring water. There's a cup at yonder spring. Here has been treachery! Devils and fiends have been working here against me. We must unclasp this mantle. The treasure of the earth lies here.--Now doth mine arm enfold it once, at last. 'Tis sweet, Helen, mine own _true_ love; 'tis sweet, even thus.

_Mor_. This letter,--see--from those loosened folds it just now dropped.

This might throw some light, perchance--

_Mait_. Let it be. There's light enough. I want no more. Water,--more water,--do you see?

_Mor_. Maitland,--this is vain. Mark this dark spot upon her girdle--

_Mait_. Hush, hush,--there, cover it thus--'tis nothing, Loosen this bonnet--so--'twas a firm hand that tied that knot; so--she can breathe now.

_Mor_. How like life, those soft curls burst from their loosened pressure! But mark you--there is no other motion, I am sorry to distress you,--but--Maitland--this lady is dead.

_Mait. Dead_! Lying h.e.l.l-hound! _Dead_! Say that again.

_Mor_. G.o.d help you!

_Mait. Dead_! Helen Grey, open these eyes. Here's one that, never having seen them, talks of death. Oh G.o.d! is it thus we meet at last? At last these arms are round her, and she knows it not. I look upon her, but her eye answers me not. Dead!--for me? Murdered!--mine own hand hath done it.

_Mor_. Why do you start thus?

_Mait_. Hush!--hush! There!--again--that slow heavy throb--again! again!

_Mor_. Good G.o.d! she breathes! This is life indeed.

_Mait_. (_Solemnly_.) Ay, thank G.o.d. This moment's sweetness is enough.

_Mor_. How like one in troubled sleep she murmurs! Mark those tones of sweet and wild entreaty. Listen!

_Mait_. I have heard it again!--from the buried years of love and hope that music came. She is here. 'Tis _she_. This is no marble mockery. She is here! Her head is on my bosom. Death cannot rob me of this sweetness now.

(_Talking without_.)

_A Lady_. This way--I hear their voices. Down this pathway--here they are.

(_Lady Ackland and Andre enter the Glen_.)

_Lady A_. I knew it could not be. They told us she was murdered, Maitland. (_Starting back_.) Ah--ah--G.o.d help thee, Maitland!

_Mait_. Listen, listen. She was speaking but now. There--again!

_Lady A_. And this is she! Can the wilderness blossom thus? And did G.o.d unfold such loveliness--for a waste so cruel?

_Helen_. (_In a low murmur_.) We are almost there. If we could but pa.s.s this glen. Oh G.o.d! will they stop here? Go on,--go on. Was not that a white tent I saw? Go on. They will not. 'Tis nothing,--do not weep.

_Mait_. Look at me, Helen.--Open these eyes. One more look--one more.

_Andre_. She hears your bidding.

_Mait_. Oh G.o.d! Do you see those eyes--those dim, bewildered eyes?--it is quenched--quenched. Let her lean on you.

_Lady A_. Gently--gently, she does not see us yet.

_Helen_. Oh Mother, I am ill and weary. Here's this dream again! Blue sky? and pine-tree boughs? Am I here indeed? Yes, I remember now,--we stood upon that cliff--I am dying. Is there no one here? Whose tears are these?

_Lady A_. Dear child, sweet one, nay, lean on me.

_Helen_. My mother, oh my mother, come to me. Come, Annie, come, come!

Strangers all!

_Mor_. Her eye is on him. Hush!

_Andre_. See in an instant how the light comes flashing up from those dim depths again. _That_ is the eye that I saw yesterday.

_Lady A_. That slowly settling smile,--deeper and deeper--saw you ever any thing so gay, so pa.s.sing lovely?

_Helen_. Is it--is it--Everard Maitland--is it _thee_? The living real of my thousand dreams, in the light of life doth he stand there now?