The Bride Of Fort Edward: Founded On An Incident Of The Revolution Part 10

_Mait_. Is not that horse ready yet?

_Ser't_. Presently, your honor.

[_Exit_.

_Mait_. So the fellow has been here, it seems, and returned again to Fort Edward without seeing me. Of course, my lady deigns no answer.--An answer! Well, I thought I expected none. Ten minutes ago I should have sworn I expected none. Why, by this time that letter of mine has gone the rounds of the garrison, no doubt. William!

(_The servant enters_.)

Bring that horse round, you rascal,--must I be under your orders too, forsooth?

_Ser't_. Certainly, your honor,--but if he could but just,--I am a-going, Sir,--but if he could but just take a mouthful or two more.

There's never a baiting-place till--

_Mait_. Do you hear?

(_The Servant retreats hastily_.)

_Mait_. The curse of having lived in these wilds cleaves to me in all things. Here are Andre and Mortimer, and a hundred more, and none but I for this midnight service.

_Ser't_. (_Re-entering_.) The horse is waiting, Sir,--but here's two of these painted creturs hanging about the door, waiting to see you.

(_Handing him a packet_.)

There's no use in swearing at them, Sir, they don't understand it.

_Mait_. (_Breaking the seals hastily, he discovers the miniature_.) Back again! Well, we'll try drowning next,--nay, this is as I sent it! That rascal dropped it in the woods perhaps! Softly,--what have we here!

(_He discovers, and reads the letter_.)

Who brought this?

_Ser't_. The Indian that was here yesterday.

_Mait_. Alaska! Here's blood on the envelope, on the letter too, and here--This packet has been soaked in blood. (_Re-reading the letter_.)

"To-morrow"--"twelve o'clock" to-morrow--Look if the light be burning in the Lady Ackland's window,--she was up as I pa.s.sed. "Twelve o'clock"--There are more horses on this route than these cunning settlers choose to reckon. Why, there are ten hours yet--I shall be back ere then. Helen--do I dream?--This is love!--How I have wronged her.--This _is_ love!

_Ser't_. (_At the door_.) The horse is waiting, Sir,--and this Indian here wont stir till he sees you.

_Mait_. Alaska--I must think of it,--_risk?_--I would pledge my life on his truth. He has seen her too,--I remember now, he saw her--with me at the lake. Let him come in.--No, stop, I will speak with him as I go.

[_Exeunt_.

DIALOGUE VI.

SCENE. _Lady Ackland's door_.

_Lady Ackland_. Married!--His wife?--Well, I think I'll not try to sleep again. There goes Orion with his starry girdle.--Married--is he?

_Maid_. Was not that Captain Maitland that was talking here just now, Lady Harriet?

_Lady A_. Go to bed, Margaret,--go to bed,--but look you though.

To-morrow with the dawn that furnis.h.i.+ng gear we left in the tent must be unpacked, and this empty room--whose wife, think you, is my guest tomorrow, Margaret?

_Maid_. Bless me! If I were to guess till daylight, my lady----

_Lady A_. This young Maitland, you think so handsome, Margaret----

_Maid_. I?--la, it was not I, my lady, I am sure.

_Lady A_.--He will bring us his wife home here tomorrow, a young and beautiful wife.

_Maid_. Wife?----

_Lady A_. Poor child,--we must give her a gentle welcome. Do you remember those flowers we saw in the glen as we pa.s.sed?--I will send for them in the morning, and we will fill the vacant hearth with these blossoming boughs.----

_Maid_. But, here--in these woods, a wife!--where on earth will he bring her from, my lady?

_Lady A_. Ay, we shall see, to-morrow we shall see,--go dream the rest.

[_Exit the maid_.

_Lady A_. Who would have thought it?--so cold and proud he seemed, so scornful of our s.e.x.--And yet I knew something there lay beneath it all.--Even in that wild, gay mood, when the light of mirth filled and o'er-flowed those splendid eyes,--deeper still, I saw always the calm sorrow-beam s.h.i.+ning within.

That picture he showed me--how pretty it was!--The face haunts me with its look of beseeching loveliness.--Was there anything so sorrowful about it though?--Nay, the look was a smile, and yet a strange mourn-fulness clings to my thought of it now. Well, if the painter hath not dissembled in it--the _painter_?--no. The spirit of those eyes was of no painter's making. From the _Eidos_ of the Heavenly Mind sprung that.

I shall see her to-morrow.--Nay, I must meet her in the outskirts of the camp,--so went my promise,--if Maitland be not here ere then.

[_Exit_.

THOUGHTS.

SCENE. _The Hill. The Student's Night-watch_.

How beautiful the night, through all these hours Of nothingness, with ceaseless music wakes Among the hills, trying the melodies Of myriad chords on the lone, darkened air, With lavish power, self-gladdened, caring nought That there is none to hear. How beautiful!

That men should live upon a world like this, Uncovered all, left open every night To the broad universe, with vision free To roam the long bright galleries of creation, Yet, to their strange destiny ne'er wake.