[_Exit_.
_Mrs. G_. Did I say right, Helen? It cannot be feigned. Those quick
smiles, with their thousand lovely meanings; those eyes, whose beams
lead straight to the smiling soul. Principle is it? There is no
principle in this, but joy, or else it strikes so deep, that the joy
grows up from it, genuine, not feigned; and yet I have found her weeping
once or twice of late, in unexplained agony. Helen!
_Helen_. Oh mother! is it you? Thank God. I thought----
_Mrs. G_. What did you think? What moves you thus?
_Helen_. I thought--'tis nothing. This _is_ very strange.
_Mrs. G_. Why do you look through that window thus? There's no one
there! What is it that's so strange?
_Helen_. Is it to-morrow that we go?
_Mrs. G_. To Albany? Why, no; on Thursday. You are bewildered, Helen!
surely you could not have forgotten that.
_Helen_. I wish it was to-day. I do.
_Mrs. G_. My child, yesterday, when the question was debated here, and
wishing might have been of some avail, 'tis true you did not say much,
but I thought, and so we all did, that you chose to stay.
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