John of the Glens, and--who brought you this letter,
George? 'Tis false! I do not believe it, not a word of it. Why, here are
twenty names, people that we know, the most honorable, too,--forsaking
us now, at such a crisis!
_George_. Self-defence, self-defence, sister; their lands and their
houses must be saved from devastation. What sort of barracks think you,
would that fine country-seat of McGregor's make?--and St. John's--_he_
is a farmer you know, and his fields are covered with beautiful grain,
that a week will ripen, and so, he is for turning his sword into a
sickle;--besides, there are worse things than pillage threatened here.
Look, (_unfolding a hand-bill_.) Just at this time comes this villainous
proclamation from Skeensborough, scattered about among our soldiers
nobody knows how, half of them on the eve of desertion before, and the
other half--what ails you, Helen?
_Helen_. There he stands!
_Annie_. Is she crazed? Why do you clasp your hands so wildly? for
Heaven's sake, Helen!--her cheek is white as death.--Helen!
_Helen_. Is he gone, Annie?
_Annie_. As I live, I do not know what you are talking of.
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