_Helen_. Yes--that's the look,--the very look--all night I saw it;--it
does not move me now, as it did then. It is shadows of these things that
are so fearful, for with the real comes the unreckoned power of
suffering. Mother, this dark coil hath Heaven wound, not we. The tie
which makes his path the way of God to me, was linked ere this war
was,--and war cannot undo it now. It is a bitter fate, I know,--a bitter
and a fearful one.
_Mrs. G_. Ay, ay,--thank God! You had forgotten, Helen, that in that
army's pay, nay, all around us even now are hordes and legions.
_Helen_. I know it,--I know it all. I do indeed.
_Mrs. G_. Helen, will you place yourself defenceless amidst that savage
race, whose very name from your childhood upwards, has filled you with
such strange fear? Yesterday I chid you for those fancies,--I was
wrong,--they were warnings, heaven-sent, to save you from this doom.
What was that dream you talked of then?
_Helen_. Dreams are nothing. Will you unsay a life's lessons now when
most I need them?
_Mrs. G_. Yesterday, all day, a shadow as of coming evil lay upon me,
but now I remember the forgotten vision whence it fell.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108