Oh my God--is it from thee?
_Annie_. Helen! my sister! Helen!
_Mrs. G_. Ay, look at her. Would you think that the spirit which heaves
in that light frame, and glances in those soft eyes, held such cruel
power? Yesterday I would have counted it a breath in the way of my
lightest purpose, and now--come away, Annie--it is vain, you cannot move
her.
(_George enters_.)
_George_. Mother, if Helen will not go now, we must leave her to her
fate or share it with her. Every wagon is on the road but ours. A little
more, and we shall be too late for the protection of the army. Shall I
stay with her?
_Mrs. G_. No, never. That were a sure and idle waste of life. Helen,
perhaps, may be safe with them. Oh. yes, the refugees are safe, else
desertion would grow out of fashion soon.
_Annie_. Refugees! Refugee! Helen!
_Mrs. G_. It sounds strange for one of us I know. You will grow used to
it soon. Helen belongs to the British side, she will go over to them
to-day, but she must go alone, for none of us would be safe in British
hands, at least I trust so--this morning's experience might make me
doubtful, but I trust we are all true here yet beside.
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