Nay, do not sorrow, my blessed
child,--you will be happy yet. Fear nothing,--if this must be, I say,
fear nothing. You think that you are doing right in forsaking us
thus;--it may be that you are. If in the strength of a pure conscience
you stay here to-day,--be not afraid. When you lay here of old, a
lisping babe, I told you of One whose love was better than a mother's.
Now farewell, and trust in Him. Farewell, mine eye shall see thee yet
again. Farewell.
_Helen_. No, no; leave me not.
_Mrs. G_. Unclasp these hands, I cannot stay.
_Helen_. Never--never.
_Mrs. G_. Untwine this wild embrace, or, even now,--even now----
_Helen_. Farewell, mother. Annie Grey, farewell.
[_They go_.
_Helen_. This is a weary world. Take me home. To the land where there is
no crying or bitterness, take me home.
(_The noise of retreating steps is heard, and the sound
of the outer door closing heavily_.)
_Helen_. They are gone,--not to church,--not for the summer's ride. I
shall see them no more.--In heaven it may be; but by the twilight
hearth, or merry table, at morn, or noon, or evening, in mirth or
earthly tenderness, no more.
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