Yes.
_Helen_. Well,--I am ready. (_Lingering in the door_.) I shall sit by
that window no more. Never again shall I turn those blinds to catch the
breeze or the sunshine. Yes--(_returning_), let me look down on that
orchard once again. Never more--never more.
(_She walks to the door, again pausing on the threshold_.)
_Helen_. (_solemnly_.) Oh God, here, from childhood to this hour,
morning and evening I have called on thee--forget me not. Farewell,
Netty, you will see my mother--you will see them all--that is
past.--Tell her I had seen the Indians, and was not afraid.
[_She goes out_.
_Jan_. It won't take much to make an angel of her, there's that in it.
(_Looking cautiously through the shutters_.)
There she comes! How every eye in that wild group flashes on her! And
yet with what a calm and stately bearing she meets them. Holy Mary! she
suffers that savage creature to lift her to her horse, as though he were
her brother, and the long knife by his side too, glancing in the
sunshine! The horse, one would think, he knew the touch of that white
hand on his neck.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141