Oh God! will they stop here? Go on,--go on. Was not that a
white tent I saw? Go on. They will not. 'Tis nothing,--do not weep.
_Mait_. Look at me, Helen.--Open these eyes. One more look--one more.
_Andre_. She hears your bidding.
_Mait_. Oh God! Do you see those eyes--those dim, bewildered eyes?--it
is quenched--quenched. Let her lean on you.
_Lady A_. Gently--gently, she does not see us yet.
_Helen_. Oh Mother, I am ill and weary. Here's this dream again! Blue
sky? and pine-tree boughs? Am I here indeed? Yes, I remember now,--we
stood upon that cliff--I am dying. Is there no one here? Whose tears are
these?
_Lady A_. Dear child, sweet one, nay, lean on me.
_Helen_. My mother, oh my mother, come to me. Come, Annie, come, come!
Strangers all!
_Mor_. Her eye is on him. Hush!
_Andre_. See in an instant how the light comes flashing up from those
dim depths again. _That_ is the eye that I saw yesterday.
_Lady A_. That slowly settling smile,--deeper and deeper--saw you ever
any thing so gay, so passing lovely?
_Helen_. Is it--is it--Everard Maitland--is it _thee_? The living real
of my thousand dreams, in the light of life doth he stand there now?
Doth he? _'Tis he!_
_Mait_.
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