_Mrs. G_. And farewell, Helen. Fare ye well. _Helen_. Will she leave me thus? _Mrs. G_. Do not go to the hut--do not leave this door until you are sure of the signal you spoke of, Helen. _Helen_. She will not look at me,--Mother! _Mrs. G_. Farewell, Helen; may the hour never come when you need the love you have cast from you now so freely. _Helen_. Will you leave me thus? Is not our life together ending here? In that great and solemn Hereafter our ways may meet again; but by the light of sun, or moon, or candle, or underneath these Heavens, no more. Oh! lovely, lovely have you been unto me, a spirit of holiness and beauty, building all my way.--Part we thus? _Mrs. G_. Farewell, Helen. _Helen_. Part we thus? _Mrs. G_. Fare ye well, Helen Grey, my own sweet and precious child, my own lovely, lovely daughter, fare ye well, and the Lord be with you. The Lord keep you, for I can keep you now no more. The Lord watch over you, my helpless one, mine, mine, mine, all mine, though I leave you thus; my world of untold wealth, unto another. 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. Hark! There it is!--that voice,--I hear it now, I do. A dark eternity had rolled between us, and I hear it yet again. They are going now. Those rolling wheels, oh that that sound would last. There is no music half so sweet. Fainter--fainter--it is gone--no--that was but the hollow.--Hark---- Now they are gone, indeed. So breaks the sense's last link between me and that world. * * * * * PART FIFTH. * * * * * FULFILLMENT * * * * * DIALOGUE I. SCENE. _The hill. A young Soldier enters_.