_Helen_. It is my bridal day. I had forgotten that. (_Looking from the window_.) Is this real? Am I here alone? My mother gone? The army gone? brothers and sisters gone, and those woods full of armed Indians? I am awake. This is not the light of dreams,--'tis the sun that's shining there. Not the fresh arid tender morning sun, that looked in on that parting. Hours he has climbed since then, to turn those shadows thus,--hours that to me were nothing.--Alone?--deserted--defenceless? Of my own will too? There was a _law_ in that will, though, was there not? (_Turning suddenly from the window_.) Shall I see him again? The living real of my thousand dreams, in the light of life, will he stand here to-day?--to-day? No, no. Is this swift flow of being leading on to _that_? Oh day of anguish, if in thine awful bosom, still, that dazzling instant sleeps, I can forgive the rest. (_She stands by the toilette, and begins to gather once more the long hair from her shoulders. Suddenly a low voice at the door breaks the stillness. The Canadian servant looks in_.) _Jan_. I ask your pardon--Shall I come in, Ma'amselle? _Helen_. Ay, ay, come in. How strangely any voice sounds amid this loneliness. I am glad you are here. _Jan_. (_Entering_.) Beautiful! Santa Maria! How beautiful! May I look at these things, Ma'amselle? (_Stopping by the couch strewn with bridal gear_.) Real Brussels! And the plume in this bonnet, was there ever such a lovely droop? _Helen_. Come, fasten this clasp for me, Netty. I thought to have had another bridesmaid once, but--that is past--Yes, I am a bride to-day, and I must not wait here unadorned. (_Aside_.) He shall have no hint from me this day of "_altered fortunes_." As though these weary years had been but last night's dream, and my wedding-day had come as it was fixed, so will I meet him.--Yet I thought to have worn my shroud sooner than this robe. _Jan_. This silk would stand alone, Ma'amselle,--and what a lovely white it is! Just such a bodice as this I saw my Lady Mary wear, two years ago this summer, in Quebec; only, this is a thought deeper. But, Santa Maria! how it becomes a shape like yours! _Helen_. What a world of buried feeling lives again as I feel the clasp of this robe once more! Will he say these years have changed me? _Jan_. (_Aside_) I do not like that altered mien. How the beauty flashes from her? Is it silk and lace that can change one so? Here are bracelets too, Ma'amselle; will you wear them? _Helen_. Yes. Go, look from the window, Janette, down the lane to the woods. I am well-high ready now. He will come,--yes, he will come. (_Janette retreats to the window,--her eye still following the lady_.)