_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. How gently he rears his beautiful head. There they go. Adieu! Was there ever so sad a smile? Another glimpse I shall have of them yet beyond those trees.--Yes, there they go--there they go. I can see that lovely plume waving among the trees still.--Was there ever so wild a bridal train? * * * * * DIALOGUE III. SCENE. _British Camp. The interior of a Tent richly furnished. An Officer seated at a table covered with papers and maps. A Servant in waiting_. _The Officer_. (_Sipping his wine, and carefully examining a plan of the adjacent country_.) About here, we must be--let me see.--I heard the drum from their fort this morning, distinctly. Turn that curtain; we might get a faint breeze there now. _Ser't_. But the sun will be coming that side, Sir. It's past two o'clock. _Off_. Past two--a good position--very. Well, well,--we'll take our breakfast in Albany on Friday morning, and if our soldiers fast a day or two ere then, why they'll relish it the better;--once in the rich country beyond--Ay, it will take more troops than this General will have at his bidding by that time, to drain the Hudson's borders for us. (_A Servant enters with a note_.) _Off_. (_Reading_.) "_The Baroness Reidesel's compliments--do her the honor---Voisin has succeeded_."--Ay, ay,--Voisin has succeeded,--I'll warrant that. That caterer of hers must be in league with the powers of the air, I am certain. General Burgoyne will be but too happy, my Lady--(_writing the answer_.) [_The Servant goes out_. _Off_. Past two! The cannon should be in sight ere this. This to Sir George Ackland. [_Exit the Attendant_. _Off_. Tuesday--Wednesday.--If the batteaux should get here to-morrow. One hundred teams---- (_Another Officer enters the tent_.) _1st Off_. How goes it abroad, Colonel St. Leger? _2nd Off_. Indeed, Sir, the camp is as quiet as midnight. It's a breathless heat. But there are a few dark heads swelling in the west. We may have a shower yet ere night. _Bur_. Good news that. But here is better, (_giving the other an open letter_.) _St. Leger_. Ay, ay, that reads well, Sir. _Bur_. And here is another as good. Yes Sir, yes Sir,--they are flocking in from all quarters--the insurgents are laying down their arms by hundreds. It must be a miserable fragment that Schuyler has with him by this.