_Mait_. If you would give me some little inkling of what you are talking about, Lieutenant Mortimer, I should be more likely to help you, if it's help you need. _Mor_. I do not ask you to believe me, but,--as I was springing on my horse just now above there, the gurgling of this spring caught my ear, and looking down suddenly--upon my word, Captain Maitland, I am ashamed to describe what cannot but seem to you such an improbable piece of fancy-work; and yet, true it seemed, as that I see you now. I was looking down, as I said, when suddenly, among those low evergreens, the brilliant hue of a silken mantle caught my eye, and then a woman's brow gleamed up upon me. Yes, there in that dark cradle, calmly sleeping, all flashing with gold and jewels, like some bright vision of olden time, methought there lay--a lady,--a girl, young and lovely as a dream;--the white plume in her bonnet soiled and broken, and the long bright hair streaming heavily on her mantle,--and yet with all its loveliness, such a face of utter sorrow saw I never. I _saw_ her, I saw her, as I see you now,--the proud young form with such a depth of grace, in its strange repose, and--where are you going?--what are you doing, Maitland? _Mait_. Helen Grey!-- _Mor_. You are right. I did not mark that break--yes--there she lies. Said I right, Maitland? _Mait_. Helen Grey!-- _Mor_. Maitland! Heavens!--what a world of anguish that tone reveals!--Why do you stand gazing on that lovely sleeper thus? _Mait_. Bring water. There's a cup at yonder spring. Here has been treachery! Devils and fiends have been working here against me. We must unclasp this mantle. The treasure of the earth lies here.--Now doth mine arm enfold it once, at last. 'Tis sweet, Helen, mine own _true_ love; 'tis sweet, even thus. _Mor_. This letter,--see--from those loosened folds it just now dropped. This might throw some light, perchance-- _Mait_. Let it be. There's light enough. I want no more. Water,--more water,--do you see? _Mor_. Maitland,--this is vain. Mark this dark spot upon her girdle-- _Mait_. Hush, hush,--there, cover it thus--'tis nothing, Loosen this bonnet--so--'twas a firm hand that tied that knot; so--she can breathe now. _Mor_. How like life, those soft curls burst from their loosened pressure! But mark you--there is no other motion, I am sorry to distress you,--but--Maitland--this lady is dead. _Mait. Dead_! Lying hell-hound! _Dead_! Say that again. _Mor_. God help you! _Mait. Dead_! Helen Grey, open these eyes. Here's one that, never having seen them, talks of death. Oh God! is it thus we meet at last? At last these arms are round her, and she knows it not. I look upon her, but her eye answers me not. Dead!--for me? Murdered!--mine own hand hath done it. _Mor_. Why do you start thus? _Mait_. Hush!--hush! There!--again--that slow heavy throb--again! again! _Mor_. Good God! she breathes! This is life indeed. _Mait_. (_Solemnly_.) Ay, thank God. This moment's sweetness is enough.