_Arnold_. Ay, and good news too. _Leslie_. But that cannot be, Sir--Alaska-- _Gen. Schuyler_. Alaska has broken faith with us if it is, and the army have avoided the delay we had planned for them.--That may be.--This man overheard their scouts in the woods just below us here. _Arnold_. And if it is,--do you talk of retreat, General Schuyler? In your power now it lies, with one hour's work perchance, to make those lying enemies of yours in Congress eat the dust, to clear for ever your blackened fame. Why, Heaven itself is interfering to do you right, and throwing honor in your way as it were! Do you talk of retreat, Sir, now? _Gen. Schuyler_. Heaven has other work on hand just now, than righting the wrongs of such heroes as you and I, Sir. Colonel Arnold--I beg your pardon, Sir, Congress has done you justice at last I see,--General Arnold, you are right as to the consequence, yet, for all that, if this news is true, I must order the retreat. My reputation I'll trust in God's hands. My honor is in my own keeping. [_Exeunt Schuyler, Leslie, and Van Vechten_. _Arnold_. There's a smoke from that chimney; are those houses inhabited, my boy? _Boy_. Part of them, Sir. Some of our people went oft to-day. That white house by the orchard--the old parsonage there? Ay, there are ladies there Sir, but I heard Colonel Leslie saying this morning 'twas a sin and a shame for them to stay another hour. _Arnold_. Ay, Ay. I fancied the Colonel was not dealing in abstractions just now. [_Exeunt_. * * * * * DIALOGUE IV. SCENE. _A room in the Parsonage,--an old-fashioned summer parlor.---On the side a door and windows opening into an orchard, in front, a yard filled with shade trees. The view beyond bounded by a hill partly wooded. A young girl, in the picturesque costume of the time, lies sleeping on the antique sofa. Annie sits by a table, covered with coarse needlework, humming snatches of songs as she works_. _Annie_, (_singing_.) _Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away. Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away. And flies weeping away. The red cloud of war o'er our forest is scowling, Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away. Come blow the shrill bugle, the war dogs are howling, Already they eagerly snuff out their prey-- The red cloud of war--the red cloud of war_-- Yes, let me see now,--with a little plotting this might make two--two, at least,--and then-- _The red cloud of war o'er our forest is scowling, Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away, The infants affrighted cling close to their mothers, The youths grasp their swords, and for combat prepare; While beauty weeps fathers, and lovers, and brothers, Who are gone to defend_--