_Pete._ You blow, Mas'r Scudder, when I tole you; dere's a man from Noo Aleens just arriv' at de house, and he's stuck up two papers on de gates; "For sale--dis yer property," and a heap of oder tings--and he seen missus, and arter he shown some papers she burst out crying--I yelled; den de corious of little niggers dey set up, den de hull plantation children--de live stock reared up and created a purpiration of lamentation as did de ole heart good to har. _Dora._ What's the matter? _Scud._ He's come. _Pete._ Dass it--I saw'm! _Scud._ The sheriff from New Orleans has taken possession--Terrebonne is in the hands of the law. _Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E. _Zoe._ O, Mr. Scudder! Dora! Mr. Peyton! come home--there are strangers in the house. _Dora._ Stay, Mr. Peyton; Zoe, a word! [_Leads her forward--aside._] Zoe, the more I see of George Peyton the better I like him; but he is too modest--that is a very impertinent virtue in a man. _Zoe._ I'm no judge, dear. _Dora._ Of course not, you little fool; no one ever made love to you, and you can't understand; I mean, that George knows I am an heiress; my fortune would release this estate from debt. _Zoe._ O, I see! _Dora._ If he would only propose to marry me I would accept him, but he don't know that, and he will go on fooling, in his slow European way, until it is too late. _Zoe._ What's to be done? _Dora._ You tell him. _Zoe._ What? that he isn't to go on fooling in his slow-- _Dora._ No, you goose! twit him on his silence and abstraction--I'm sure it's plain enough, for he has not spoken two words to me all the day; then joke round the subject, and at last speak out. _Scud._ Pete, as you came here, did you pass Paul and the Indian with the letter-bags? _Pete._ No, sar; but dem vagabonds neber take de 'specable straight road, dey goes by de swamp. [_Exit up path,_ L. U. E. _Scud._ Come, sir! _Dora._ [_To_ Zoe.] Now's your time.--[_Aloud._] Mr. Scudder, take us with you--Mr. Peyton is so slow, there's no getting him, on. [_Exit_ Dora _and_ Scudder, L. U. E. _Zoe._ They are gone!--[_Glancing at_ George.] Poor fellow, he has lost all. _George._ Poor child! how sad she looks now she has no resource. _Zoe._ How shall I ask him to stay? _George._ Zoe, will you remain here? I wish to speak to you. _Zoe._ [_Aside._] Well, that saves trouble. _George._ By our ruin, you lose all. _Zoe._ O, I'm nothing; think of yourself. _George._ I can think of nothing but the image that remains face to face with me; so beautiful, so simple, so confiding, that I dare not express the feelings that have grown up so rapidly in my heart. _Zoe._ [_Aside._] He means Dora. _George._ If I dared to speak! _Zoe._ That's just what you must do, and do it at once, or it will be too late. _George._ Has my love been divined? _Zoe._ It has been more than suspected.