_M'Closky._ I don't know, but I feel it's death! In some form, human, or wild beast, or ghost, it has tracked me through the night. I fled; it followed. Hark! there it comes--it comes--don't you hear a footstep on the dry leaves? _Scud._ Your crime has driven you mad. _M'Closky._ D'ye hear it--nearer--nearer--ah! [Wahnotee _rushes on, and at_ M'Closky, L. H.] _Scud._ The Injiun! by thunder. _Pete._ You'se a dead man, Mas'r Clusky--you got to b'lieve dat. _M'Closky._ No--no. If I must die, give me up to the law; but save me from the tomahawk. You are a white man; you'll not leave one of your own blood to be butchered by the red-skin? _Scud._ Hold on now, Jacob; we've got to figure on that--let us look straight at the thing. Here we are on the selvage of civilization. It ain't our sile, I believe, rightly; but Nature has said that where the white man sets his foot, the red man and the black man shall up sticks and stand around. But what do we pay for that possession? In cash? No--in kind--that is, in protection, forbearance, gentleness; in all them goods that show the critters the difference between the Christian and the savage. Now, what have you done to show them the distinction? for, darn me, if I can find out. _M'Closky._ For what I have done, let me be tried. _Scud._ You have been tried--honestly tried and convicted. Providence has chosen your executioner. I shan't interfere. _Pete._ O, no; Mas'r Scudder, don't leave Mas'r Closky like dat--don't, sa--'tain't what good Christian should do. _Scud._ D'ye hear that, Jacob? This old nigger, the grandfather of the boy you murdered, speaks for you--don't that go through you? D'ye feel it? Go on, Pete, you've waked up the Christian here, and the old hoss responds. [_Throws bowie-knife to_ M'Closky.] Take that, and defend yourself. _Exit_ Scudder _and_ Pete, R. 1. E.--Wahnotee _faces him.--Fight--buss._ M'Closky _runs off,_ L. 1. E.--Wahnote _follows him.--Screams outside._ Scene IV.--_Parlor at Terrebonne._ Enter Zoe, C. [_Music._] _Zoe._ My home, my home! I must see you no more. Those little flowers can live, but I cannot. To-morrow they'll bloom the same--all will be here as now, and I shall be cold. O! my life, my happy life; why has it been so bright? _Enter_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Dora, C. _Dora._ Zoe, where have you been? _Mrs. P._ We felt quite uneasy about you. _Zoe._ I've been to the negro quarters. I suppose I shall go before long, and I wished to visit all the places, once again, to see the poor people. _Mrs. P._ Zoe, dear, I'm glad to see you more calm this morning. _Dora._ But how pale she looks, and she trembles so. _Zoe._ Do I? [_Enter_ George, C.] Ah! he is here. _Dora._ George, here she is! _Zoe._ I have come to say good-by, sir; two hard words--so hard, they might break many a heart; mightn't they? _George._ O, Zoe! can you smile at this moment?