_Zoe._ You see how easily I have become reconciled to my fate--so it will be with you. You will not forget poor Zoe! but her image will pass away like a little cloud that obscured your happiness a while--you will love each other; you are both too good not to join your hearts. Brightness will return amongst you. Dora, I once made you weep; those were the only tears I caused any body. Will you forgive me? _Dora._ Forgive you--[_Kisses her._] _Zoe._ I feel you do, George. _George._ Zoe, you are pale. Zoe!--she faints! _Zoe._ No; a weakness, that's all--a little water. [_Dora gets water._] I have a restorative here--will you poor it in the glass? [Dora _attempts to take it._] No; not you--George. [George _pours contents of phial in glass._] Now, give it to me. George, dear George, do you love me? _George._ Do you doubt it, Zoe? _Zoe._ No! [_Drinks._] _Dora._ Zoe, if all I possess would buy your freedom, I would gladly give it. _Zoe._ I am free! I had but one Master on earth, and he has given me my freedom! _Dora._ Alas! but the deed that freed you was not lawful. _Zoe._ Not lawful--no--but I am going to where there is no law--where there is only justice. _George._ Zoe, you are suffering--your lips are white--your cheeks are flushed. _Zoe._ I must be going--it is late. Farewell, Dora. [_Retires._] _Pete._ [_Outside,_ R.] Whar's Missus--whar's Mas'r George? _George._ They come. _Enter_ Scudder. _Scud._ Stand around and let me pass--room thar! I feel so big with joy, creation ain't wide enough to hold me. Mrs. Peyton, George Peyton, Terrebonne is yours. It was that rascal M'Closky--but he got rats, I avow--he killed the boy, Paul, to rob this letter from the mail-bags--the letter from Liverpool you know--he sot fire to the shed--that was how the steamboat got burned up. _Mrs. P._ What d'ye mean? _Scud._ Read--read that. [_Gives letter._] _George._ Explain yourself. _Enter_ Sunnyside. _Sunny._ Is it true? _Scud._ Every word of it, Squire. Here, you tell it, since you know it. If I was to try, I'd bust. _Mrs. P._ Read, George. Terrebonne is yours. _Enter_ Pete, Dido, Solon, Minnie, _and_ Grace. _Pete._ Whar is she--whar is Miss Zoe? _Scud._ What's the matter? _Pete._ Don't ax me. Whar's de gal? I say. _Scud._ Here she is--Zoe!--water--she faints. _Pete._ No--no. 'Tain't no faint--she's a dying, sa; she got pison from old Dido here, this mornin'. _George._ Zoe. _Scud._ Zoe! is this true?--no, it ain't--darn it, say it ain't. Look here, you're free, you know nary a master to hurt you now; you will stop here as long as you're a mind to, only don't look so. _Dora._ Her eyes have changed color. _Pete._ Dat's what her soul's gwine to do. It's going up dar, whar dere's no line atween folks. _George._ She revives. _Zoe._ [_On sofa,_ C.] George--where--where-- _George._ O, Zoe! what have you done? _Zoe._ Last night I overheard you weeping in your room, and you said, "I'd rather see her dead than so!"