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terwards sets upon a stone slab as she advances.)

Her form—her motion—yea, that mantled arm,
Press'd closely to her breast, as she was wont
When chilly winds assail'd.—The face—O, woe is me!
It was not then so pale.

LORNE, (to him, in a low voice.)

Be gone: be gone.

DE GREY.

Blest vision, I have seen thee! Fare thee well!

(Exit in haste.)

HELEN. (coming forward, alarmed.)

What sound is that of steps that hasten from us?

Is Morton on the watch?

LORNE.

Fear nothing; faithful Morton is at hand:

The steps thou heard'st were friendly.

HELEN, (embracing Lorne.)

My brother! meet we thus,—disguised, by stealth?

Is this like peace? How is my noble father?
Hath any ill befallen?