RICHARD PENN SMITH
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father's farm in Vermont. He was so kind and obliging that my father and all of lis looked upon him as one of the family. We were much together; he became particular in his attentions to me, and my inexperienced heart was alas! but too sensible to his accomplishments.
Mrs. D. Well, miss, I sympathize with you for before I married Dr. Drench I was precisely in the same sitiation with a young cornet in the militia. These military men!
Elinor. He pressed me to consent to a secret marriage, urging as an excuse that my father would never sanction our union during the continuance of hostilities. My heart was his, and I finally gave him my hand without my father's knowledge. He left me shortly after our marriage and I have not heard from him since. O! Stanley!
Mrs. D. O! the Bluebeard. I should like him to serve me so once. He'd find his match, I war'nt him.
Elinor. My situation now became daily more irksome. I felt that I had been betrayed; I feared to make known the dreadful secret to my father; I fled from my paternal roof, in quest of my husband.—I have not heard from my home since I left it, which is now more than a week; my father is ignorant of my fate, and perhaps he mourns me for dead. Bitterly do I repent of the imprudent step I have taken.
Mrs. D. Will you not return, ma'am, to our house?
Elinor. No, accept my gratitude for the protection you have already given me.—My determination is made. I will search out my husband and satisfy myself whether I am his lawful wife, or a wretch indeed.
Mrs. D. But the soldiers, ma'am.
Elinor. They are men, and being such, they will not insult a woman in distress.
(Exeunt.)
Scene 3. Andre's Mill. View of the Lake. Boat near the mill. Distant cannon.
(Enter Mrs. Macklegraith and Lucy from mill.)
Mrs. Mack. Hark! Lucy, a skirmish is taking place and at no great distance from us. This war is a dreadful thing; it destroys everything like peace and comfort. And my poor son Andre, what can prevent his return? I fear some ill has befallen him.—
Lucy. No danger of that, ma'am; Mr. Macklegraith is too wise and prudent.
Mrs. Mack. He would go to Plattsburg in spite of all I could say. He had better have staid at home to protect us.—See, Lucy, a soldier approaches in haste.
(Enter Major McCrea.)
Major McCrea. At length I have eluded their pursuit. Good woman, do you inhabit this mill?
Mrs. Mack. Yes, sir.
Major McCrea. Are you alone?
Mrs. Mack. For the present. My son Andre has gone to the village.
Major McCrea. I am pursued and my fate is inevitable unless you afford me an asylum and conceal me from my enemies.
Mrs. Mack. It is impossible. We every instant expect a guard to take possession of the mill and they will certainly discover you.
Major McCrea. You are from Scotland and several years ago lived in Vermont upon the estate of Major McCrea. Is it not so?
Mrs. Mack. It is, but how have you learnt my history?
Major McCrea. Look at me well.—Ten years and recent affliction may have wrought great change in me. He who gave you shelter in your time of need, now request[s] protection in his turn.
Mrs. Mack. Major McCrea! Never can I repay the debt of gratitude that I owe. But by what chance do I see you here alone?
Major McCrea. A melancholy one. You remember my little Elinor—she was but a little flaxen headed girl when you knew her—She grew up as beautiful as her mother—She was the pride of my heart—the comfort of my age—at least, I thought so, but what is blinder than parental love!—O! who would be a father, and in his dotage fondly nourish a viper in his bosom until it gains sufficient strength to sting him to the soul!
Mrs. Mack. Nay sir, give not way to your feelings.
Major McCrea. She left me. Can you credit it; fled from her fond father's house—reckless of the misery she entailed upon me—O! the ungrateful—but I will
