Char.  Ah!

[Winthrop, after his answer, has stood gazing off before him. 
Fair comes timidly forward, but he does not hear her.  She
softly lays her hand upon his arm.  He looks down, sees her,
and suddenly a radiant glow of happiness crosses his face,
then vanishes, leaving it cold as before.  Fair looks up
into his face, then softly lays her other hand in his.

Fair.  But—­if—­I love you, Steve?

Winth. (softly takes her in his arms, bending close over her).  Even though you love me (Fair shrinks away from him.  He turns to Hopkins:  when he speaks his voice has a mechanical, hollow sound).  Back to the camp; Mr. Hillary will accompany us.

Hillary.  I am ready sir.

[He goes to the door with Hopkins.  Charlotte, with a wild cry of
“No, no!” rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. 
He softly kisses her, then hands her over to Mrs. S., who
takes her in her arms.  He then turns to Hopkins, making a
sign of assent, and together they leave the room, followed
by Winthrop.

Cupid (coming slowly forward, a haggard look on his face).  Mistis (almost pleading) Mistis!  Kin you forgib dis old fool nigger?  I thought hit ud cheer you ter see um.  Fo Gaud I never thought of Marster Carter coming here.  Fo Gaud I never!

Mrs. S. We do not blame you.  How could we have known.  How could we?

Char. (raising her face).  There’s father yet and Gordon.  They may come at any minute.  We must save them.  How, How; what can we do; what can we do?

        [She crosses to the window, her hands pressed to her head.

Bev.  Mother, if they come, it’s sure to be across the orchard, then up the road through the wood.  Cupid, you go and watch:  and if you see a sign of any one, come tell us.  Quick!

Mrs. S. If it’s your Master, bring him here—­in through the window of Bev’s room.  Keep away from the front of the house.

Cupid.  Yes, Mistis.  Dis ole fool nigger can do dat.

[Exit.

Mrs. S. (comes gently to Fair who stands looking down with a drawn look of suffering).  Fair, my baby child, would it not have been better—­could it have been easier—­had you told me.

Fair. (coming to her arms).  I meant to tell you mother—­but, oh!  I was afraid.  The old days seemed so far away, and I so weak and foolish!  And then he went into the army and came down here in arms against his people!  The night you went to George, he asked me, and—­I told a lie!  I said I did not love him.  But to-night, with the wild chance of saving Carter (she looks up into her mother’s face and smiles), I told the truth!

Mrs. S. (softly kissing her).  And it was best.  My heart’s own child!  Your only happiness was there.

Char. (who has stood by the window listening).  Best!  What do we know about things that are best?  And love and truth—­what do we know of these?  Are they not torn from us, trampled down, ground beneath our feet?  And happiness—­is it for us?  Ah! no, no.  For, are not our hearts crushed down in the cold black earth that covers those we love?  What is there in this life for us?  We are grown old before our time.  Ah! in God’s name, don’t speak of love or happiness when it is such a mockery to us and those we love!