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?

_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!"

_George._ Have I prompted you to this?

_Zoe._ No; but I loved you so, I could not bear my fate; and then I stood your heart and hers. When I am dead she will not be jealous of your love for me, no laws will stand between us. Lift me; so--[_George raises her head_]--let me look at you, that your face may be the last I see of this world. O! George, you may without a blush confess your love for the Octoroon! [_Dies._--George _lowers her head gently.--Kneels.--Others form picture._]

_Darken front of house and stage._

[_Light fires.--Draw flats and discover_ Paul's _grave._--M'Closky _dead on top of it._--Wahnotee _standing triumphantly over him._]

SLOW CURTAIN

Transcriber's Notes