"Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere of men;
Where heroes war the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger, as the first in fame."
_Pope's Iliad._
We return to Virginia Temple, who, although not an eye-witness of the
scene which we have just described, was far from being disinterested in
its result. The words of the singular woman, with whom she had
conversed, had made some impression upon her mind. Although disgusted
with the facility with which Dame Drummond had distorted and perverted
Scripture to justify her own wild absurdities, Virginia still felt that
there was much cause for self-reproach in her conduct to her lover. She
felt every assurance that though he might err, he would err from
judgment alone; and how little did she know of the questions at issue
between the aroused people and the government. Indeed, when she saw the
character of those with whom Hansford was associated--men not impelled
by the blind excitement of a mob, but evidently actuated by higher
principles of right and justice, her heart misgave her that, perhaps,
she had permitted prejudice to carry her too far in her opposition to
their cause. The struggle in her mind was indeed an unequal one. It was
love pleading against ignorant prejudice, and that at the forum of a
woman's heart. Can it be wondered at that Virginia Temple, left to
herself, without an adviser, yielded to the powerful plea, and freely
and fully forgave her rebel lover? And when she thought, too, that,
however guilty to his country, he had, at least, been ever faithful to
her, she added to her forgiveness of him the bitterest self-reproach. On
one thing she was resolved, that notwithstanding the apparent indelicacy
of such a course, she would grant him the interview which he requested,
and if she could not win him from his error, at least part from him,
though forever, as a friend. She felt that it was due to her former
love, and to his unwavering devotion, to grant this last request.
Once determined on her course, the hours rolled heavily away until the
time fixed for her appointment with Hansford. Despite her attempt to
prove cheerful and unconcerned, her lynx-eyed mother detected her
sadness, but was easily persuaded that it was due to a slight head-ache,
with which she was really suffering, and which she pleaded as an excuse.
The old lady was more easily deceived, because it tallied with her own
idea, that Jamestown was very unhealthy, and that she, herself, could
never breathe its unwholesome air without the most disastrous
consequences to her health.
At length, Colonel Temple, having left the crowd of busy politicians,
who were discussing the events of the day in the hall, returned with his
good wife to their own room. Virginia, with a beating heart, resumed her
watch at the window, where she was to await the coming of Sarah
Drummond. It was a warm, still night. Scarcely a breath of air was
stirring the leaves of the long line of elms that adorned the street.
She sat watching the silent stars, and wondering if those bright worlds
contained scenes of sorrow and despair like this; or were they but the
pure mansions which the Comforter was preparing in his heavenly kingdom
for those disconsolate children of earth who longed for that peace which
he had promised when he told his trusting disciples "Let not your heart
be troubled, neither let it be afraid." How apt are the sorrowing souls
of earth to look thus into the blue depths of heaven, and in their
selfishness to think that Nature, with her host of created beings, was
made for them. She chose from among those shining worlds, one bright and
trembling star, which stood apart, and there transported on the wings of
Fancy or Faith, she lived in love and peace with Hansford. Sweet was
that star-home to the trusting girl, as she watched it in its slow and
silent course through heaven. Free from the cares which vex the spirit
in this dark sin-world, that happy star was filled with love, and the
blissful pair who knew it as their home, felt no change, save in the
"grateful vicissitude of pleasure and repose." Such was the picture
which the young girl, with the pencil of hope, and the colours of fancy
painted for her soul's eye. But as she gazed, the star faded from her
sight, and a dark and heavy cloud lowered from the place where it had
stood.
At the same moment, as if the vision in which she had been rapt was
something more than a dream, the door of her chamber opened, and Sarah
Drummond entered. The heart of Virginia Temple nearly failed her, as she
thought of the coincidence in time of the disappearance of the star and
the summons to her interview with Hansford. Her companion marked her
manner, and in a more gentle voice than she had yet assumed, she said,
"Why art thou cast down, maiden? Let not your heart sink in the
performance of a duty. Have you decided?"
"Must I meet him alone?" asked Virginia. "Oh, how could he make a
request so hard to be complied with!"
"Alone!" said Sarah, with a sneer. "Yes, silly girl, reared in the
school that would teach that woman's virtue is too frail even to be
tempted. Yes, alone! She who cannot trust her honour to a lover, knows
but little of the true power of love."
"I will follow you," replied Virginia, firmly, and throwing a shawl
loosely around her, she rose from her seat and prepared to go.
"Come on, then," said Sarah, quickly, "there is no time to be lost. In
an hour, at most, the triumphant defenders of right will be upon their
march."
The insurgents, wearied with their long march the night and day before,
and finding no accommodation for their numbers in the inn, or elsewhere,
had determined to seek a few hours repose in the green lawn surrounding
the state-house, previous to their night march upon the Indians. It was
here that Hansford had appointed to meet and bid farewell to his
betrothed Virginia. Half leading, half dragging the trembling girl, who
had already well nigh repented her resolution, Sarah Drummond walked
rapidly down the street, in the direction of the state-house. Arrived at
the gate, their further progress was arrested by a rough, uncouth
sentinel, who in a coarse voice demanded who they were.
"I am Sarah Drummond," said the woman, promptly, "and this young maiden
would speak with Major Hansford."
"Why, 'stains, dame, what has become of all your religion, that you
should turn ribibe on our hands, and be bringing young hoydens this time
o' night to the officers. For shame, Dame Drummond."
"Berkenhead," cried the woman, fiercely, "we all know you for a traitor
and a blasphemer, who serve but for the loaves and fishes, and not for
the pure word. You gained your liberty, you know, by betraying your
fellows in the insurrection of '62, and are a base pensioner upon the
bounty of the Assembly for your cowardice and treason. But God often
maketh the carnal-minded of this world to fulfil his will, and so we
must e'en bear with you yet a little while. Come, let us pass."
"Nay, dame," said the old soldier, "I care but little for your abuse;
but duty is duty, and so an' ye give me not the shibboleth, as old
Noll's canters would say, you may e'en tramp back. You see, I've got
some of your slang, and will fight the devil with his own fire: 'And
there fell of the children of Ephraim, at the passage of the Jordan--'"
"Hush, blasphemer!" said Sarah, impatiently. "But if you must have the
pass before you can admit us, take it." And she leaned forward and
whispered in his ear the words, "Be faithful to the cause."
"Right as a trivet," said Berkenhead, "and so pass on. A fig for the
consequences, so that my skirts are clear."
Relieved from this embarrassment, Sarah Drummond and her trembling
companion passed through the gate, and proceeded up the long gravelled
walk which led to the state-house. They had not gone far before Virginia
Temple descried a dark form approaching them, and even before she could
recognize the features, her heart told her it was Hansford. In another
moment she was in his arms.
"My own Virginia, my loved one," he cried, regardless of the presence of
Mrs. Drummond, "I scarcely dared hope that you would have kept your
promise to say farewell. Come, dearest, lean on my arm, I have much to
tell you. You, my kind dame, remain here for a few moments--we will not
detain you long."
Quietly yielding to his request, Virginia took her lover's arm, and they
walked silently along the path, leaving the good dame Drummond to digest
alone her crude notions about the prospects of Israel.
"Is it not singular," said Hansford at length, "that before you came, I
thought the brief hour we must spend together was far too short to say
half that I wish, and now I can say nothing. The quiet feeling of love,
of pure and tranquil love, banishes every other thought from my heart."
"I fear--I fear," murmured Virginia, "that I have done very wrong in
consenting to this interview."
"And why, Virginia," said her lover, "even the malefactor is permitted
the poor privilege of bidding farewell forever to those around him--and
am I worse than he?"
"No, Hansford, no," replied Virginia, "but to come thus with a perfect
stranger, at night, and without my father's permission, to an interview
with one who has met with his disapprobation--"
"True love," replied Hansford, sadly, "overleaps all such feeble
barriers as these--where the happiness of the loved one is concerned."
"And, therefore, I came," returned the young girl, "but you forget,
Hansford, that the relation which once existed between us has, by our
mutual consent, been dissolved--what then was proper cannot now be
permitted."
"If such be the case," replied Hansford, in an offended tone, "Miss
Temple must be aware that I am the last person to urge her to continue
in a course which her judgment disapproves. May I conduct you to your
companion?"
Virginia did not at first reply. The coldness of manner which she had
assumed was far from being consonant with her real feelings, and the
ingenuous girl could no longer continue the part which she attempted to
represent. After a brief pause, the natural affection of her nature
triumphed, and with the most artless frankness she said,
"Oh, no, Hansford, my tongue can no longer speak other language than
that which my heart dictates. Forgive me for what I have said. We cannot
part thus."
"Thanks, my dearest girl," he cried, "for this assurance. The future is
already too dark, for the light of hope to be entirely withdrawn. These
troublous times will soon be over, and then--"
"Nay, Hansford," said Virginia, interrupting him, "I fear you cannot
even then hope for that happiness which you profess to anticipate in our
union. These things I have thought of deeply and sorrowfully. Whatever
may be the issue of this unnatural contest, to us the result must be the
same. My father's prejudices--and without his consent, I would never
yield my hand to any one--are so strong against your cause, that come
what may, they can never be removed."
"He must himself, ere long, see the justice of our cause," said
Hansford, confidently. "It is impossible that truth can long be hid from
one, who, like your noble father, must ever be desirous of its success."
"And do you think," returned Virginia, "that having failed to arrive at
your conclusions in his moments of calm reflection, he will be apt to
change his opinions under the more formidable reasoning of the bayonet?
Believe me, Hansford, that scenes like those which we have this day
witnessed, can never reconcile the opposing parties in this unhappy
strife."
"It is true, too true," said Hansford, sorrowfully; "and is there then
no hope?"
"Yes, there is a hope," said Virginia, earnestly. "Let not the foolish
pride of consistency prevent you from acknowledging an error when
committed. Boldly and manfully renounce the career into which impulse
has driven you. Return to your allegiance--to your ancient faith; and
believe me, that Virginia Temple will rejoice more in your repentance
than if all the honours of martial glory, or of civic renown, were
showered upon you. She would rather be the trusting wife of the humble
and repentant servant of his king, than the queen of a sceptered
usurper, who clambered to the throne through the blood of the martyrs of
faith and loyalty."
"Oh, Virginia!" said Hansford, struggling hard between duty and love.
"I know it is hard to conquer the fearful pride of your heart," said
Virginia; "but, Hansford, 'tis a noble courage that is victorious in
such a contest. Let me hear your decision. There is a civil war in your
heart," she added, more playfully, "and that rebel pride must succumb to
the strong arm of your own self-government."
"In God's name, tempt me no further!" cried Hansford. "We may well
believe that man lost his high estate of happiness by the allurements of
woman, since even now the cause of truth is endangered by listening to
her persuasions."
"I had hoped," replied the young girl, aroused by this sudden change of
manner on the part of her lover, "that the love which you have so long
professed was something more than mere profession. But be it so. The
first sacrifice which you have ever been called upon to make has
estranged your heart forever, and you toss aside the love which you
pretended so fondly to cherish, as a toy no longer worthy of your
regard."
"This is unkind, Virginia," returned Hansford, in an injured tone. "I
have not deserved this at your hands. Sorely you have tempted me; but,
thank God, not even the sweet hope which you extend can allure me from
my duty. If my country demand the sacrifice of my heart, then let the
victim be bound upon her altar. The sweet memories of the past, the love
which still dwells in that heart, the crushed hopes of the future, will
all unite to form the sad garland to adorn it for the sacrifice."
The tone of deep melancholy with which Hansford uttered these words
showed how painful had been the struggle through which he had passed. It
had its effect, too, upon the heart of Virginia. She felt how cruel had
been her language just before--how unjust had been her charge of
inconstancy. She saw at once the fierce contest in Hansford's breast, in
which duty had triumphed over love. Ingenuous as she ever was, she
acknowledged her fault, and wept, and was forgiven.
"And now," said Hansford, more calmly, "my own Virginia--for I may still
call you so--in thus severing forever the chain which has bound us, I do
not renounce my love, nor the deep interest which I feel in your future
destiny. I love you too dearly to wish that you should still love me;
find elsewhere some one more worthy than I to fill your heart. Forget
that you ever loved me; if you can, forget that you ever knew me. And
yet, as a friend, let me warn you, with all the sincerity of my heart,
to beware of Alfred Bernard."
"Of whom?" asked Virginia, in surprise.
"Of that serpent, who, with gilded crest and subtle guile, would intrude
into the garden of your heart," continued Hansford, solemnly.
"Why, Hansford," said Virginia, "you scarcely know the young man of whom
you speak. Like you, my friend, my affections are buried in the past. I
can never love again. But yet I would not have you wrong with unjust
suspicions one who has never done you wrong. On the contrary, even in my
brief intercourse with him, his conduct towards you has been courteous
and generous."
"How hard is it for innocence to suspect guile," said Hansford. "My
sweet girl, these very professions of generosity towards me, have but
sealed my estimate of his character. For me he entertains the deadliest
hate. Against me he has sworn the deadliest vengeance. I tell you,
Virginia, that if ever kindly nature implanted an instinct in the human
heart to warn it of approaching danger, she did so when first I looked
upon that man. My subsequent knowledge of him but strengthened this
intuition. Mild, insinuating, and artful, he is more to be feared than
an open foe. I dread a villain when I see him smile."
"Hush! we are overheard," said Virginia, trembling, and looking around,
Hansford saw Arthur Hutchinson, the preacher, emerging from the shadow
of an adjacent elm tree.
"Young gentleman," said Hutchinson, in his soft melodious voice, "I have
heard unwillingly what perhaps I should not. He who would speak in the
darkness of the night as you have spoken of an absent man, does not care
to have many auditors."
"And he who would screen himself in that darkness, to hear what he
should not," retorted Hansford, haughtily, "is not the man to resent
what he has heard, I fear. But what I say, I am ready to maintain with
my sword--and if you be a friend of the individual of whom I have
spoken, and choose to espouse his quarrel, let me conduct this young
lady to a place of safety, and I will return to grant such satisfaction
as you or your principal may desire."
"This young maiden will tell you," said Hutchinson, "that I am not one
of those who acknowledge that bloody arbiter between man and man, to
which you refer."
"Oh, no!" cried Virginia, in an agitated voice; "this is the good parson
Hutchinson, of whom you have heard."
"And you, maiden," said Hutchinson, "are not in the path of duty. Think
you it is either modest or becoming, to leave your parents and your
home, and seek a clandestine interview with this stranger. Return to
your home. You have erred, grossly erred in this."
"Nay," cried Hansford, in a threatening voice, "if you say ought in
reproach of this young lady, by heavens, your parson's coat will scarce
protect you from the just punishment of your insolence;" then suddenly
checking himself, he added, "Forgive me, sir, this hasty folly. I
believe you mean well, although your language is something of the most
offensive. And say to your friend Mr. Bernard, all that you have heard,
and tell him for Major Hansford, that there is an account to be settled
between us, which I have not forgotten."
"Hansford!" cried the preacher, with emotion, "Hansford, did you say?
Look ye, sir, I am a minister of peace, and cannot on my conscience bear
your hostile message. But I warn you, if your name indeed be Hansford,
that you are in danger from the young man of whom you speak. His blood
is hot, his arm is skilful, and towards you his purpose is not good."
"I thank you for your timely warning, good sir," returned Hansford,
haughtily; "but you speak of danger to one who regards it not." Then
turning to Virginia, he said in a low voice, "'Tis at least a blessing,
that the despair which denies to the heart the luxury of love, at least
makes it insensible to fear."
"And are you such an one," said Hutchinson, overhearing him; "and is it
on thee that the iniquities of the father will be visited. Forbid it,
gracious heaven, and forgive as thou would'st have me forgive the sins
of the past."
"Mr. Hutchinson," said Hansford, annoyed by the preacher's solemn manner
and mysterious words, "I know nothing, and care little for all this
mystery. Your brain must be a little disordered--for I assure you, that
as I was born in the colony, and you are but a recent settler here, it
is impossible that there can be any such mysterious tie between us as
that at which you so darkly hint."
"The day may come," replied Hutchinson, in the same solemn manner, "when
you will know all to your cost--and when you may find that care and
sorrow can indeed shake reason on her throne."
"Well, be it so, but as you value your safety, urge me no further with
these menaces. But pardon me, how came you in this enclosure? Know you
not that you are within the boundaries of the General's camp, against
his strict orders?"
"Aye," replied the preacher, "I knew that the rebels were encamped
hereabout, but I did not, and do not, see by what right they can impede
a peaceful citizen in his movements."
"Reverend sir," said Hansford, "you have the reputation of having a
sound head on your shoulders, and should have a prudent tongue in your
head. I would advise you, therefore, to refrain from the too frequent
use of that word 'rebel,' which just fell from you. But it is time we
should part. I will conduct you to the gate lest you find some
difficulty in passing the sentry, and you will oblige me, kind sir, by
seeing this young lady to her home." Then turning to Virginia, he
whispered his brief adieu, and imprinting a long, warm kiss upon her
lips, he led the way in silence to the gate. Here they parted. She to
return to her quiet chamber to mourn over hopes thus fled forever, and
he to forget self and sorrow in the stirring events of martial life.