"And smile, and smile, and smile, and be a villain."
_King John._
Great was the horror of the loyalists, on the following morning, at the
discovery of the horrible crime which had been perpetrated; but still
greater was the mystery as to who was the guilty party. There was no
mode of getting admittance to the house in which Berkenhead was
confined, except through the door, the key of which was in the
possession of Alfred Bernard. Even if the position and standing of this
young man had not repelled the idea that he was cognizant of the crime,
his own unfeigned surprise at the discovery, and the absence of any
motive for its commission, acquitted him in the minds of all. And yet,
if this hypothesis was avoided, it was impossible to form any rational
theory on the subject. There were but two persons connected with the
establishment who could be presumed to have any plausible motive for
murdering Berkenhead. Hansford might indeed be suspected of a desire to
suppress evidence which would be dangerous to his own safety, but then
Hansford was himself in close confinement. Mamalis, too, had manifested
a spirit, the evening before, towards the unhappy man, which might very
naturally subject her to suspicion; but, besides that, she played her
part of surprise to perfection--it could not be conceived how she had
gotten possession of the key of the room. The sentinel might indeed have
thrown much light upon the subject, but he kept his own counsel for fear
of the consequences of disobedience to orders; and he boldly asserted
that no one had left the house during the night. This evidence, taken in
connection with the fact that the young girl was found sleeping, as
usual, in the little room adjoining Virginia's chamber, entirely
exculpated her from any participation in the crime. Nothing then was
left for it, but to suppose that the unhappy man, in a fit of
desperation, had himself put a period to his existence. A little
investigation might have easily satisfied them that such an hypothesis
was as groundless as the rest; for it was afterwards ascertained by
Colonel Temple, after a strict search, that no weapon was found on or
near the body, nor in the apartment where it lay. But Sir William
Berkeley, anxious to proceed upon his way to Accomac, and caring but
little, perhaps, for the fate of a rebel, whose life was probably
shortened but a few hours, gave the affair a very hurried and summary
examination. Bernard, with his quick sagacity, discovered, or at least
shrewdly suspected, the truth, and Mamalis felt, as he fixed his dark
eyes upon her, that he had read the mystery of her heart. But, for his
own reasons, the villain for the present maintained the strictest
silence on the subject.
But this catastrophe, so fatal to Berkenhead, was fortunate for young
Hansford. The Governor, more true to his word to loyalists than he had
hitherto been to the insurgents, released our hero from imprisonment, in
the absence of any testimony against him. And, to the infinite chagrin
of Alfred Bernard, his rival, once more at liberty, was again, in the
language of the treacherous Plantagenet, "a very serpent in his way." He
had too surely discovered, that so long as Hansford lived, the heart of
Virginia Temple, or what he valued far more, her hand, could never be
given to another; and yet he felt, that if he were out of the way, and
that heart, though widowed, free to choose again, the emotions of
mistaken gratitude would prompt her to listen with favour to his suit.
With all his faults, too, and with his mercenary motives, Bernard was
not without a feeling, resembling love, for Virginia. We are told that
there are fruits and flowers which, though poisonous in their native
soil, when transplanted and cherished under more genial circumstances,
become at once fair to the eye and wholesome to the taste. It is thus
with love. In the wild, sterile heart of Alfred Bernard it had taken
root, and poisoned all his nature; but yet it was the same emotion which
shed a genial influence over the manly heart of Hansford. If it had been
otherwise, there were some as fair, and many far more wealthy, in his
adopted colony, than Virginia Temple. But she was at once adapted to his
interests, his passions, and his intellect. She could aid his vaulting
ambition by sharing with him her wealth; she could control, by the
strength of her character, and the sweetness of her disposition, his own
wild nature; and she could be the instructive and congenial companion of
his intellect. And all this rich treasure might be his but for the
existence, the rivalry of the hated Hansford. Still his ardent nature
led him to hope. With all his heart he would engage in quelling the
rebellion, which he foresaw was about to burst upon the colony; and
then revenge, the sweetest morsel to the jealous mind, was his.
Meantime, he must look the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it;
and curbing his own feelings, must, under pretence of friendship and
interest for a rival, continue to plot his ruin. Alfred Bernard was
equal to the task.
It was with these feelings that he sought Virginia Temple on the eve of
his departure from Windsor Hall. The young girl was seated, with her
lover, on a rude, rustic bench, beneath the large oak where Bernard had,
the evening before, had an interview with the unfortunate Berkenhead. As
he approached, she rose, and with her usual winning frankness of manner,
she extended her hand.
"Come, Mr. Bernard," she said, "I have determined that you and Major
Hansford shall be friends."
"Most willingly, on my part," said the smooth-tongued Bernard. "And I
think I have given the best evidence of my disposition to be so, by
aiding feebly in restoring to Miss Temple an old friend, when she must
now so soon part with her more recent acquaintance."
"I am happy to think," said Hansford, whose candour prevented him from
suppressing entirely the coldness of his manner, "that I am indebted to
Mr. Bernard for any interest he may have taken in my behalf. I hope,
sir, you will now add to the obligation under which I at present rest to
you, by apprising me in what manner you have so greatly obliged me."
"Why, you must be aware," replied Bernard, "that your present freedom
from restraint is due to my interposition with Sir William Berkeley."
"Oh yes, indeed," interposed Virginia, "for I heard my father say that
it was Mr. Bernard's wise suggestion, adopted by the Governor, which
secured your release."
"Hardly so," returned Hansford, "even if such were his disposition. But,
if I am rightly informed, your assistance only extended to a very
natural request, that I should not be judged guilty so long as there was
no evidence to convict me. If I am indebted to Mr. Bernard for
impressing upon the mind of the Governor a principle of law as old, I
believe, as Magna Charta, I must e'en render him the thanks which are
justly his due, and which he seems so anxious to demand."
"Mr. Hansford," said Virginia, "why will you persist in being so
obstinate? Is it such a hard thing, after all, for one brave man to owe
his life to another, or for an innocent man to receive justice at the
hands of a generous one? And at least, I should think, she added, with
the least possible pout, "that, when I ask as a favour that you should
be friends, you should not refuse me."
"Indeed, Miss Virginia," said Alfred Bernard, without evincing the
slightest mark of displeasure; "you urge this reconciliation too far. If
Major Hansford have some secret cause of enmity or distrust towards me,
of which I am ignorant, I beg that you will not force him to express a
sentiment which his heart does not entertain. And as for his gratitude,
which he seems to think that I demand, I assure you, that for any
service which I may have done him, I am sufficiently compensated by my
own consciousness of rectitude of purpose, and nobly rewarded by
securing your approving smile."
"Nobly, generously said, Mr. Bernard," replied Virginia, "and now I have
indeed mistaken Mr. Hansford's character if he fail to make atonement
for his backwardness, by a full, free, and cordial reconciliation."
"I must needs give you my left hand, then," said Hansford, extending his
hand with as much cordiality as he could assume; "my right arm is
disabled as you perceive, by a wound inflicted by one of the enemies of
my country, against whom it would seem it is treason to battle."
"Nay, if you go into that hateful subject again," said Virginia, "I
fear there is not much cordiality in your heart yet."
"Oh! you are mistaken, Miss Temple," said Bernard, gaily; "you must
remember the old adage, that the left is nearest to the heart. Believe
me, Major Hansford and myself will be good friends yet, and when we
hereafter shall speak of our former estrangement, it will only be to
remember by whose gentle influence we were reconciled. But permit me to
hope, Major, that your wound is not serious."
"A mere trifle, I believe, sir," returned Hansford, "but I am afraid I
will suffer some inconvenience from it for some time, as it is the sword
arm; and in these troublous times it may fail me, when it should be
prepared to defend."
"An that were the only use to which you would apply it," said Virginia,
half laughing, and half in earnest, "I would sincerely hope that it
might never heal."
"Oh fear not but that it will soon heal," said Bernard. "The most
dangerous wounds are inflicted here," laying his hand upon his heart; "a
wound dealt not by a savage, but by an angel; not from the arrow of the
ambushed Indian, but from the quiver of the mischievous little blind
boy--and the more fatal, because we insanely delight to inflame the
wound instead of seeking to cure it."
"Well really, Mr. Bernard," said Virginia, rallying the gay young
euphuist, "the flowers of gallantry which you have brought from Windsor
Court, thanks to your fostering care, flourish quite as sweetly in this
wilderness of Windsor Hall. Take pity on an illiterate colonial girl,
and tell me whether this is the language of Waller, Cowley or Dryden?"
"It is the language of the heart, Miss Temple, on the present occasion
at least," said Bernard, gravely; "for I am admonished that it is time I
should say farewell. Without flowers or poetry, Miss Virginia, I bid you
adieu. May you be happy, and derive from your association with others
that high enjoyment which you are so capable of bestowing. Farewell,
Major Hansford, we may meet again, I trust, when it will not be
necessary to invoke the interposition of a fair mediator to effect a
reconciliation."
Hansford well understood the innuendo contained in the last words of
Bernard, but taking the well-timed hint, refrained from expressing it
more clearly, and gave his hand to his rival with every appearance of
cordiality. And Virginia, misconstruing the words of the young jesuit,
frankly extended her own hand, which he pressed respectfully to his
lips, and then turned silently away.
"Well, I am delighted," said Virginia to her lover, when they were thus
left alone, "that you are at last friends with Bernard. You see now that
I was right and you were wrong in our estimates of his character."
"Indeed I do not, my dear Virginia; on the contrary, this brief
interview has but confirmed my previously formed opinion."
"Oh! that is impossible, Hansford; you are too suspicious, indeed you
are. I never saw more refinement and delicacy blended with more real
candour. Indeed, Hansford, he is a noble fellow."
"I am sorry to differ with you, dearest; but to my mind his refinement
is naught but Jesuitical craft; his delicacy the result of an
educational schooling of the lip, to conceal the real feelings of his
heart; and his candour but the gilt washing which appears like gold, but
after all, only hides the baser metal beneath it."
"Well, in my life I never heard such perversion! Really, Hansford, you
will make me think you are jealous."
"Jealous, Virginia, jealous!" said Hansford, in a sorrowful tone. "Alas!
if I were even capable of such a feeling, what right have I to entertain
it? Your heart is free, and torn from the soil which once cherished it,
may be transplanted elsewhere, while the poor earth where once it grew
can only hope now and then to feel the fragrance which it sheds on all
around. No, not jealous, Virginia, whatever else I may be!"
"You speak too bitterly, Hansford; have I not assured you that though a
harsh fate may sever us; though parental authority may deny you my hand,
yet my heart is unalterably yours. But tell me, why it is that you can
see nothing good in this young man, and persist in perverting every
sentiment, every look, every expression to his injury?"
Before Hansford could reply, the shrill voice of Mrs. Temple was heard,
crying out; "Virginia Temple, Virginia Temple, why where can the child
have got to!"--and at the same moment the old lady came bustling round
the house, and discovered the unlawful interview of the lovers.
Rising hastily from her seat, Virginia advanced to her mother, who,
without giving her time to speak, even had she been so inclined, sang
out at the top of her voice--"Come along, my daughter. Here are the
guests in your father's house kept waiting in the porch to tell you
good-bye, and you, forsooth, must be talking, the Lord knows what, to
that young scape-gallows yonder, who hasn't modesty enough to know when
and where he's wanted."
"Dear mother, don't speak so loud," whispered the poor girl.
"Don't talk so loud, forsooth--and why? They that put themselves where
they are not wanted and not asked, must expect to hear ill of
themselves."
"There comes my pretty Jeanie," said her old father, as he saw her
approach. "And so you found her at last, mother. Come here, dearest, we
have been waiting for you."
The sweet tones of that gentle voice, which however harsh at times to
others, were ever modulated to the sweetest music when he spoke to her,
fell upon the ears of the poor confused and mortified girl, in such
comforting accents, that the full heart could no longer restrain its
gushing feelings, and she burst into tears. With swollen eyes and with a
heavy heart she bade adieu to the several guests, and as Sir William
Berkeley, in the mistaken kindness of his heart, kissed her cheek, and
whispered that Bernard would soon return and all would be happy again,
she sobbed as if her gentle heart would break.
"I always tell the Colonel that he ruins the child," said Mrs. Temple to
the Governor, with one of her blandest smiles, on seeing this renewed
exhibition of sensibility. "It was not so in our day, Lady Frances; we
had other things to think about than crying and weeping. Tears were not
so shallow then."
Lady Frances Berkeley nodded a stately acquiescence to this tribute to
the stoicism of the past, and made some sage, original and relevant
reflection, that shallow streams ever were the most noisy--and then
kissing the weeping girl, repeated the grateful assurance that Bernard
would not be long absent, and that she herself would be present at the
happy bridal, to taste the bride's cake and quaff the knitting cup,[46]
with other like consolations well calculated to restore tranquillity and
happiness to the bosom of the disconsolate Virginia.
And so the unfortunate Berkeley commenced that fatal flight, which
contributed so largely to divert the arms of the insurgents from the
Indians to the government, and to change what else might have been a
mere unauthorized attack upon the common enemies of the country into a
protracted and bloody civil war.
Hansford did not long remain at Windsor Hall, after the departure of the
loyalists. He would indeed have been wanting in astuteness if he had not
inferred from the direct language of Mrs. Temple that he was an
unwelcome visitant at the mansion. But more important, if not more
cogent reasons urged his immediate departure. He saw at a glance the
fatal error committed by Berkeley in his flight to Accomac, and the
immense advantage it would be to the insurgents. He wished, therefore,
without loss of time to communicate the welcome intelligence to Bacon
and his followers, who, he knew, were anxiously awaiting the result of
his mission.
Ordering his horse, he bade a cordial adieu to the good old colonel,
who, as he shook his hand, said, with a tear in his eye, "Oh, my boy, my
boy! if your head were as near right as I believe your heart is, how I
would love to welcome you to my bosom as my son."
"I hope, my kind, my noble friend," said Hansford, "that the day may yet
come when you will see that I am not wholly wrong. God knows I would
almost rather err with you than to be right with any other man." Then
bidding a kind farewell to Mrs. Temple and Virginia, to which the old
lady responded with due civility, but without cordiality, he vaulted
into the saddle and rode off--and as long as the house was still in
view, he could see the white 'kerchief of Virginia from the open window,
waving a last fond adieu to her unhappy lover.
FOOTNOTES:
[46] A cup drunk at the marriage ceremony in honour of the bride.