"Was ever woman in this humour wooed?"
_Richard III._
Dinner being over, the gentlemen remained according to the good old
custom, to converse over their wine, while Virginia retired to the quiet
little parlour, and with some favourite old author tried to beguile her
thoughts from the bitter fears which she felt for the safety of
Hansford. But it was all in vain. Her eyes often wandered from her book,
and fixed upon the blazing, hickory fire, she was lost in a painful
reverie. As she weighed in her mind the many chances in favour of, and
against his escape, she turned in her trouble to Him, who alone could
rescue her, and with the tears streaming down her pale cheeks, she
murmured in bitter accents, "Oh, Lord! in Thee have I trusted, let me
never be confounded." Even while she spoke, she was surprised to hear
immediately behind her, the well-known voice of Alfred Bernard, for so
entirely lost had she been in meditation that she had not heard his step
as he entered the room.
"Miss Temple, and in tears!" he said, with well assumed surprise. "What
can have moved you thus, Virginia?"
"Alas! Mr. Bernard, you who have known my history and my troubles for
the last few bitter months, cannot be ignorant that I have much cause
for sadness. But," she added, with a faint attempt to smile, "had I
known of your presence, I would not have sought to entertain you with my
sorrows."
"The troubles that you speak of are passed, Miss Temple," said Bernard,
affecting to misunderstand her, "and as the Colony begins to smile again
in the beams of returning peace, you, fair Virginia, should also smile
in sympathy with your namesake."
"Mr. Bernard, you must jest. You at least should have known, ere this,
that my individual sorrows are not so dependent upon the political
condition of the Colony. You at least should have known, sir, that the
very peace you boast of may be the knell of hopes more dear to a woman's
heart than even the glory and welfare of her country."
"Miss Temple," returned Bernard, with a grave voice, "since you are
determined to treat seriously what I have said, I will change my tone.
Though you choose to doubt my sincerity, I must express the deep
sympathy which I feel in your sorrows, even though I know that these
sorrows are induced by your apprehensions for the fate of a rival."
"And that sympathy, sir, is illustrated by your present actions," said
Virginia, bitterly. "You would be at the same time the Judean robber
and the good Samaritan, and while inflicting a deadly wound upon your
victim, and stripping him of cherished hopes, you would administer the
oil and wine of your mocking sympathy."
"I might choose to misunderstand your unkind allusions, Miss Temple,"
replied Bernard, "but there is no need of concealment between us. You
have rightly judged the object of my mission, but in this I act as the
officer of government, not as the ungenerous rival of Major Hansford."
"So does the public executioner," replied Virginia, "but I am not aware
that in its civil and military departments as well as in the navy, our
government impresses men into her service against their will."
"You seem determined to misunderstand me, Virginia," said Alfred, with
some warmth; "but you shall learn that I am not capable of the want of
generosity which you attribute to me. Know then, that it was from a
desire to serve you personally through your friend, that I urged the
governor to let me come in pursuit of Major Hansford. Suppose, instead,
he should fall in the hands of Beverley. Cruel and relentless as that
officer has already shown himself to be, his prisoner would suffer every
indignity and persecution, even before he was delivered to the tender
mercies of Sir William Berkeley--while in me, as his captor, you may
rest assured that for your sake, he would meet with kindness and
indulgence, and even my warm mediation with the governor in his behalf."
"Oh, then," cried Virginia, trusting words so softly and plausibly
spoken, "if you are indeed impelled by a motive so generous and
disinterested, it is still in your power to save him. Your influence
with the Governor is known, and one word from your lips might control
the fate of a brave man, and restore happiness and peace to a
broken-hearted girl. Oh! would not this amply compensate even for the
neglect of duty? Would it not be far nobler to secure the happiness of
two grateful hearts, than to shed the blood of a brave and generous man,
and to wade through that red stream to success and fame? Believe me, Mr.
Bernard, when you come to die, the recollection of such an act will be
sweeter to your soul than all the honour and glory which an admiring
posterity could heap above your cold, insensate ashes. If I am any thing
to you; if my happiness would be an object of interest to your heart;
and if my love, my life-long love, would be worthy of your acceptance,
they are yours. Forgive the boldness, the freedom with which I have
spoken. It may be unbecoming in a young girl, but let it be another
proof of the depth, the sincerity of my feelings, when I can forget a
maiden's delicacy in the earnestness of my plea."
It was impossible not to be moved with the earnest and touching manner
of the weeping girl, as with clasped hands and streaming eyes, she
almost knelt to Bernard in the fervent earnestness of her feelings.
Machiavellian as he was, and accustomed to disguise his heart, the young
man was for a moment almost dissuaded from his design. Taking Virginia
gently by the hand, he begged her to be calm. But the feeling of
generosity which for a moment gleamed on his heart, like a brief sunbeam
on a stormy day, gave way to the wonted selfishness with which that
heart was clouded.
"And can you still cling with such tenacity to a man who has proven
himself so unworthy of you," he said; "to one who has long since
sacrificed you to his own fanatical purposes. Even should he escape the
fate which awaits him, he can never be yours. Your own independence of
feeling, your father's prejudices, every thing conspires to prevent a
union so unnatural. Hansford may live, but he can never live to be your
husband."
"Who empowered you to prohibit thus boldly the bans between us, and to
dissolve our plighted troth?" said Virginia, with indignation.
"You again mistake me," replied Bernard. "God forbid that I should thus
intrude upon what surely concerns me not. I only expressed, my dear
friend, what you know full well, that whatever be the fate of Major
Hansford, you can never marry him. Why, then, this strange interest in
his fate?"
"And can you think thus of woman's love? Can you suppose that her heart
is so selfish that, because her own cherished hopes are blasted, she can
so soon forget and coldly desert one who has first awakened those sweet
hopes, and who is now in peril? Believe me, Mr. Bernard, dear as I hold
that object to my soul, sad and weary as life would be without one who
had made it so happy, I would freely, aye, almost cheerfully yield his
love, and be banished for ever from his presence, if I could but save
his life."
"You are a noble girl," said Alfred, with admiration; "and teach me a
lesson that too few have learned, that love is never selfish. But, yet,
I cannot relinquish the sweet reward which you have promised for my
efforts in behalf of Hansford. Then tell me once more, dear girl, if I
arrest the hand of justice which now threatens his life; if he be once
more restored to liberty and security, would you reward his deliverer
with your love?"
"Oh, yes!" cried the trusting girl, mistaking his meaning; "and more, I
would pledge his lasting gratitude and affection to his generous
preserver."
"Nay," said Bernard, rather coldly, "that would not add much inducement
to me. But you, Virginia," he added, passionately, "would you be
mine--would the bright dream of my life be indeed realized, and might I
enshrine you in my faithful heart, as a sacred idol, to whom in hourly
adoration I might bow?"
"How mean you, sir," exclaimed Virginia, with surprise. "I fear you have
misunderstood my words. My love, my gratitude, my friendship, I
promised, but not my heart."
"Then, indeed, am I strangely at fault," said Bernard, with a sneering
laugh. "The love you would bestow, would be such as you would feel
towards the humblest boor, who had done you a service; and your
gratitude but the natural return which any human being would make to the
dog who saves his life. Nay, mistress mine, not so platonic, if you
please. Think you that, for so cold a feeling as friendship and
gratitude, I would rescue this skulking hound from the lash of his
master, which he so richly deserves, or from the juster doom of the
craven cur, the rope and gallows. No, Virginia Temple, there is no
longer any need of mincing matters between us. It is a simple question
of bargain and sale. You have said that you would renounce the love of
Hansford to save his life. Very well, one step more and all is
accomplished. The boon I ask, as the reward of my services, is your
heart, or at least your hand. Yield but this, and I will arrest the
malice of that doting old knight, who, with his fantastic tricks, has
made the angels laugh instead of weep. Deny me, and by my troth, Thomas
Hansford meets a traitor's doom."
So complete was the revulsion of feeling from the almost certainty of
success, to the despair and indignation induced by so base a
proposition, that it was some moments before Virginia Temple could
speak. Bernard mistaking the cause of her silence, deemed that she was
hesitating as to her course, and pursuing his supposed advantage, he
added, tenderly,--"Cheer, up Virginia; cheer up, my bride. I read in
those silent tears your answer. I know the struggle is hard, and I love
you the more that it is so. It is an earnest of your future constancy.
In a short time the trial will be over, and we will learn to forget our
sorrows in our love. He who is so unworthy of you will have sought in
some distant land solace for your loss, which will be easily attained by
his pliant nature. A traitor to his country, will not long mourn the
loss of his bride."
"'Tis thou who art the traitor, dissembling hypocrite," cried Virginia,
vehemently. "Think you that my silence arose from a moment's
consideration of your base proposition? I was stunned at beholding such
a monster in the human form. But I defy you yet. The governor shall
learn how the fawning favourite of his palace, tears the hand that feeds
him--and those who can protect me from your power, shall chastise your
insolence. Instead of the love and gratitude I promised, there, take my
lasting hate and scorn."
And the young girl proudly rising erect as she spoke, her eyes flashing,
but tearless, her bosom heaving with indignation, her nostrils dilated,
and her hand extended in bitter contempt towards the astonished Bernard,
shouted, "Father, father!" until the hall rung with the sound.
Happily for Alfred Bernard, Colonel Temple and his wife had left the
house for a few moments, on a visit to old Giles' cabin, the old man
having been laid up with a violent attack of the rheumatics. The wily
intriguer was for once caught in his own springe. He had overacted his
part, and had grossly mistaken the character of the brave young girl,
whom he had so basely insulted. He felt that if he lost a moment, the
house would be alarmed, and his miserable hypocrisy exposed. Rushing to
Virginia, he whispered, in an agitated voice, which he failed to control
with his usual self-command,
"For God's sake, be silent. I acknowledge I have done wrong; but I will
explain. Remember Hansford's life is in your hands. Come, now, dear
Virginia, sit you down, I will save him."
The proud expression of scorn died away from the curled lips of the
girl, and interest in her lover's fate again took entire possession of
her heart. She paused and listened. The wily Jesuit had again conquered,
and He who rules the universe with such mysterious justice, had
permitted evil once more to triumph over innocence.
"Yes," repeated Bernard, regaining his composure with his success; "I
will save him. I mistook your character, Miss Temple. I had thought you
the simple-hearted girl, who for the sake of her lover's life would sell
her heart to his preserver. I now recognize in you the high-spirited
woman, who, conscious of right, would meet her own despair in its
defence. Alas! in thus losing you for ever, I have just found you
possessed of qualities which make you doubly worthy to be won. But I
resign you to him whom you have chosen, and in my admiration for the
woman, I have almost lost my hatred for the man. For your sake, Miss
Temple, Major Hansford shall not want my warm interposition with the
Governor in his behalf. Let my reward be your esteem or your contempt,
it is still my duty thus to atone for the wound which I have
unfortunately inflicted on your feelings. You will excuse and respect my
wish to end this painful interview."
And so he left the room, and Virginia once more alone, gave vent to her
emotions so long suppressed, in a flood of bitter tears.
"Well, Holliday," said Bernard, as he met that worthy in the hall, "I
hope you have been more fortunate with the red heifer than I with the
white hind--what says Mamalis?"
"The fact is, Cap'n, that same heifer is about as troublesome a three
year old as I ever had the breaking on. She seemed bent on hooking me."
"Did you not make use of the talisman I told you of?" asked Bernard.
"Well, I don't know what you call a tell-us-man," said Holliday, "but I
told her that you said she must remember Backinhead, and I'll warrant
it was tell-us-woman soon enough. Bless me, if she didn't most turn
white, for all her red skin, and she got the trimbles so that I began to
think she was going to have the high-strikes--and so says she at last;
says she, in kind of choking voice like, 'Well, tell him I will meet him
under the oak tree, as he wishes.'"
"Very well," said Bernard, "we will succeed yet, and then your hundred
pounds are made--my share is yours already if you be but faithful to
me--I am convinced he has been here," he continued, musing, and half
unconscious of Holliday's presence. "The hopeful interest that Virginia
feels, her knowledge of the fact that he still lives and is at large,
and the apprehensions which mingle with her hopes, all convince me that
I'm on the right track. Well, I'll spoil a pretty love affair yet,
before it approaches its consummation. Fine girl, too, and a pity to
victimize her. Bless me, how majestic she looked; with what a queen-like
scorn she treated me, the cold, insensate intriguer, as they call me. I
begin to love her almost as much as I love her land--but, beware, Alfred
Bernard, love might betray you. My game is a bold and desperate one, but
the stake for which I play repays the risk. By God, I'll have her yet;
she shall learn to bow her proud head, and to love me too--and then the
fair fields of Windsor Hall will not be less fertile for the price which
I pay for them in a rival's blood--and such a rival. He scorned and
defied me when the overtures of peace were extended to him; let him look
to it, that in rejecting the olive, he has not planted the cypress in
its stead. Thus revenge is united with policy in the attainment of my
object, and--What are you staring at, you gaping idiot?" he cried,
seeing the big, pewter coloured eyes of Holliday fixed upon him in mute
astonishment.
"Why, Cap'n, damme if I don't believe you are talking in your sleep with
your eyes open."
"And what did you hear me say, knave?"
"Oh, nothing that will ever go the farther for my hearing it. It's all
one to me whether you're working for your country or yourself in this
matter, so long as my pretty pounds are none the less heavy and safe."
"I'm working for both, you fool," returned Bernard. "Did you ever know a
general or a patriot who did not seek to serve himself as well as his
country?"
"Well, no," retorted the soldier, "for what the world calls honour, and
what the rough soldier calls money, is at last only different kinds of
coin of the same metal."
"Well, hush your impudence," said Bernard, "and mind, not a word of what
you have heard, or you shall feel my power as well as others. In the
meantime, here is a golden key to lock your lips," and he handed the
fellow a sovereign, which he greedily accepted.
"Thank you, Cap'n," said Holliday, touching his hat and pocketing the
money; "you need not be afraid of me, for I've seen tricks in my time
worth two of that. And for the matter of taking this yellow boy, which
might look to some like hush-money, the only difference between the
patriot and me is, that he gets paid for opening his mouth, and I for
keeping mine shut."
"You are a saucy knave," said Bernard, reassured by the fellow's manner;
"and I'll warrant you never served under old Noll's Puritan standard.
But away with you, and remember to be in place at ten o'clock to-night,
and come to me at this signal," and he gave a shrill whistle, which
Holliday promised to understand and obey.
And so they separated, Bernard to while away the tedious hours, by
conversing with the old Colonel, and by endeavouring to reinstate
himself in the good opinion of Virginia, while Holliday repaired to the
kitchen, where, in company with his comrades and the white servants of
the hall, he emptied about a half gallon of brown October ale.