Chapter 23

"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.