"Right, my friend, and she ever will be, or else old Henry Temple will seek out some desolate abode untainted with treason wherein to drag out the remainder of his days."

"Your loyalty was never more needed," said Bernard; "for Virginia, I fear, will yet be the scene of a rebellion, which may be but the brief epitome of the revolution."

"Aye, you refer to this Baconian movement. I had heard that the demagogue was again in arms. But surely you cannot apprehend any danger from such a source."

"Well, I trust not; and yet the harmless worm, if left to grow, may acquire fangs. Bacon is eloquent and popular, and has already under his standard some of the very flower of the colony. He must be crushed and crushed at once; and yet I fear the worst from the clemency and delay of Sir William Berkeley."

"Tell me; what is his ground of quarrel?" asked Temple.

"Why, simply that having taken up arms against the Indians without authority, and enraging them by his injustice and cruelty, the governor required him to disband the force he had raised. He peremptorily refused, and demanded a commission from the governor as general-in-chief of the forces of Virginia to prosecute this unholy war."

"Why unholy?" asked the Colonel. "Rebellious as was his conduct in refusing to lay down his arms at the command of the governor, yet I do not see that it should be deemed unholy to chastise the insolence of these savages."

"I will tell you, then," replied Bernard. "His avowed design was to avenge the murder of a poor herdsman by a chief of the Doeg tribe.

Instead of visiting his vengeance upon the guilty, he turned his whole force against the Susquehannahs, a friendly tribe of Indians, and chased them like sheep into one of their forts. Five of the Indians relying on the boasted chivalry of the whites, came out of the fort unarmed, to inquire the cause of this unprovoked attack. They were answered by a charge of musketry, and basely murdered in cold blood."

"Monstrous!" cried Temple, with horror. "Such infidelity will incense the whole Indian race against us and involve the country in another general war."

"Exactly so," returned Bernard, "and such is the governor's opinion; but besides this, it is suspected, and with reason too, that this Indian war is merely a pretext on the part of Bacon and a few of his followers, to cover a deeper and more criminal design. The insolent demagogue prates openly about equal rights, freedom, oppression of the mother country, and such dangerous themes, and it is shrewdly thought that, in his wild dreams of liberty, he is taking Cromwell for his model. He has all of the villainy of the old puritan, and a good deal of his genius and ability. But I beg pardon, ladies, all this politics cannot be very palatable to a lady's taste. We will certainly expect you, Mrs. Temple, to be present at the masque; and if Miss Virginia would prefer not to play her part in the exhibition, she may still be there to cheer us with her smiles. I can speak for the taste of all gallant young Virginians, that they will readily pardon her for not concealing so fair a face beneath a mask."

"Ah, I can easily see that you are but lately from England," said Mrs.

Temple, delighted with the gallantry of the young man. "Your speech, fair sir, savours far more of the manners of the court than of these untutored forests. Alas! it reminds me of my own young days."

"Well, Mr. Bernard," said the Colonel, interrupting his wife in a reminiscence, which bid fair to exhaust no brief time, "you will find that we have only transplanted old English manners to another soil.

"'Clum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt.'"

"I am glad to see," said Bernard, casting an admiring glance at Virginia, "that this new soil you speak of, Colonel Temple, is so favourably adapted to the growth of the fairest flowers."

"Oh, you must be jesting, Mr. Bernard," said the old lady, "for although I am always begging Virginia to pay more attention to the garden, there are scarcely any flowers there worth speaking of, except a few roses that I planted with my own hands, and a bed of violets."

"You mistake me, my dear madam," returned Bernard, still gazing on Virginia with an affectation of rapture, "the roses to which I refer bloom on fair young cheeks, and the violets shed their sweetness in the depths of those blue eyes."

"Oh, you are at your poetry, are you?" said the old lady.

"Not if poetry extends her sway only over the realm of fiction," said Bernard, laying his hand upon his heart.

"Indeed, Mr. Bernard," said Virginia, not displeased at flattery, which however gross it may appear to modern ears, was common with young cavaliers in former days, and relished by the fair damsels, "I have been taught that flowers flourish far better in the cultivated parterre, than in the wild woods. I doubt not that, like Orlando, you are but playing off upon a stranger the sentiments, which, in reality, you reserve for some faithful Rosalind whom you have left in England."

"You now surprise me, indeed," returned Bernard, "for do you know that among all the ladies that grace English society, there are but few who ever heard of Rosalind or her Orlando, and know as little of the forest of Ardennes as of your own wild forests in Virginia."

"I have heard," said the Colonel, "that old Will Shakspeare and his cotemporaries-peers he has none-have been thrown aside for more modern writers, and I fear that England has gained nothing by the exchange. Who is now your prince of song?"

"There is a newly risen wit and poet, John Dryden by name, who seems to bear the palm undisputed. Waller is old now, and though he still writes, yet he has lost much of his popularity by his former defection from the cause of loyalty."

"Well, for my part, give me old wine, old friends and old poets," said the Colonel. "I confess I like a bard to be consecrated by the united plaudits of two or three generations, before I can give him my ready admiration."

"I should think your acquaintance with Horace would have taught you the fallacy of that taste," said Bernard. "Do you not remember how the old Roman laureate complains of the same prejudice existing in his own day, and argues that on such a principle merit could be accorded to no poet, for all must have their admirers among cotemporaries, else their works would pa.s.s into oblivion, before their worth were fairly tested?"

"I cannot be far wrong in the present age at least," said Temple, "from what I learn and from what I have myself seen, the literature of the present reign is disgraced by the most gross and libertine sentiments.

As the water of a healthful stream if dammed up, stagnates and becomes the fruitful source of unwholesome malaria, and then, when released, rushes forward, spreading disease and death in its course, so the liberal feelings and manners of old England, restrained by the rigid puritanism of the Protectorate, at last burst forth in a torrent of disgusting and diseased libertinism."

Bernard had not an opportunity of replying to this elaborate simile of the good old Colonel, which, like Fadladeen, he had often used and still reserved for great occasions. Further conversation was here interrupted by a new arrival, which in this case, much to the satisfaction of the fair Virginia, proved to be the genuine Hansford.

CHAPTER VI.

"Speak of Mortimer!

Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul Want mercy, if I do not join with him."

_Henry IV._

Thomas Hansford, in appearance and demeanour, lost nothing in comparison with the accomplished Bernard. He certainly did not possess in so high a degree the easy a.s.surance which characterized the young courtier, but his self-confidence, blended with a becoming modesty, and his open, ingenuous manners, fully compensated for the difference. There was that in his clear blue eye and pleasant smile which inspired confidence in all whom he approached. Modest and un.o.btrusive in his expressions of opinion, he was nevertheless firm in their maintenance when announced, and though deferential to superiors in age and position, and respectful to all, he was never servile or obsequious.

The same kind of difference might be traced in the dress of the two young men, as in their manners. With none of the ostentatious display, which we have described as belonging to the costume of Bernard, the attire of Hansford was plain and neat. He was dressed in a grey doublet and breeches, trussed with black silk points. His long hose were of cotton, and his shoes were fastened, not with the gay colored ribbons before described, but with stout leather thongs, such as are still often used in the dress of a country gentleman. His beaver was looped with a plain black b.u.t.ton, in front, displaying his fair hair, which was brushed plainly back from his forehead. He, too, wore a sword by his side, but it was fastened, not by handsome fringe and sash, but by a plain belt around his waist. It seemed as though it were worn more for use than ornament. We have been thus particular in describing the dress of these two young men, because, as we have hinted, the contrast indicated the difference in their characters-a difference which will, however, more strikingly appear in the subsequent pages of this narrative.

"Well, my boy," said old Temple, heartily, "I am glad to see you; you have been a stranger among us lately, but are none the less welcome on that account. Yet, faith, lad, there was no necessity for whetting our appet.i.te for your company by such a long absence."

"I have been detained on some business of importance," replied Hansford, with some constraint in his manner. "I am glad, however, my dear sir, that I have not forfeited my welcome by my delay, for no one, I a.s.sure you, has had more cause to regret my absence than myself."

"Better late than never, my boy," said the Colonel. "Come, here is a new acquaintance of ours, to whom I wish to introduce you. Mr. Alfred Bernard, Mr. Hansford."

The young men saluted each other respectfully, and Hansford pa.s.sed on to "metal more attractive." Seated once more by the side of his faithful Virginia, he forgot the presence of all else, and the two lovers were soon deep in conversation, in a low voice.

"I hope your absence was not caused by your mother's increased sickness," said Virginia.

"No, dearest, the old lady's health is far better than it has been for some time. But I have many things to tell you which will surprise, if they do not please you."

"Oh, you have no idea what a fright father gave me this evening," said Virginia. "He told me that you had probably been engaged by the governor to aid in suppressing this rebellion. I fancied that there were already twenty bullets through your body, and made a little fool of myself generally. But if I had known that you were staying away from me so long without any good reason, I would not have been so silly, I a.s.sure you."

"Your care for me, dear girl, is very grateful to my feelings, and indeed it makes me very sad to think that I may yet be the cause of so much unhappiness to you."

"Oh, come now," said the laughing girl, "don't be sentimental. You men think very little of ladies, if you suppose that we are incapable of listening to anything but flattery. Now, there's Mr. Bernard has been calling me flowers, and roses, and violets, ever since he came. For my part, I would rather be loved as a woman, than admired as all the flowers that grow in the world."

"Who is this Mr. Bernard?" asked Hansford.

"He is the Governor's private secretary, and a very nice fellow he seems to be, too. He has more poetry at his finger's ends than you or I ever read, and he is very handsome, don't you think so?"

"It is very well that I did not prolong my absence another day," said Hansford, "or else I might have found my place in your heart supplied by this foppish young fribble."[6]

"Nay, now, if you are going to be jealous, I will get angry," said Virginia, trying to pout her pretty lips. "But say what you will about him, he is very smart, and what's more, he writes poetry as well as quotes it."

"And has he told you of all his accomplishments so soon?" said Hansford, smiling; "for I hardly suppose you have seen a volume of his works, unless he brought it here with him. What else can he do? Perhaps he plays the flute, and dances divinely; and may-be, but for 'the vile guns, he might have been a soldier.' He looks a good deal like Hotspur's dandy to my eyes."

"Oh, don't be so ill-natured," said Virginia, "He never would have told about his writing poetry, but father guessed it."