Horror struck his auditor dumb; her shrivelled lips moved with a tremulous motion, as if she desired to speak--but she spoke not. An ashy paleness overspread her features, and she staggered backward and would have fallen, had she not been caught in the arms of her long-lost foster son. A tumult of thoughts crowded upon her enfeebled mind, as she recovered, gasping with the unusual excitement, and her aged frame heaved as if it would burst in the effort. At length a ray of hope seemed to dawn upon her mental vision; her eye sparkled with the thought, as she resumed the lamp which Bacon had taken from her hand, and placed upon the ground. "It must not, shall not be, my son. There is your coa.r.s.e food, Heaven forgive me for not offering you better, but little did my thoughts turn upon such a G.o.dsend. I have a thousand things to ask and tell, but as you say, life--precious life--hangs upon every moment lost, so--"

At this moment the sentinel advanced directly before them, and taking the old woman rudely by the arm, said, "Come, old Tabby, the prisoner can find the way to his mouth without the light; give him his bread and water, and be off;" thrusting her up the steps, as he spoke, slamming the door, and once more turning the grating bolt upon the unfortunate prisoner.

Bacon's late reviving hopes almost died within him as he listened to the unwelcome sounds and the retreating footsteps of his visiters.

He threw himself once more upon his rude couch and abandoned himself to despair. But youthful hope never despairs utterly, however desperate the circ.u.mstances; a few moments after saw him with his handcuffs thrown off, and busily engaged in piling the loosened bricks upon the floor.

In less than an hour, he beheld the stars lightly twinkling in the Heavens, through the aperture created by the removal of a single brick, which he had taken from the outer layer before he was aware of his progress. Cautiously and intently he listened for the footsteps of the sentinel; strange sounds seemed to come from off the water, but all in his immediate vicinity was as quiet as the grave, except the tumultuous throbbing of his own heart. Again he proceeded cautiously in his work, until he had completed an aperture sufficiently large to admit the pa.s.sage of his body. Then, bracing his nerves, he proceeded to effect his exit through the opening, and was vigorously struggling to free himself, when a musket ball whistled by his ear and buried itself in the wooden sill of the house. He sprang back into the cellar, and stood in confusion and amazement, until the short chuckling laugh of the sentinel roused him from his delusive dream of hope. He could distinctly hear the marksman who had exhibited such a dangerous proof of his skill, laughing and telling his comrade, who paced before the door at the end of the house, "how he had shaved the prisoner's head." The unfortunate captive now abandoned himself to despair in earnest. A thousand times he cursed his ill fated stars, for thus leading the old nurse into his cell to rouse his dormant hopes, and give a new impulse to his desires for freedom.

While these matters were in progress at the prison of our hero, the naval armament under the command of Bland, Carver and Larimore, belonging to and put in motion by his friends among the citizens, and which might have rendered him such effectual a.s.sistance had the two princ.i.p.al officers been aware of his situation, was itself about to perform its share in the contest. The expedition under Ludwell, as had been promised to the traitor Larimore, was sent out at the exact time specified, and with m.u.f.fled oars skimmed along the surface of the tranquil lake, keeping under the shadow of the ships. As they approached, signals were exchanged, which satisfied Ludwell that Larimore was indeed in command of the watch, and still ready to betray his trust. Once or twice, indeed, a suspicion shot across his mind, that Larimore might only be an agent in the hands of Bland and Carver, and that his proposal was but a scheme laid to entrap himself and followers into the power of the rebels, as the Governor's party were pleased to call the patriots; but it was as speedily dissipated by the favourable train in which every thing seemed to lie, as the traitor had promised.

The loyal party under his command was in a very few minutes silently and stealthily climbing up the sides of the vessels. Having gained the decks, they proceeded at once to disarm and bind the sentinels. These unfortunate fellows had been induced by the traitor Larimore, to believe that the party under Ludwell were deserters from the ranks of Sir William Berkley, and were not undeceived until they found themselves bound hand and foot, and such other precautions taken that they could not alarm their sleeping comrades below. In less time than we have taken to record the transaction, the whole naval armament in the service of the patriots, together with the officers, crews and military stores, were delivered into the hands of Governor Berkley. The success of the enterprise was announced to the anxious expectants on sh.o.r.e, by a discharge of artillery, which was joyously answered on their part. Sir William Berkley was transported with delight--so lately abandoned by the majority of the citizens and soldiers of the capital, and compelled to desert the legitimate seat of government, he now saw himself in possession of a naval and military power, more than sufficient to command the obedience, if he could not win the affections of the rebellious citizens. He immediately called together his officers, and such of the cavalier gentry as had followed his fortunes to this remote corner of the colony, and imparted to them his determination to embark his land forces on board the ships brought over by himself, and those surrendered by Larimore, and sail within the hour for the capital.

It may be readily imagined that this sudden change in their fortunes was not received with murmurs and discontent; on the contrary preparations were eagerly and joyously commenced. The captured and betrayed patriots were divided among all the vessels, so as to preclude effectually any chance of their rising upon the Governor and his party. The soldiers, artillery and baggage were placed on board, and the signal given for the embarkation of the old knight and his staff--family and attendants.

Our gentle heroine was not forgotten--she too had been roused, not from her slumbers, for she had not slept, but from her restless and feverish pillow, and commanded to prepare for instant departure for the capital.

The stern old Cavalier, her uncle, stood in the open plot in front of the house surrounded by his partisans, impatiently waiting her descent.

At length she appeared, leaning upon the arm of Frank Beverly on one side, and that of her female attendant upon the other--her aunt following in evident dejection of spirits. Virginia's countenance was white as the spotless attire in which she was enveloped. Her eye wildly wandered over the faces crowding around, as she emerged from the house, but soon settled again in sullen composure as she perceived the absence of the one sought. The pine torches, borne by the negroes, shed a glaring and unsteady light on the objects around; the steady tramp of the soldiers, as they marched to and embarked on board the boats, were heard in the direction of the water, while other parties were seen in like manner provided with torches, floating in the barks already laden, toward the ships moored in the offing. As the party that had just emerged from the house was about to move in the same direction, Beverly spoke aloud to the Governor.

"Sir William, are you going to leave the prisoner in the cellar?"

"True--true, my boy," he replied, "I was so overjoyed at trapping so many of his compeers, that I had entirely forgotten his generalship; but we will care for his standing, and that right speedily. We will elevate him--I will not say above his desert--but certainly to a position to which he has long had eminent claims. Ho! Sir Hangman! Ludwell, order the hangman into our presence; we need a cast of his office before we set sail."

"It was customary with the Romans, you know, Sir William, to offer up a sacrifice before they embarked upon any important enterprise," said Beverly, laughing at his own wretched attempt at wit. But there was one countenance in the group upon which the first intimation of Beverly concerning the neglect of the prisoner, wrought a fearful change.

Virginia threw her eyes wildly round, searching from face to face, for some small evidence of sympathy on which to cast her hopes, but they were all steeled in imperturbable apathy, or clad in more appalling smiles of derision. As her eye glanced around the circle, it fell at last upon the youth supporting her own enfeebled steps. Her knees were just sinking under her from weakness and dismay, but the sight of Frank Beverly's smiling countenance aroused her energies. Her muscles were instantly braced, her eye shot forth scorn and contempt, while she threw his arms from her, as she would have started from the touch of some loathsome reptile. The youth, with a grim smile, folded his arms in quiet serenity, to await the appearance of the prisoner, as if conscious that his hour of sweet revenge was near at hand.

Virginia threw herself at the feet, first of her uncle, and then of her aunt, and earnestly prayed for the life of her lover, as she heard the orders for bringing him forth, but from the first she received only a contemptuous glance, and from the latter silent tears. She was still kneeling upon the gra.s.s at the feet of the latter, her head fallen in despair and exhaustion upon her bosom, when the soldiers rushed out from the cellar, and proclaimed the escape of the prisoner. An electric stream poured into Virginia's sinking frame could not have more suddenly restored her to life and animation. She screamed, clasped her hands, sprang to her feet, and fell back into the arms of her aunt in a paroxysm of mingled joy and agitation.

Sir William Berkley gnashed his teeth, and swearing vengeance against the traitors who had permitted his enemy's escape, seized one of the pine torches and rushed into the cellar to satisfy himself that he was not concealed behind some of the rubbish of the apartment; but soon found convincing evidence of his escape, in the irons that lay upon the ground, and the aperture through which he had made his exit. The sentinels were all called up, who had at any time stood guard over the prisoner through the night. It appeared that the one who had discharged his piece so near to the head of the prisoner, had been some time since relieved, and that he had merely mentioned to his successor, the attempt of Bacon to escape, with his own amus.e.m.e.nt in showing him how near he could shoot to his head without wounding him.

"Would to G.o.d you had lodged the ball in his skull," exclaimed the enraged governor. The truth was, that the sentinel had supposed the prisoner still loaded with his irons when he appeared at the breach, having merely discovered one of the many evidences of dilapidation in the house, and had consequently left him in the care of his successor, with the full confidence that he would not make a second attempt. How he was induced to make that second attempt will appear in the sequel. The soldier on duty, at the time when he was supposed to have escaped, was immediately ordered to be put in irons.

Lady Berkley was about having her niece conveyed to the house, but her enraged husband harshly ordered those supporting her now prostrate form, to convey her to the vessel, which was accordingly done. The Governor, his suite and followers were soon also on board, and a roar of artillery announced their final departure from the "eastern sh.o.r.e."

When Bacon threw himself upon his couch, after his last unfortunate attempt to escape, every thought of once more gaining his liberty abandoned him. He very naturally supposed that his failure would only redouble the vigilance of his guards, and therefore resumed his irons, with the desperate resolution of throwing them off, when he should be led to execution on the following morning, and selling his life as dearly as he might.

He had lain for some hours in a state of mind that may be readily imagined from the late scenes through which he had pa.s.sed, when at length he heard his own name softly whispered in his gloomy cell; the voice appeared to be in his immediate vicinity. He arose and followed the supposed direction of the sound, and again he heard it on the opposite side--proceeding from the still unclosed aperture in the wall.

He answered in the same subdued whisper. "Come this way," said the voice of the old woman, the shadow of whose head he could now perceive darkening the partial light which broke through. "Come this way, Master Bacon. Tim Jones, the sentinel, has gone into my cabin to eat a chicken supper, and drink some aqua vitae which I procured for him; his place is supplied by a soldier whom I engaged to be ready, as if by accident. He pretends to be asleep under the big tree yonder. Do you come forth and proceed round the opposite end of the house to that occupied by the other sentinel, until you come to the bushes at the end of the garden palings--there wait until I come to you--for your life do not stir, until I join you there."

Bacon succeeded in avoiding the notice of the sentry and in gaining the spot indicated by the old woman, where he had scarcely concealed himself, before the discharge of artillery from the betrayed fleet startled him from his rec.u.mbent posture. He supposed that his own capture had been ascertained at Jamestown, and that vessels had been despatched to rescue him. This idea had scarcely entered his mind, before he sprang over the palings and was running at his utmost speed across the garden toward the bay, for the purpose of procuring a boat, but his attention was instantly arrested by the appearance of the Governor and his suite collecting in the yard in front of the house. He was on the point of running into the hands of the sentinel whose temporary absence had afforded him the chance of escape, and who now sat with his weapon ready for action, securely guarding, as he supposed, the person who stood just behind him. The man hailed him as soon as he heard the rustling among the shrubbery, but the liberated captive had seen and heard enough to induce him to seek his hiding-place once more.

CHAPTER XI.

When Sir William Berkley embarked on board the ships, he left a company of picked soldiers, commanded by an officer of tried fidelity, together with the smallest of the vessels and her crew, with orders to bring the fugitive to Jamestown, dead or alive. In a short time that portion of the eastern sh.o.r.e, lately so full of bustle and activity, was wrapped in profound repose, unbroken save by the monotonous tramp of the sentinel, pacing before the door of the mansion, now the solitary quarters of the sole remaining officer.

Bacon had perceived from his hiding-place, that some unusual commotion was in progress between the quarters of the Governor and the ships lying in the offing, and he was seized with the most eager desire to know what it foreboded. For the first half hour, he lay in momentary expectation of the commencement of a naval action; at length he saw the glaring lights of the pine torches, skimming along the margin of the water, and dark shadows of moving crowds, as the boats floated to their destination. These movements he could not comprehend except by supposing that the crafty old knight had set on foot some secret expedition, for the capture of the newly arrived ships, the increased numbers of which he could easily perceive. But when the whole fleet set sail, with the exception of the small craft already mentioned, he was completely at fault. He was revolving these strange movements in his mind, when his kind preserver came again to his a.s.sistance. She was moving like an unearthly spirit along the garden palings, cautiously examining every bush, when he presented himself before her. She led him by a circuitous route, and one the farthest removed from the sentinel, to a lone cabin that stood some distance from the main building, and that had lately been occupied by the inferior officers attached to Sir William's cause; it had formerly been used as a negro cabin. After she had ushered him into the single room which it afforded, she pointed to a seat, and began stirring up the coals which had been left from the culinary operations of the late occupants. She was about sitting down to hear Bacon's account of himself, and doubtless of communicating her share of information for filling out the history, but recollecting that he had left his food untouched, she hastily covered the light, and went out, carefully securing the door on the outside, but soon returned with a remnant of Tim Jones' chicken supper, which she had no doubt preserved for her own use. This was speedily placed upon a rude table, and the fugitive urged to help himself in the midst of a torrent of questions.--Now she desired to know the fate of the Irishman--where they had landed after the shipwreck--who had so kindly nurtured and educated him--whether he knew any thing of his relations in England--if he remembered any thing of her features, or her home in the old country.

What was his occupation. Why Sir William Berkley disliked him, in what position he stood with regard to the beautiful invalid, who had shown so much grief at the prospect of his immediate execution,--how he had managed to preserve the locket so faithfully--and a hundred other queries of like import, with the solution to which the reader is already acquainted, but which our hero answered with great impatience, interposing one of his own between every two of hers, and meanwhile doing ample justice to the provision she had set before him. The substance of the old woman's narrative was as follows:

"When Mrs. Fairfax, then Mrs. Whalley--"

"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Bacon, dropping his knife and fork--"was General Whalley her first husband? Then indeed he and the Recluse are the same person." The nurse stared at him a moment, but presently proceeded with her narrative.

"When Mrs. Fairfax, then Mrs. Whalley, left her infant son in my care, for the purpose of joining her husband, then an officer in the army of the commonwealth, I was entirely unacquainted with the opposition of her family to her marriage with General Whalley, and ignorant of the clandestine manner in which that ceremony had been performed, as well as the subsequent privacy of their movements, which they thought necessary for their safety.

"It was a long time after her departure from my house, and after the time of her promised return, before I received the least account of her, or the cause of her prolonged absence from her child. But when I did at length receive a letter from the unfortunate lady, the whole mystery was cleared up. In that letter she stated 'that while she was on her way to join her husband, she was overtaken in the highway, by a party of loyalist soldiers, commanded by her own brother. She was immediately recognised by him, and sent under a military escort to her father's house, not, however, before she had time to learn from one of the prisoners under the charge of the party, the death of her husband, who, he stated, had fallen by his side.' She made the promised remittances for the support of her infant, and every thing went on in the usual train, until the time arrived for the next promised letter, which indeed arrived, by the hands of a very different messenger from the one before employed. It was brought by the very brother who had arrested her in the road, and sent her a prisoner to her father's house. He presented the letter unopened, but stated that he was fully apprised of its contents, as well as of the existence of his sister's child, which she still supposed unknown to her family. He told me that his father was almost broken-hearted, on account of the disgraceful marriage which his sister had contracted, and that the sight of her infant in the house, or even the knowledge of its existence, would drive him to phrenzy; that his brothers and himself had therefore determined to take effectual means, not only to remove the child from within the reach and knowledge of their father, but of its mother also. That they were determined to take it by force, a sufficient proof of which he showed me in a party of armed followers, (for they were all military men,) unless I would consent to a plan for the removal of the offensive little stranger, which would secure all their views, and be, at the same time, more satisfactory to himself and, he doubted not, to me. His proposition was, that I should remove with the child to a distant residence, the means for which he would amply provide; and that I should then wait on Mrs.

Whalley, his sister, and inform her that her child was dead. As an inducement for me to be guilty of this deception, he informed me that there was a young Cavalier, of good birth and connexions, who was enamoured of his sister, but if the child was permitted to absorb her affections, and remind her of her lost husband, they despaired of ever seeing her married to Mr. Fairfax, and consequently of wiping out the stigma upon their good name created by her first marriage. I was really attached to the little boy, and fearful that they would take him by force if I did not quietly yield, and being a.s.sured that I should watch over him wherever he went, I consented to the plan. I waited on the mother, and with well dissembled sorrow, told her of the death of her darling boy. I thought at first that she would have gone distracted, but the necessity of keeping her secret from her father and brothers, roused her to the needful exertion. It was well that it was so, for I could not have endured her heart-rending distress five minutes longer. The next information I had of the unfortunate lady, was from the same young gentleman, her brother, who came to inform me of the success of their plans and thus relieve my conscience. His sister after a tedious delay had married Mr. Fairfax, and sailed for the Capes of Virginia. He a.s.sured me that the child should always be provided for, but that I must change his name from Charles Whalley to some other, which I might choose myself, so that he could never be able to trace his parentage. I was firmly resolved, however, that the innocent babe should some day know his real history. In the meantime I consented to all that the young gentleman desired, and he left the usual supply and departed. I never saw him again. The remittances for the support of the child were indeed kept up for some time, but they at length became irregular, and less frequent. My mind began to grow uneasy concerning the charge which I had thus by a crime brought upon myself, and which I considered but a just retribution for my evil deeds. Nor were my fears less anxious concerning the future prospects of my innocent nursling. My health had well nigh sunk under the acc.u.mulating load of poverty and unavailing regrets for my wickedness, and I trust that I sincerely repented of the evil deed.

Providence at length directed to my humble dwelling one who appeared indeed as one risen from the dead.

"It was none other than General Whalley himself; he had really been shot in the battle, but had recovered. Great G.o.d! what were my sensations, when the gigantic warrior, pale and worn with mental and bodily suffering, threw aside his disguise, and avowed himself to me.

Notwithstanding the embarra.s.sing position into which his being still alive was calculated to throw all parties, I fell upon my knees before him, and my Maker, and fully acknowledged my partic.i.p.ation in the transactions which I have related. He had heard of the marriage of his wife to Mr. Fairfax, before he sought me out, but even at this comparatively remote period of time from her marriage, his huge frame shook, and he became like an effeminate being while he listened to my narrative. He told me that he was likewise about to sail for America; not that he desired or intended to make himself known to his wife, but because it was becoming unsafe for him to remain longer in the kingdom.

I have no doubt in my own mind, that he was unconsciously indulging his desire to be near his still adored Emily, in his choice of a place of refuge, which he now informed me, was the same to which she had gone with her husband. He told me that it was his intention to live in the greatest seclusion, and that his very name should be unknown in his new abode. He proposed that I should follow him, after he should have established himself, and made arrangements for my comfortable reception, the time for which was specified. I felt myself impelled by an imperious sense of duty to repair, as far as lay within my power, the injury which I had helped to inflict upon him, and therefore consented to leave country and home with my little charge, now become so dear to me.

"After furnishing me with the necessary supplies for the long and dreaded voyage, together with particular directions as to the place of embarkation, and the course I was to pursue after arriving in Jamestown, General Whalley left me, and I have never seen or heard of him to the present hour. I did not consider that surprising, however, because he informed me that he would never more be known by the name of Whalley, and that I must school myself carefully before my departure for America, never to drop a hint that he had ever been more than he seemed to be in his new abode. But to proceed with my story. He had directed that I should sail with the boy after the lapse of one year from the time of his own departure. The most of this interval was employed in making my own little preparations for so long a voyage, and my final separation in this life, from all my kindred and friends. I had promised to keep my design as secret as possible, and every precaution was indeed taken to keep my intended departure a secret from all but my own immediate relations. But by some means unknown to me, my design became known to others, as I was apprised one day, by a visit from a gentleman named Bacon!"

The fugitive instantly dropped his knife and fork, which he had been occasionally using as the story of the nurse ran upon those events already known to him, but now a new name was introduced, and one which, it may be readily imagined, did not fail to command his undivided and breathless attention.

"Mr. Bacon informed me that he had heard of my intended expedition, and that I was to take out with me the tender boy then on my lap, and said he could readily surmise that the late unfortunate civil wars were in some way or other the cause of my undertaking so long and dangerous a voyage. As he saw my embarra.s.sment from not knowing how to answer him, he hastened to a.s.sure me that he did not desire to pry into my secret.

That he was placed in somewhat similar circ.u.mstances himself, to those which, as he supposed, operated on the parents of the boy. He informed me that his brother and himself had both been unfortunately in the army of the commonwealth, in which his brother had fallen, and that he had left an only son to his care, the mother of whom had died in giving him birth. 'Now my object in coming to you, my good woman,' said he, 'is to procure your a.s.sistance in conveying my ward to Virginia.'

"I readily undertook the task, and all necessary arrangements were made for the boy's comfortable pa.s.sage. Some months before the time of embarkation, little master Bacon, or I may as well say yourself, was brought to me, in order that you might learn to know and love me before we set sail for this distant land. When I was on board the vessel, and had paid for my own pa.s.sage as well as for those of my little charges, the money for which had been provided by the friends of each, I was startled to perceive that Mr. Bacon did not join me as had been agreed upon. My anxiety became more and more intense as the time approached for weighing anchor, for although I was amply provided with all necessary funds, my mind misgave me that some accident had befallen the unfortunate gentleman. He was indeed in disguise when he came to see me, and I doubt not, was a fugitive from the powers that then ruled our native land. My worst apprehensions were realized--Mr. Bacon was either made a prisoner, prevented from joining me by apprehension, or chose to deceive me in the whole business, but I have always religiously believed, since I have had time to reflect dispa.s.sionately on the subject, that his absence was not a matter of choice.

"We had a pleasant and prosperous voyage, until the first night after we came in sight of land, when such a storm arose, as it seemed to me that the whole world was coming to an end. Daylight found us a miserable company of forlorn wretches, hanging upon the wreck. The boats were already loaded to the water's edge. I prayed and entreated some of the good gentlemen to save my two precious boys, if they left me, but alas!

every one was taking measures for his own safety. There was one poor, ignorant, but tender-hearted Irishman, who had been a soldier, that seemed to commiserate my helpless little charges, his name was Brian O'Reily--a talking, blundering, merry youth he was then. At length seeing some prospect of effecting a landing, he made a raft of parts of the wreck, and trusted himself and you to the mercy of the treacherous waves. That was the last I ever saw of the warm hearted Irishman, and of you, until I accidentally discovered, while you were asleep in the cellar, the identical locket containing your mother's likeness, which I had placed round your neck with my own hands. I saw the resemblance, too, which you bore to my lost boy, and was immediately satisfied that G.o.d had preserved you, in his own way and for his own wise purposes, and I determined also to save you, if I could, from the cruel punishment which I learned more fully from the sentinel, the Governor intended to inflict upon you in the morning. Thank G.o.d, I have succeeded. Now do tell me, what I have asked you so often, what became of the Irishman, and where you were landed and how preserved."

"First tell me, good nurse, how you escaped the wreck, and what became of your other ward. It is of immense importance for me to know. The liberty which you have given me is worth nothing, without a clear explanation of these points."

"That I can soon inform you of--the Captain, kind and generous man that he was, seeing the probable success of the Irishman's plan, adopted it himself, and after making a raft, with the help of some of his crew, placed all the females on it who chose to venture in preference to waiting for the return of the boats. Myself with my little remaining boy, and several other females who were steerage pa.s.sengers, suffered ourselves to be lashed to the frail machine. For four dreadful hours we were tossed about at the mercy of the waves, the water for at least half the time dashing over us, and, as it seemed, carrying us half way to the bottom. At length, however, we landed upon the eastern side of this very neck of land, where I have remained ever since. I have never set my foot on board of any kind of water craft from that time to this. Together with another of the females mentioned and my little boy, the son of General Whalley, I wandered through swamps, and marshes, and sea-weeds, until we had entirely crossed the neck--never having eaten one mouthful until we arrived at this plantation. Here we were most kindly received by the widowed mother of the present proprietor, Mr. Philip Ludwell; but alas, my little boy had suffered too long and too severely from the combined effects of the night upon the wreck, the succeeding sufferings upon the raft, and the hunger endured before we came to this place. He sunk rapidly, notwithstanding the humane exertions of the good lady who had extended her kindness toward us. He died and was buried on this plantation--I have preserved his little clothes and trinkets to this day. Little did I think at that time that you had outlived him."

Bacon then performed his promise, and related all that he knew of his own and O'Reily's escape from the wreck--and likewise informed her that the latter had been on the "eastern sh.o.r.e" within the last two hours, but, he supposed had been taken as a prisoner to Jamestown by Sir William Berkley. "But tell me," he continued, "have you never seen or heard any thing of General Whalley, or Mrs. Fairfax, since you parted from them in England?"

"I have never heard a word of the General from that time to the present, though I have questioned every body that came from Jamestown. I knew that he intended to a.s.sume another name, and other habits, and I therefore described his person and manners, but no one had ever seen such a personage!"

The hasp flew from the pine log into which it had been inserted, and the door was driven back against the opposite wall. "Thou beholdest him now, woman! look at me!" and he pointed to his now haggard features, "and say whether I am that man!"

But his gigantic figure, never to be mistaken, had scarcely darkened the doorway, before the person he addressed began to gasp for breath, and seized the arm of Bacon for protection--calling upon him for G.o.d's sake to save her--her eyes meantime immoveably fixed upon the intruder's countenance.

"Quail not, woman; there is no one here to harm thee, if thy own conscience condemns thee not. I have heard part of thy story, as I listened at the door, in order to find out how many of the Governor's minions I should have to slay before freeing the boy. Lay thy hand upon the Holy Evangelists, woman," and he drew his clasped Bible from his pouch and extended it across the table to her, "and swear that this boy is not my son, whom I entrusted to thy care."

With a trembling hand she touched the holy book, and said as distinctly as her fears would permit, "Before G.o.d and upon his word, I testify it as my firm and unwavering belief, that this young man who sits before me, is Nathaniel Bacon, and not your son."

"It was indeed my boy, then, whom thou buried upon this lone sh.o.r.e?" And without waiting for an answer he threw himself into one of the rude seats, leaned his head down upon the table, and gave himself up to uncontrolled emotion.

Bacon was moved to tears as he saw the stern Recluse thus overwhelmed with grief at the breaking up of the last tie that linked him to earth.

He remembered, as he looked upon his agitated frame, how uncompromising had been the frowns of fortune upon this now solitary being. Once he was flushed with the joy of youth, and love, and hope, and fired with a military ardour like himself. But now (as he supposed) he was an outlaw, and an exile from his country--unconsciously abandoned by a doting wife--his only heir, and the sole stay and hope of his declining years dead and buried upon the very spot where he at last found the nurse to whom the child had been committed. He remembered also his unwavering kindness to himself, and his general benevolence and kindness of feeling toward his fellow men, and he unconsciously let fall the words which rose embodied to his tongue, as with swimming eyes he looked upon him, "'Tis a hard and cruel fate!"