to dawn
upon me. At least be not so hasty in a sentence which seals my fate
forever."

"I am not too hasty," replied Virginia. "But I would think myself
unworthy of the love you have expressed, if I held out hopes which can
never be realized. You know my position is a peculiar one. My hand but
not my heart is disengaged. Nor could you respect the love of a woman
who could so soon forget one with whom she had promised to unite her
destiny through life. I have spoken thus freely, Mr. Bernard, because I
think it due to your feelings, and because I am assured that what I say
is entrusted to an honourable man."

"Indeed, my dear Miss Temple, if such you can only be to me," said her
wily lover, "I do respect from my heart your constancy to your first
love. That unwavering devotion to another, whom I esteem, because he is
loved by you, only makes you more worthy to be won. May I not still hope
that time may supply the niche, made vacant in your heart, by another
whose whole life shall be devoted to the one object of making you
happy?"

"Mr. Bernard, candour compels me to say no, my friend; there are vows
which even time, with its destroying hand can never erase, and which are
rendered stronger and more sacred by the very circumstances which
prevent their accomplishment. Fate, my friend, may interpose her stern
decree and forever separate me from the presence of Mr. Hansford, but
my heart is still unchangeably his. Ha! what is that?" she added, with a
faint scream, as from the little summer-house, which we have before
described, there came a deep, prolonged groan.

As she spoke, and as Bernard laid his hand upon his sword to avenge
himself upon the intruder, a dark figure issued from the door of the
arbor, and stood before them. The young man stood appalled as he
recognized by the uncertain light of a neighbouring lamp, the dark,
swarthy features of Master Hutchinson, the chaplain of the Governor.

"Put up your sword, young man," said the preacher, gravely; "they who
use the sword shall perish by the sword."

"In the devil's name," cried Bernard, forgetful of the presence of
Virginia, "how came you here?"

"Not to act the spy at least," said Hutchinson, "such is not my
character. Suffice it to say, that I came as you did, to enjoy this
fresh air--and sought the quiet of this arbour to be free from the
intrusion of others. I have lived too long to care for the frivolities
which I have heard, and your secret is safe in