palace. Freed from the restraints of society, she gave her
caged thoughts their freedom, and they flew with delight to Hansford.
She reproved herself for the appearance of gaiety which she had assumed,
while he was in so much danger; and she inwardly resolved that, not even
to please her mother, would she be guilty again of such hypocrisy. She
felt that she owed it to Hansford, to herself, and to others, to act
thus. To Hansford, because his long and passionate love, and his
unstained name, deserved a sacrifice of the world and its joys to him.
To herself, because sad as were her reflections on the past, and fearful
as were her apprehensions for the future, there was still a melancholy
pleasure in dwelling on the memory of her love--far sweeter to her
wounded heart than all the giddy gaiety of the world around her. And to
others, because, but for her assumed cheerfulness, the feelings of
Alfred Bernard, her generous and gifted friend, would have been spared
the sore trial to which they had been subjected the night before. She
was determined that another noble soul should not make shipwreck of its
happiness, by anchoring its hopes on her own broken heart.

Such were her thoughts, as she leaned her head upon her hand and gazed
out of the window at the throng of people who were hurrying toward the
state-house. For this was to be a great day in legislation. The Indian
Bill was to be up in committee, and the discussion would be an able
one, in which the most prominent members of the Assembly were to take
part. She had seen the Governor's carriage, with its gold and trappings,
the Berkeley coat-of-arms, and its six richly caparisoned white horses,
roll splendidly by, with an escort of guards, by which Sir William was
on public occasions always attended. She had seen the Burgesses, with
their reports, their petitions and their bills, some conversing
carelessly and merrily as they passed, and others with thoughtful
countenance bent upon the ground, cogitating on some favourite scheme
for extricating the colony from its dangers. She had seen Alfred Bernard
pass on his favourite horse, and he had turned his eyes to the window
and gracefully saluted her; but in that brief moment she saw that the
scenes through which he had passed the night before were still in his
memory, and had made a deep impression on his heart. On the plea of a
sick head-ache, she had declined to go with her mother to the "House,"
and the good old lady had gon