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 quarr