wo weeks before we hear
from him. But to what does your question tend?"

"Simply this," returned Virginia. "The wigwam of Mamalis is only about
two miles from the hall, and in so secluded a spot that it is entirely
unknown to any of the Governor's party. There we can supply your present
wants, and give you timely warning of any approaching danger. The old
wigwam is a good deal dilapidated, but then it will at least afford you
shelter from the weather."

"And from that ruder storm which threatens me," said Hansford, gloomily.
"You are right. I know the place well, and trust it may be a safe
retreat, at least for the present. But, alas! how sad is my fate,--to be
skulking from justice like a detected thief or murderer, afraid to show
my face to my fellow in the open day, and starting like a frightened
deer at every approaching sound. Oh, it is too horrible!"

"Think not of it thus," said Virginia, in an encouraging voice.
"Remember it only as the dull twilight that divides the night from the
morning. This painful suspense will soon be over; and then, safe and
happy, we will smile at the dangers we have passed."

"No, Virginia," said Hansford, in the same gloomy voice, "you are too
hopeful. There is a whispering voice within that tells me that this plan
will not succeed, and that we cannot avoid the dangers which threaten
me. No," he cried, throwing off the gloom which hung over him, while his
fine blue eye flashed with pride. "No! The decree has gone forth! Every
truth must succeed with blood. If the blood of the martyrs be the seed
of the Church, it may also enrich the soil where liberty must grow; and
far rather would I that my blood should be shed in such a cause, than
that it should creep sluggishly in my veins through a long and useless
life, until it clotted and stagnated in an ignoble grave."

"Oh, there spoke that fearful pride again," said Virginia, with a deep
sigh; "the pride that pursues its mad career, unheeding prudence,
unguided by judgment, until it is at last checked by its own
destruction. And would you not sacrifice the glory that you speak of,
for me?"

"You have long since furnished me the answer to that plea, my girl," he
replied, pressing her tenderly to his heart. "Do you remember, Lucasta,

'I had not loved thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.'

Believe me, my Virginia, it is an honourable and not a glorious name I
seek. Without the latter, life still would be happy a