and weary as life would be without one who
had made it so happy, I would freely, aye, almost cheerfully yield his
love, and be banished for ever from his presence, if I could but save
his life."

"You are a noble girl," said Alfred, with admiration; "and teach me a
lesson that too few have learned, that love is never selfish. But, yet,
I cannot relinquish the sweet reward which you have promised for my
efforts in behalf of Hansford. Then tell me once more, dear girl, if I
arrest the hand of justice which now threatens his life; if he be once
more restored to liberty and security, would you reward his deliverer
with your love?"

"Oh, yes!" cried the trusting girl, mistaking his meaning; "and more, I
would pledge his lasting gratitude and affection to his generous
preserver."

"Nay," said Bernard, rather coldly, "that would not add much inducement
to me. But you, Virginia," he added, passionately, "would you be
mine--would the bright dream of my life be indeed realized, and might I
enshrine you in my faithful heart, as a sacred idol, to whom in hourly
adoration I might bow?"

"How mean you, sir," exclaimed Virginia, with surprise. "I fear you have
misunderstood my words. My love, my gratitude, my friendship, I
promised, but not my heart."

"Then, indeed, am I strangely at fault," said Bernard, with a sneering
laugh. "The love you would bestow, would be such as you would feel
towards the humblest boor, who had done you a service; and your
gratitude but the natural return which any human being would make to the
dog who saves his life. Nay, mistress mine, not so platonic, if you
please. Think you that, for so cold a feeling as friendship and
gratitude, I would rescue this skulking hound from the lash of his
master, which he so richly deserves, or from the juster doom of the
craven cur, the rope and gallows. No, Virginia Temple, there is no
longer any need of mincing matters between us. It is a simple question
of bargain and sale. You have said that you would renounce the love of
Hansford to save his life. Very well, one step more and all is
accomplished. The boon I ask, as the reward of my services, is your
heart, or at least your hand. Yield but this, and I will arrest the
malice of that doting old knight, who, with his fantastic tricks, has
made the angels laugh instead of weep. Deny me, and by my troth, Thomas
Hansford meets a traitor's doom."

So complete was the revulsion of feeling from the almost certainty of