d kindly
nature relieved the agony of her despair by unconsciousness. And there
she lay, pale and beautiful, upon that floor, while the noisy clamour
without was hailing the capture of another victim, whose fate was to
bring sorrow and despair to another broken heart.

CHAPTER XLVII.

"His nature is so far from doing harm,
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easy."
_King Lear._

When Virginia aroused again to consciousness, her eyes met the features
of Alfred Bernard, as he knelt over her form. Not yet realizing her
situation, she gazed wildly about her, and in a hoarse, husky whisper,
which fell horridly on the ear, she said, "Where is my father?"

"At home, Virginia," replied Bernard, softly, chafing her white temples
the while--"And you are here in Accomac. Look up, Virginia, and see that
you are not without a friend even here."

"Oh, now, yes, now I know it all," she shrieked, springing up with a
wild bound, and rushing like a maniac toward the door. "They have killed
him! I have slept here, instead of begging his life. I have murdered
him! Ha! you, sir, are you the jailer? I should know your face."

"Nay, do not speak thus, Virginia," said Bernard, holding her gently in
his arms, "Hansford is yet alive. Be calm."

"Hansford! I thought he was dead!" said the poor girl, her mind still
wandering. "Did not Mamalis--no--she is dead--all are dead--ha? where am
I? Sure this is not Windsor Hall. Nay, what am I talking about. Let me
see;" and she pressed her hand to her forehead, and smoothed back her
fair hair, as she strove to collect her thoughts. "Ah! now I know," she
said at length, more calmly, "I beg your pardon, Mr. Bernard, I have
acted very foolishly, I fear. But you will forgive a poor distracted
girl."

"I promised you my influence with the governor," said Bernard, "and I do
not yet despair of effecting my object. And so be calm."

"Despair!" said Virginia, bitterly, "as well might you expect to turn a
river from the sea, as to turn the relentless heart of that bigoted old
tyrant from blood. And yet, I thank you, Mr. Bernard, and beg that you
will leave no means untried to preserve my poor doomed Hansford. You see
I am quite calm now, and should you fail in your efforts to procure a
pardon, may I ask one last melancholy favour at your hands! I would see
him once more before we part, forever." And to prove how