e the young
Achilles, she becomes invulnerable. It is but seldom that care dares
intrude upon this quiet realm, and though it may be truly said that
sleep "swift on her downy pinions flies from woe," yet, when at last it
does alight on the lid sullied by a tear, it rests as quietly as
elsewhere. We have scarcely ever read of an instance where the last
night of a convict was not passed in tranquil slumber, as though Sleep,
the sweet sister of the dread Terror, soothed more tenderly, in this
last hour, the victim of her gloomy brother's dart.

Thomas Hansford, for with him our story remains, slept as calmly on this
night as though a long life of happiness and fame stretched out before
his eyes. 'Tis true, that ere he went to bed, as he unbelted his trusty
sword, he looked at its well-tempered steel with a confident eye, and
thought of the morrow. But so fully imbued were the youth of that iron
age with the true spirit of chivalry, that life was but little regarded
where honour was concerned, and the precarious tenure by which life was
held, made it less prized by those who felt that they might be called on
any day to surrender it. Hansford, therefore, slept soundly, and the
first red streaks of the morning twilight were smiling through his
window when he awoke. He rose, and dressing himself hastily, he repaired
to the study, where he wrote a few hasty lines to his mother and to
Virginia--the first to assure her of his filial love, and to pray her
forgiveness for thus sacrificing life for honour; and the second
breathing the warm ardour of his heart for her who, during his brief
career, had lightened the cares and shared the joys which fortune had
strewn in his path. As he folded these two letters and placed them in
his pocket, he could not help drawing a deep sigh, to think of these two
beings whose fate was so intimately entwined with his own, and whose
thread of life would be weakened when his had been severed. Repelling
such a thought as unworthy a brave man engaged in an honourable cause,
he buckled on his sword and repaired with a firm step to the place of
meeting. Alfred Bernard, true to his word, was there.

And now the sun was just rising above the green forest, to the eastward.
The hands, as by a striking metonymy those happy laborers were termed,
who never knew the cares which environ the head, were just going out to
their day's work. Men, women and children, some to plough the corn, and
one a merry teamster, w