“Miss Temple is already released from her engagement,” said Hansford, recovering his calmness in proportion as the other party lost their's. “She is free to choose for herself, sir.”
“And that choice shall never light on you, apostate,” cried Temple, “unless she would bring my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave.”
“And mine, too,” said the old lady, beginning to weep.
“I will not trouble you longer with my presence,” said Hansford, proudly, “except to thank you for past kindness, which I can never forget. Farewell, Colonel Temple, I respect your prejudices, though they have led you to curse me. Farewell, Mrs. Temple, I will ever think of your generous hospitality with gratitude. Farewell, Virginia, forget that such a being as Thomas Hansford ever darkened your path through life, and think of our past love as a dream. I can bear your forgetfulness, but not your hate. For you, sir,” he added, turning to Alfred Bernard, “let me hope that we will meet again, where no interruption will prevent our final separation.”
With these words, Hansford, his form proudly erect, but his heart bowed down with sorrow, slowly left the house.
“Are you not a Justice of the Peace?” asked Bernard, with a meaning look.
“And what is that to you, sir?” replied the old man, suspecting the design of the question.
“Only, sir, that as such it is your sworn duty to arrest that traitor. I know it is painful, but still it is your duty.”
“And who the devil told you to come and teach me my duty, sir?” said the old man, wrathfully. “Let me tell you, sir, that Tom Hansford, with all his faults, is a d—d sight better than a great many who are free from the stain of rebellion. Rebellion!—oh, my God!—poor, poor Tom.”
“Nay, then, sir,” said Bernard, meekly, “I beg your pardon. I only felt it my duty to remind you of what you might have forgotten. God forbid that I should wish to endanger the life of a poor young man, whose only fault may be that he was too easily led away by others.”