“You are right, by God,” said the Colonel, quickly. “He is the victim of designing men, and yet I never said a word to reclaim him. Oh, I have acted basely and not like a friend. I will go now and bring him back, wife; though if he don't repent—zounds!—neither will I; no, not for a million friends.”
So saying, the noble-hearted old loyalist, whose impulsive nature was as prompt to redeem as to commit an error, started from the room to reclaim his lost boy. It was too late. Hansford, anticipating the result of the fatal revelation, had ordered his horse even before his first interview with Virginia. The old Colonel only succeeded in catching a glimpse of him from the porch, as at a full gallop he disappeared through the forest.
With a heavy sigh he returned to the study, there to meet with the consolations of his good wife, which were contained in the following words:
“Well, I hope and trust he is gone, and will never darken our doors again. You know, my dear, I always told you that you were wrong about that young man, Hansford. There always seemed to be a lack of frankness and openness in his character, and although I do not like to interpose my objections, yet I never altogether approved of the match. You know I always told you so.”
“Told the devil!” cried the old man, goaded to the very verge of despair by this new torture. “I beg your pardon, Bessy, for speaking so hastily, but, damn it, if all the angels in Heaven had told me that Tom Hansford could prove a traitor, I would not have believed it.”
And how felt she, that wounded, trusting one, who thus in a short day had seen the hopes and dreams of happiness, which fancy had woven in her young heart, all rudely swept away! 'Twere wrong to lift the veil from that poor stricken heart, now torn with grief too deep for words—too deep, alas! for tears. With her cheek resting on her white hand, she gazed tearlessly, but vacantly, towards the forest where he had so lately vanished as a dream. To those who spoke to her, she answered sadly in monosyllables, and then turned her head away, as if it were still sweet to cherish thus the agony which consumed her. But the bitterest drop in all this cup of woe, was the self-reproach which mingled with her recollection of that sad scene. When he had frankly given back her troth, she, alas! had not stayed his hand, nor by a word had told him how truly, even in his guilt, her heart was his. And now, she thought, when thus driven harshly into the cold world, his only friends among the enemies to truth, his enemies its friends, how one little word of love, or even of pity, might have redeemed him from error, or at least have cheered him in his dark career.
But bear up bravely, sweet one; for heavier, darker sorrows yet must cast their shadows on thy young heart, ere yet its warm pulsations cease to beat, and it be laid at rest.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] Rest was the prescribed limit to the size of the venture.
[20] To pull down the side was a technical term with our ancestors for cheating.