The insurgents, wearied with their long march the night and day before, and finding no accommodation for their numbers in the inn, or elsewhere, had determined to seek a few hours repose in the green lawn surrounding the state-house, previous to their night march upon the Indians. It was here that Hansford had appointed to meet and bid farewell to his betrothed Virginia. Half leading, half dragging the trembling girl, who had already well nigh repented her resolution, Sarah Drummond walked rapidly down the street, in the direction of the state-house. Arrived at the gate, their further progress was arrested by a rough, uncouth sentinel, who in a coarse voice demanded who they were. “I am Sarah Drummond,” said the woman, promptly, “and this young maiden would speak with Major Hansford.” “Why, 'stains, dame, what has become of all your religion, that you should turn ribibe on our hands, and be bringing young hoydens this time o' night to the officers. For shame, Dame Drummond.” “Berkenhead,” cried the woman, fiercely, “we all know you for a traitor and a blasphemer, who serve but for the loaves and fishes, and not for the pure word. You gained your liberty, you know, by betraying your fellows in the insurrection of '62, and are a base pensioner upon the bounty of the Assembly for your cowardice and treason. But God often maketh the carnal-minded of this world to fulfil his will, and so we must e'en bear with you yet a little while. Come, let us pass.” “Nay, dame,” said the old soldier, “I care but little for your abuse; but duty is duty, and so an' ye give me not the shibboleth, as old Noll's canters would say, you may e'en tramp back. You see, I've got some of your slang, and will fight the devil with his own fire: 'And there fell of the children of Ephraim, at the passage of the Jordan—'” “Hush, blasphemer!” said Sarah, impatiently. “But if you must have the pass before you can admit us, take it.” And she leaned forward and whispered in his ear the words, “Be faithful to the cause.” “Right as a trivet,” said Berkenhead, “and so pass on. A fig for the consequences, so that my skirts are clear.” Relieved from this embarrassment, Sarah Drummond and her trembling companion passed through the gate, and proceeded up the long gravelled walk which led to the state-house. They had not gone far before Virginia Temple descried a dark form approaching them, and even before she could recognize the features, her heart told her it was Hansford. In another moment she was in his arms. “My own Virginia, my loved one,” he cried, regardless of the presence of Mrs. Drummond, “I scarcely dared hope that you would have kept your promise to say farewell. Come, dearest, lean on my arm, I have much to tell you. You, my kind dame, remain here for a few moments—we will not detain you long.”