“And he who would screen himself in that darkness, to hear what he should not,” retorted Hansford, haughtily, “is not the man to resent what he has heard, I fear. But what I say, I am ready to maintain with my sword—and if you be a friend of the individual of whom I have spoken, and choose to espouse his quarrel, let me conduct this young lady to a place of safety, and I will return to grant such satisfaction as you or your principal may desire.” “This young maiden will tell you,” said Hutchinson, “that I am not one of those who acknowledge that bloody arbiter between man and man, to which you refer.” “Oh, no!” cried Virginia, in an agitated voice; “this is the good parson Hutchinson, of whom you have heard.” “And you, maiden,” said Hutchinson, “are not in the path of duty. Think you it is either modest or becoming, to leave your parents and your home, and seek a clandestine interview with this stranger. Return to your home. You have erred, grossly erred in this.” “Nay,” cried Hansford, in a threatening voice, “if you say ought in reproach of this young lady, by heavens, your parson's coat will scarce protect you from the just punishment of your insolence;” then suddenly checking himself, he added, “Forgive me, sir, this hasty folly. I believe you mean well, although your language is something of the most offensive. And say to your friend Mr. Bernard, all that you have heard, and tell him for Major Hansford, that there is an account to be settled between us, which I have not forgotten.” “Hansford!” cried the preacher, with emotion, “Hansford, did you say? Look ye, sir, I am a minister of peace, and cannot on my conscience bear your hostile message. But I warn you, if your name indeed be Hansford, that you are in danger from the young man of whom you speak. His blood is hot, his arm is skilful, and towards you his purpose is not good.” “I thank you for your timely warning, good sir,” returned Hansford, haughtily; “but you speak of danger to one who regards it not.” Then turning to Virginia, he said in a low voice, “'Tis at least a blessing, that the despair which denies to the heart the luxury of love, at least makes it insensible to fear.” “And are you such an one,” said Hutchinson, overhearing him; “and is it on thee that the iniquities of the father will be visited. Forbid it, gracious heaven, and forgive as thou would'st have me forgive the sins of the past.” “Mr. Hutchinson,” said Hansford, annoyed by the preacher's solemn manner and mysterious words, “I know nothing, and care little for all this mystery. Your brain must be a little disordered—for I assure you, that as I was born in the colony, and you are but a recent settler here, it is impossible that there can be any such mysterious tie between us as that at which you so darkly hint.” “The day may come,” replied Hutchinson, in the same solemn manner, “when you will know all to your cost—and when you may find that care and sorrow can indeed shake reason on her throne.”