The new comers were Lawrence and Drummond, who, as will be recollected by the reader, were left in Jamestown to watch the proceedings of the Governor, and to convey to Bacon any needful intelligence concerning them. Although he had, in the first impulse of triumph after receiving his commission, confided fully in the promises of the vacillating Berkeley, yet, on reflection, Bacon did not rely very implicitly upon them. The Governor had once before broken his word in the affair of the parole, promising to grant the commission which he craved, upon condition of his confession of his former disloyal conduct and his promise to amend. Bacon was not the man to be twice deceived, and it did not therefore much surprise him to see the two patriots so soon after his departure from Jamestown, nor to hear the strange tidings which they had come to detail. “Why, how is this, General?” said Lawrence. “You have had bloody work already, it seems; and not without some loss to your own party.” “Yes, there they lie,” returned Bacon. “God rest their brave souls! But being dead, they yet speak—speak to us to avenge their death on the bloody savages who have slaughtered them, and to proclaim the insane policy of Berkeley in delaying our march against the foe. But what make you from Jamestown?” “Bad news or good, General, as you choose to take it,” replied Lawrence. “Berkeley has dissolved the Assembly in a rage, because they supported you in your demand of yesterday, and has himself, with his crouching minions, retired to Gloucester.” “To Gloucester!” cried Bacon. “That is indeed news. But what can the old dotard mean by such a movement?” “He has already made known his reasons,” returned Lawrence. “He has cancelled your commission, and proclaimed you, and all engaged with you, as rebels and traitors.” “Why, this is infamous!” said Bacon. “Is the old knave such an enemy to truth that it cannot live upon his lips for one short day? And who, pray, is rash enough to uphold him in his despotism, or base enough to screen him in his infamy?” “It was whispered as we left,” said Drummond, “that a certain Colonel Henry Temple had avouched the loyalty of Gloucester, and prevailed upon the Governor to make his house his castle, during what he is pleased to term this unhappy rebellion.” “And by my soul,” said Bacon, fiercely, “I will teach this certain Colonel Henry Temple the hazard that he runs in thus abetting tyranny and villainy. If he would not have his house beat down over his ears, he were wise to withdraw his aid and support; else, if his house be a castle at all, it is like to be a castle in Spain.”