The extraordinary appearance and conduct of Mamalis broke up for the present any further conference with Berkenhead, who—his mendacity having established his innocence in the minds of the loyalists—walked off with a swaggering gait, rather elated than otherwise with the result of his interview. Alfred Bernard followed him until they turned an angle of the house, and stood beneath the shade of one of the broad oaks, which spread its protecting branches over the yard. Meantime the Governor, with such of his council as had attended him to Windsor Hall, retired to the study of the old Colonel, which had been fitted up both for the chamber of his most distinguished guest and for the deliberations of the council. The subject which now engaged their attention was one of more importance than any that had ever come before them since the commencement of the dissensions in Virginia. The mission of Hansford, while it had failed of producing the effect which he so ardently desired, had, notwithstanding, made a strong impression upon the mind of the Governor. He saw too plainly that it would be vain to resist the attack of Bacon, at the head of five hundred men, among whom were to be ranked the very chivalry of Virginia; while his own force consisted merely of his faithful adherents in the council, and about fifty mercenary troops, whose sympathies with the insurgents were strongly suspected. “I see,” said the old man, gloomily, as he took his seat at the council-board, “that I must seek some other refuge. I am hunted like a wild beast from place to place, through a country that was once my own, and by those who were once the loving subjects of my king.” “Remain here!” said the impulsive old Temple. “The people of Gloucester will yet rally around your standard, when they see open treason is contemplated; and should they still refuse, zounds, we may yet offer resistance with my servants and slaves.” “My dear friend,” said Berkeley, sorrowfully, “if all Virginians were like yourself, there would have been no rebellion—there would have been no difficulty in suppressing one, if attempted. But alas! the loyalty of the people of Gloucester has already been weighed in the balance and found wanting. No, I have acted hastily, foolishly, blindly. I have warmed this serpent into life by my forbearance and indulgence, and must at last be the victim of its venom and my folly. Oh! that I had refused the commission, which armed this traitor with legal power. I have put a sword into the hands of an enemy, and may be the first to fall by it.” “It is useless to repine over the past,” said Philip Ludwell, kindly; “but the power of these rebels cannot last long. The people who are loyal at heart will fall from their support, and military aid will be received from England ere long. Then the warmed reptile may be crushed.”