“It is the language of the heart, Miss Temple, on the present occasion at least,” said Bernard, gravely; “for I am admonished that it is time I should say farewell. Without flowers or poetry, Miss Virginia, I bid you adieu. May you be happy, and derive from your association with others that high enjoyment which you are so capable of bestowing. Farewell, Major Hansford, we may meet again, I trust, when it will not be necessary to invoke the interposition of a fair mediator to effect a reconciliation.” Hansford well understood the innuendo contained in the last words of Bernard, but taking the well-timed hint, refrained from expressing it more clearly, and gave his hand to his rival with every appearance of cordiality. And Virginia, misconstruing the words of the young jesuit, frankly extended her own hand, which he pressed respectfully to his lips, and then turned silently away. “Well, I am delighted,” said Virginia to her lover, when they were thus left alone, “that you are at last friends with Bernard. You see now that I was right and you were wrong in our estimates of his character.” “Indeed I do not, my dear Virginia; on the contrary, this brief interview has but confirmed my previously formed opinion.” “Oh! that is impossible, Hansford; you are too suspicious, indeed you are. I never saw more refinement and delicacy blended with more real candour. Indeed, Hansford, he is a noble fellow.” “I am sorry to differ with you, dearest; but to my mind his refinement is naught but Jesuitical craft; his delicacy the result of an educational schooling of the lip, to conceal the real feelings of his heart; and his candour but the gilt washing which appears like gold, but after all, only hides the baser metal beneath it.” “Well, in my life I never heard such perversion! Really, Hansford, you will make me think you are jealous.” “Jealous, Virginia, jealous!” said Hansford, in a sorrowful tone. “Alas! if I were even capable of such a feeling, what right have I to entertain it? Your heart is free, and torn from the soil which once cherished it, may be transplanted elsewhere, while the poor earth where once it grew can only hope now and then to feel the fragrance which it sheds on all around. No, not jealous, Virginia, whatever else I may be!” “You speak too bitterly, Hansford; have I not assured you that though a harsh fate may sever us; though parental authority may deny you my hand, yet my heart is unalterably yours. But tell me, why it is that you can see nothing good in this young man, and persist in perverting every sentiment, every look, every expression to his injury?” Before Hansford could reply, the shrill voice of Mrs. Temple was heard, crying out; “Virginia Temple, Virginia Temple, why where can the child have got to!”—and at the same moment the old lady came bustling round the house, and discovered the unlawful interview of the lovers.