“Aye, but he is like, with his vaulting ambition, to be the eagle himself,” returned Virginia; “and to say truth, although I have great confidence in your protection, I feel like a lone dove in his talons, and would wish for a safer home than in his eyrie.” “You need fear no danger, be assured, dearest Virginia,” said Hansford, “either for yourself or your mother. It is a part of his plan to send one of the ladies under our charge into the city, to apprise the garrison of our strange manœuvre; and I have already his word, that your mother and yourself will be the bearers of this message. In a few moments, therefore, your dangers will be past, and you will once more be in the arms of your noble old father.” “Oh thanks, thanks, my generous protector,” cried the girl, transported at this new prospect of her freedom. “I can never forget your kindness, nor cease to regret that I could ever have had a doubt of your honour and integrity.” “Oh forget that,” returned Hansford, “or remember it only that you may acknowledge that it is often better to bear with the circumstances which we cannot control, than by hasty opposition to lose the little influence we may possess with those in power. But see the moonlight reflected from the steeple of yonder church. We are within sight of Jamestown, and you will be soon at liberty. And oh! Virginia,” he said sorrowfully, “if it should be decreed in the book of fate, that when we part to-night we part forever, and if the name of Hansford be defamed and vilified, you at least, I know, will rescue his honour from reproach—and one tear from my faithful Virginia, shed upon a patriot's grave, will atone for all the infamy which indignant vengeance may heap upon my name.”