“Are you not a Justice of the Peace?” asked Bernard, with a meaning look. “And what is that to you, sir?” replied the old man, suspecting the design of the question. “Only, sir, that as such it is your sworn duty to arrest that traitor. I know it is painful, but still it is your duty.” “And who the devil told you to come and teach me my duty, sir?” said the old man, wrathfully. “Let me tell you, sir, that Tom Hansford, with all his faults, is a d—d sight better than a great many who are free from the stain of rebellion. Rebellion!—oh, my God!—poor, poor Tom.” “Nay, then, sir,” said Bernard, meekly, “I beg your pardon. I only felt it my duty to remind you of what you might have forgotten. God forbid that I should wish to endanger the life of a poor young man, whose only fault may be that he was too easily led away by others.” “You are right, by God,” said the Colonel, quickly. “He is the victim of designing men, and yet I never said a word to reclaim him. Oh, I have acted basely and not like a friend. I will go now and bring him back, wife; though if he don't repent—zounds!—neither will I; no, not for a million friends.” So saying, the noble-hearted old loyalist, whose impulsive nature was as prompt to redeem as to commit an error, started from the room to reclaim his lost boy. It was too late. Hansford, anticipating the result of the fatal revelation, had ordered his horse even before his first interview with Virginia. The old Colonel only succeeded in catching a glimpse of him from the porch, as at a full gallop he disappeared through the forest. With a heavy sigh he returned to the study, there to meet with the consolations of his good wife, which were contained in the following words: “Well, I hope and trust he is gone, and will never darken our doors again. You know, my dear, I always told you that you were wrong about that young man, Hansford. There always seemed to be a lack of frankness and openness in his character, and although I do not like to interpose my objections, yet I never altogether approved of the match. You know I always told you so.” “Told the devil!” cried the old man, goaded to the very verge of despair by this new torture. “I beg your pardon, Bessy, for speaking so hastily, but, damn it, if all the angels in Heaven had told me that Tom Hansford could prove a traitor, I would not have believed it.”