Our hero was not deceived in his supposition, that the savage tribes inhabiting the Peninsula would make a desperate effort to retain possession of a country so admirably adapted to their mode of life. Two noble rivers, one on either hand, abounding with a variety of fish, and a fertile soil, yielding its treasures with little culture, were considerations in the eyes of these ignorant but not misjudging sons of the forest, not to be surrendered without a struggle.

As the army of the colonists pursued its march toward the point already indicated as the rendezvous of the again confederated tribes, it was constantly harassed with alarms—signal fires and flying bodies of mounted warriors, first cutting off their communication with the river—now assailing the vanguard, and then hovering upon the rear. Three weeks and more were thus consumed in partial and unsatisfactory engagements; the skirmishers first approaching one river, upon the representation of some treacherous savage, and then hurrying back in the opposite direction to meet some illusive demonstration made by the cunning enemy. The youthful commander soon perceived that this mode of warfare was the one exactly suited to the nature and condition of his foes, and the least adapted to the impetuous courage of his own troops. He saw too, that the savages had the double design of wearying out their invaders in the manner we have described, and of collecting and concentrating their forces, at some point where their own mode of warfare could be rendered available, without exposing themselves to the destructive discharges of artillery which they still held in superstitious terror. A very little reflection satisfied him that there would be no immediate danger in pursuing the direct route between the Powhatan and Chickahominy rivers, toward the falls of the former, where he had already some intimation that the enemy were collecting in great force. He was well satisfied that the tribes already dislodged had removed all their winter provisions, and their wigwams being destroyed, there could be little hazard to the city in disregarding their daily demonstrations in his front, flank, and rear. Accordingly his troops were concentrated in a solid column, and marched directly toward the falls, entirely disregarding the petty annoyances which had already detained them so ingloriously in the Peninsula.

While they were marching toward the scene of the great and final struggle for supremacy between their own race and the Aborigines, in this narrow neck of land, which had so long been the scene of contention, we will retrace our steps for a short space, in order to bring up the proceedings at Jamestown to the point at which we have just arrived.

In doing so, however, it is not our intention to fatigue the reader with a minute account of the long and tedious days, and still more wretched nights, spent by our heroine after the shock given to her delicate constitution by the painful and unexpected adventure in the chapel, and by the subsequently reported death of her mother under peculiarly awful and afflicting circumstances. The reader has doubtless more truly imagined her condition during the first paroxysms of the fever, than we could describe it. Down to the time when her favourite and confidant was permitted to enter her room, the daily occurrences of her yet endangered life were sad and monotonous enough, but the paramount cravings of diseased nature once assuaged, her mental excitement once more rose in the ascendant. Not that her reason ever became deranged, except from violent febrile action during the height of the attack; however feeble her physical organization, her mental powers were clear and unclouded, and her spirits, though of necessity somewhat broken, were firm and elastic. The truth is, that she did not believe the assertion of the Recluse by which the nuptial ceremony was so dreadfully interrupted. She had indeed a feeling of superstitious reverence for whatever came from his lips, but she had also seen the wild fire of his eye when under deep excitement, and she did not therefore give implicit confidence to any declaration he should make.

This questioning of his oracular authority was an after-consideration it is true, and was itself prompted by other feelings, having their foundation in the affections of the heart. She could not believe that her lover was her own brother; her feelings toward him were peculiar—powerful, and different from the love of mere kindred. Besides, there were little almost undefinable circumstances in the intercourse of their halcyon days, which she did not believe, could in the nature of man, have taken place between brother and sister. She most truly thought that her lover and herself were expressly created for each other; that their union had been decreed in heaven. That in the first dawnings of their mutual understanding of each other, there had been electrical, spiritual and ever sublime transmissions of mutual intelligence and exquisite pleasure, which could not exist between children of the same parents. These were some of the reasonings which first led her to doubt the infallibility of the Recluse, or rather this was something like the process by which she arrived at firm and undoubting conviction. She viewed the case in this light from the very first moment of unclouded perception, but at first it was a wild tumultuous and suffocating mixture of vague perceptions, and scarcely permitted hopes. As she gradually analyzed her feelings, and examined the reasons for her convictions, the truth dawned more and more clearly upon her view. She was one day sitting, propped up on her couch, during the three weeks in which Bacon was engaged in his Indian campaign, the doctor sitting by her side with his finger upon her pulse. Both were silent and abstracted. The pale beautiful countenance of the invalid was fixed in deep and earnest thought. Her eyes wandered through an open window, and sought a resting place upon some sunny spot of green and refreshing nature. Her lips moved just perceptibly, as if she were conversing with some one in an under tone. At length she slightly raised her head, her eyes sparkled with the brilliancy of stars, waxing brighter and brighter, and her head rising higher and higher from her pillow, until she screamed in wild delight, "The light of heaven and love's inspiration itself declare it false."

The doctor rose with a grave and anxious look, and placing one hand upon her shoulders, and with the other removing the pillows that supported her, laid her gently down, saying,

"I fear there is more excitement about your head to-day, my dear young lady; if it continues you must lose blood again."

"Oh, dear doctor, there is indeed excitement about my head and my heart too, but it is not the excitement of fever; or if it is, it is a dear delightful fever, which I trust in God will never leave me, for it came just now wafted on my brain as if by the music of the spheres."

"Your room must be darkened again, and the cold applications to your head repeated."

"You think I am losing my senses again, dear doctor, but I assure you I am just regaining them, as I will show you from this time forward. I have now done with physic. I have a medicine here," (and she laid her hand upon her heart, while a bewitching smile played around her mouth, that staggered the good doctor,) "which is worth more to me than all the costly drugs of India, or the islands of the sea."

And the event justified her words. Her mind was no sooner settled in deep conviction, and her heart comparatively at ease, than she began rapidly to recover. It was some days before the scene just related, when Harriet Harrison was admitted to her presence, and when, as the reader has already learned from that maiden herself, Virginia propounded to her the questions touching her lover's belief in their reported relationship, which were repeated by Miss Harrison to Bacon.

So long as that interview continued between the two intimates, untramelled by the presence of a third person, it was one of deep interest; but unfortunately the heir of the house had too much reason to suspect that Harriet's feelings were engaged in another's interest, long to indulge them with an unbroken interview. Virginia barely had time to ask those questions, and whisper to her friend the tidings of her own dawning hopes, before the doctor entered, attended to the door as Harriet perceived through the partial opening, by Frank Beverly himself; she therefore took her leave, promising a speedy return.

As she retired from the chamber of the invalid, she accidentally overheard the Governor's orders for Bacon's arrest, the result of which has already been related. Her next visit to the house was on the day of the scene between the doctor and his patient, which we have just attempted to describe. She was ushered into the room of state, usually occupied by the Governor for the reception of his most distinguished guests. No formality was neglected in duly receiving her at the door, and conducting her to this presence chamber of his Excellency, by the official who acted as master of ceremonies.

"I have no business of state to communicate to the Governor, Sir Porter; I came to see his niece!"

The porter bowed profoundly as he replied, "But his Excellency has some business with you, madam, as he informed me, when he directed me to usher you into this apartment." Another profound inclination followed, with an accompaniment of rubbing hands and shuffling his feet backward; while the arch, but somewhat alarmed and astonished maiden, was left to con her speech to the Governor at her leisure. After a most tedious interval of half an hour, the formal representative of majesty made his appearance, with such a profusion of bows that his merry master himself would have smiled to witness them. Of course Harriet bit her lips in order to restrain their mirthful inclinations. While the old knight drew a chair, and after sundry hems and stroking his chin, thus gravely addressed her: "I am informed, Madam, that you are desirous of an interview with me; will you be so good as to enlighten me as to the cause of the unexpected honour?"

"Some one must have deceived you with a most egregious story, Sir William. I desired no such thing. I came here to see my friend, Virginia Fairfax."

"I am exceedingly pained to inform you, Miss Harriet, that from certain late circumstances, which it is needless to particularize, and in which you were somewhat a participator, I, as Virginia's natural guardian, have thought proper to end the intercourse between you at once. My niece is destined soon to become the wife of my young kinsman, Beverly, and it is most prudent to keep her from the sight of such persons and things as might remind her of that most strange and disgraceful transaction of which I will not speak more openly. I am very sorry to give you pain, but there was no other course left for me to pursue than to be plain and candid with you."

"And does this marriage take place with Virginia's consent?"

"She has not been consulted as yet; her health, in the first place, did not admit of it, and in the second, the evidence which she so lately gave of being utterly incapable of choosing a husband calculated to secure her own happiness, or reflect honour upon her family and connexions, has caused that duty to devolve on me."

"But, Sir William, suppose she should refuse to accept the husband of your choice? You certainly will not enforce your determination."

"Her lamented father and myself entered long since into a covenant by which these young people were to be united. On the very morning of his death, we talked the matter over; he freely and fully consented to the completion of the engagement, and forthwith it shall be carried into execution, if sufficient authority remains to me in these turbulent and rebellious times to enforce it."

"But you will give her time to assuage her grief, and make up her mind to the lot which awaits her. You surely will not precipitate her into the celebration of these nuptials?"

"You talk, young lady, as if it were some horrible and revolting monster to whom I intended uniting her, instead of the presumptive heir and nearest kinsman of Sir William Berkley, well favoured and highly accomplished, as you must acknowledge that he is. She has had time enough to recover her equanimity, and as soon as her health is equally restored, the ceremony shall be performed; and whether or not, it is my purpose to complete it before the return of that arch-rebel Bacon to the city. Please God, however, I intend he shall return in irons to undergo the penalty demanded by the outraged laws of his country."

"And you will not permit me to see my friend for five minutes—only five minutes?"

"No! lady, you are now advised of my intentions touching the disposal of my niece, and you may readily comprehend the reasons of your exclusion from her presence, without my entering into further and more painful explanations."

With this answer, Harriet was compelled to be content, and therefore making a reverence, more than usually formal, to his Excellency, she withdrew. It was not in her nature, however, to resign her friend to the fate which threatened her, without an effort to relieve her. From the gubernatorial mansion she immediately hastened in pursuit of O'Reily, in order to despatch him with a communication for his master. But Brian was nowhere to be found; her own researches and those of the servant whom she despatched in pursuit of him were of no effect; she was therefore compelled to entrust her message to one of her father's negroes, who was well mounted, and despatched upon his errand, within less than two hours from the time of her interview with his Excellency.

During the absence of the army in the Peninsula, Sir William Berkley had not been idle, as has already been intimated. The commands borne by his couriers to those Cavaliers throughout the colony, who were yet well affected to his government, began now to bring them in from all directions, and the regular soldiers stationed at the forts, which were so offensive to the citizens, were marching rapidly upon the capital from every quarter. Some had already arrived, and the city was once more thronged with eager faces. Sounds of martial music were again heard through the streets, and the more quiet citizens again disturbed with the stern preparations for war.

The present military and Cavalier assemblages in the capital were, however, of a very different political character, and brought together with very different motives from those which had preceded them. They were not less in numbers, spirit and appointments; but their object was not to cope with the savage—it was to measure arms in deadly strife with their own countrymen and fellow-citizens. The army now assembling, was intended by the Governor to suppress what he called the rebellion, and his purpose was, as soon as his forces should all arrive, to march at once to the Falls of the Powhatan, and while the popular army were engaged in front with the savage enemies of their country, to fall upon their rear, and either cut them in pieces, or compel them to surrender as rebels found bearing arms against his majesty's authority in the colony.

Seldom have political parties of any country presented so strange an aspect as did those of Virginia at this period. First, the people of the city had been divided between the Cavaliers and Roundheads. The latter were no sooner brought into complete subjection, than a new amalgamation took place, by which their distinctive character was lost. Then, growing out of the puerile obstinacy of Sir William Berkley, in refusing to repel the incursions of the Indians merely because he had at first maintained that there was no danger to be apprehended from their hostility, the popular or conservative party sprang into existence. Against these were now arrayed the loyalist faction, and most of those descended from noble ancestors or bearing titles, headed by the Governor himself.

In a very few days this latter party had assembled their whole military force in the city, and the most active preparations were made to march against Bacon and his followers who were carrying fire and sword into the very heart of the country occupied by the real enemies of the colony.

The temporary duties of the government were resigned into the hands of Sir H. Chicherley, while Sir William Berkley, Sir Herbert Jeffries, Francis Beverly, Philip Ludwell, and their compeers, assumed the most important stations of command in the army of the loyalists. Much the larger portion of the regular troops were composed of foreign mercenaries, sent over from England to perform those very duties which Bacon and his followers were now to be punished for assuming. The very soldiers who ought to have protected the whites against the incursions of the Indians were to be turned against the patriot band which had volunteered to perform a service no longer to be deferred with safety to the colony. It is true that the commissions of Bacon and his officers were not legally signed by the constituted authorities; but an emergency had arisen which threw the citizens back at once upon their original rights and powers. The government having failed to afford them protection for their lives and property, they had assumed that office for themselves. This was the condition of the colony at the juncture of which we write.

While Sir William and his coadjutors were thus busily collecting and disciplining their forces, the citizens of the capital were not uninterested spectators of this unwonted succession of military preparations. Most of those remaining in the city had friends and relations in the ranks of the popular army, and though they dared not openly express their disapprobation of the Governor's proceedings, their discontent was deep and settled, and only awaited the departure of the present overpowering force, again to burst into open resistance against the government.

While these preparations for civil strife were going on in the streets of the city, a discussion of not less interesting import to some of the leading characters of our story, was carried on within the walls of the Governor's mansion. The stout old Cavalier had fixed upon the day preceding the departure of his army, for the solemnization of the marriage between his niece and his kinsman Beverly. He had himself held several interviews with the former, but had failed to make the least impression on her mind, either by his reasoning or his more artful appeals to her filial duty and affections.

In vain had he detailed her father's plans and expectations. In vain had he appealed to her love and respect for his memory. In vain had he descended from his dignity to reproach her with the late disastrous occurrence at the chapel. In vain had he coarsely charged her with desiring an alliance, contrary alike to the laws of God and man. She was deaf to his arguments and his threats. But the time approached with fearful rapidity, which he had appointed for the ceremony. The intended bridegroom held an important command in the expedition now preparing, and it was Sir William's intention that he should be married and set out on the succeeding morning. Notwithstanding our heroine's apparent firmness, therefore, in presence of her stern relative, every note of preparation which was wafted into her chamber sent the blood oppressively to her heart. Her naturally mild and gentle nature shrunk from the contemplation of the violence which her fears and her knowledge of her kinsman induced her to believe would be used to overcome her resolution.

His pretended dread of the disgrace which he charged her with desiring to bring upon his family she knew was exactly the apology he wanted for the arbitrary measures necessary to the completion of the plan.

She was alone in the world. No one now stood ready to give her rescue from the relentless hands which placed restraint upon her inclinations. Her nearest kindred had, as she believed, fallen by the savage tomahawk, and her only remaining relative was about to force her into a marriage which she detested. Notwithstanding all these depressing circumstances, her elastic mind and sanguine temperament had hitherto risen above the accumulating weight of her misfortunes. She had still preserved the vague yet constant hope, so natural to youth, that some fortunate occurrence, some unexpected accident would yet take place to mar the well laid plans of the Governor. But as the time approached, and the preparations moved steadily forward without any evidence of coming succour, or the fortunate event which was to release her from her dreadful situation, her heart began to misgive her—she was compelled in some measure to assume an humbler posture towards the stern old man in whose hands her destiny seemed placed. Her ingenuity had turned the subject in all its various aspects—every chance of escape was provided against. Even the presence of her friend Harriet, upon which she had founded most of her hopes, was rigidly and perseveringly denied to her. As a last and desperate resort, she humbly supplicated her uncle for an uninterrupted interview with him to whom he purposed to marry her; and Sir William seeing nothing in this request calculated to defeat his plans, but on the contrary hoping that it proceeded from a wavering resolution, granted the request.

She sat upon a large leathern-backed chair, her head leaning upon the window sill, and her flaxen ringlets clustering around her pale and attenuated, but still beautiful features. Her robe de chamber was white and simple in its fashion, and her hands were listlessly and languidly twined into its folds, seeming, every now and then, as if her delicate fingers would pierce the yielding texture. A solitary tear seemed as if it had already departed from its pure fountain, as tremblingly it hung upon the long dewy eyelash, the mere closing of which dissipated it into a thin misty veil of sadness to her liquid melancholy blue eye, as it was turned in fearful expectation towards the door.

At length Beverly entered. She had until this moment strenuously resisted all endeavours to promote an interview, and once, on a former similar occasion, had covered her face and pertinaciously resisted all attempts on his part to lead her into conversation. He now entered with the knowledge that the invitation came from herself; he felt his supposed power; and a lofty smile played upon his proud but handsome features. As he approached, she sank upon her knees, and clasped her hands in supplication. The tears had now burst the restraints of thought and internal oppression, and rapidly coursed each other down her cheeks as she spoke, "You see before you, sir, a solitary female and an orphan, bereaved suddenly and cruelly of her natural protectors—deserted or oppressed by those who should have supplied their place. Before the distracting grief for these afflictions has had time to lose its first intensity, she has been cruelly beset and importuned to become a party to a marriage, of which she had never before thought. You, sir, are the other party! I entreat, I implore you on my knees, at least to postpone this intended ceremony. If it is performed to-night, as my uncle has appointed, the wrath of Heaven will be poured out upon such a desecration of its holy institutions. You, sir, will wed a corpse or a raving maniac! Interpose then, I pray you. Petition Sir William, as from yourself alone, for its postponement, at least until your return from the intended campaign, and I will pray for your happiness until the end of my existence. I will then indeed believe that you desire mine."

He made several attempts to raise her from her supplicating posture, during her appeal, but she maintained her attitude. Having paused to catch her exhausted breath, he seized the opportunity to say, "Are you sure, madam, that there is no lurking weakness, no sinister design, in this demand for farther time?"

"Of what design, what weakness do you suspect me?" she exclaimed, raising her head boldly, and losing almost instantly the subdued tone of entreaty.

"Of base and criminal affections for one who should be blotted from the tablets of your memory for his villany, if not for his kindred blood!"

She was on her feet in an instant; her ringlets wildly tossed back by a quick motion of the head, and a corresponding effort with both hands, which she held still clasped in her hair, as she stared at him an instant before she replied,

"Are you a man? A gentleman? A Cavalier? That you come here to insult and trample upon one already deserted of all mankind? Her whom you pretend to desire for a companion through joy and wo! How base, how cowardly, to insult a helpless female, and that female your kinswoman—one whom you pretend to love. Out upon you, sir, for a dastard! Were he now here whom you so basely slander, you would not dare employ such language!"

"Softly, softly, my dear lady. You are only betraying your own feelings, and counteracting the relenting mood into which your well acted appeal was near betraying me."

"Oh, then, forget what I have said, and be indeed the high minded, generous Beverly, I once believed you! We were children together, caressed by the same friends and owning a common origin. Can you then witness unmoved my forlorn condition, without one feeling of compassion?"

Beverly was not wholly without tender feelings, although they were so concentrated upon himself, that it required the touch of a master hand to reach his heart. Selfish men, however, are sometimes easily worked upon by allusions or appeals to their family pride. Their connexions are a constituent part of the idol of their worship—self; and it is not the least remarkable feature in their characters, that such men are almost always affectionate husbands and devoted parents. These are but a part of self; their kindred by a farther remove are generally valued in proportion to their ability to confer honour upon the common stock.

"He that feels not love," says Goethe, "must learn to flatter." Doubtless the great German poet was contemplating the difficulties of the supremely selfish man in love, when he penned this aphorism. But Beverly was not so profoundly skilled in the human heart; he ardently desired to possess the hand of his fair kinswoman, as well on account of her many personal attractions, as of the rich inheritance of which she was the heiress; but he had not learned his own harsh defects of character, and of course could not substitute the arts of flattery for the softer eloquence of love. He felt and enjoyed his power, as compensating in some degree for the want of admiration of himself in his intended bride, and such were the feelings operating upon him when he entered her chamber; but her last appeal seemed to move his selfish nature, as he paused to contemplate the eloquent suppliant before he replied.

"Suppose that I obtain from Sir William his consent for the postponement of the ceremony, will you then give me your hand of your own free will?"

She paused before replying. The case was desperate; no succour seemed now within the bounds of probability. The shades of evening were fast gathering around the gloomy precincts of her secluded apartment. She knew her uncle's determination of character. One only chance of escape appeared remaining open to her, and she desperately resolved to seize it. Such was the train of reasoning by which she rapidly arrived at this conclusion, and replied,

"Our inclinations are not always within our own control, but if you obtain this reprieve, I promise to give you my hand upon the return of the present expedition, provided that nothing occurs in the mean time to free me from the necessity. For I will be plain and honest with you, and avow my determination to escape this marriage if I can."

"I understand you, fair cousin; you expect deliverance at the hands of your degraded and new found kinsman; but trust me, he will need succour himself before that time arrives. I expect to march him through these streets in irons on my wedding-day. Frown not—gather no storms of indignation upon your brow—it shall be even so. But time wears apace; so pledge yourself before Heaven, that if I obtain Sir William's consent to this delay, you will be mine upon the return of the army."

"Before Heaven I promise you, under the condition I have named."

"It is then a bargain, and I will seek the Governor to fulfil my part of it; should he consent, see that you remember your plighted faith. As for your condition, I take no thought of that;" and with this remark he left the room.

It was with the greatest difficulty that she could suppress her rising indignation, upon his again alluding to her new found kinsman; but she did so far suppress it as to force herself through the required promise. The door had no sooner closed upon his retreating footsteps, than she clasped her hands, and exclaimed fervently, raising her eyes toward heaven, "Thank God! I am now freed from the immediate apprehension of this most hated union. Oh, if he does but come within the allotted time! and come as my flattering hopes persuade me that he will—a conqueror! hailed as the deliverer of his country—the champion of her oppressed and outraged people, and the preserver of the most wretched of her maidens! what blessings will be his! Be he brother or kinsman or lover, he shall live for ever in this grateful heart. Brother indeed! He is a brother in kindness, devotion, and disregard of self; but a brother in kindred blood, my heart assures me he is not."

The door was again opened after the lapse of a short time, and Beverly entered to say, "I have seen Sir William, and presented my request; he refused at first, but when I told him that you had promised to be mine at the expiration of the required time, he yielded his consent. I purposely concealed from him that there was any condition in the case, first, because I take no heed to it myself, and secondly, because it might have precluded his concurrence, and would most certainly be a motive with him for placing you under still more rigid restraint. You see, sweet coz, that I study your happiness far more than you give me credit for. Why will you not freely then make me its guardian for life?"

"How very different is the selfish man," thought Virginia, "who thus blazons his own little acts of merest charity, for refined and delicate attentions, from him who possesses innate benevolence and gentleness of heart? He would have studiously concealed a hundred greater kindnesses than this." But under present circumstances, even such unfavourable comparisons did not prevent her from replying,

"For every act of kindness towards me, Mr. Beverly, I am sure I try to feel very grateful, and since I have been within these walls, my feelings have been so little exercised in that way that it is really refreshing to feel under their influence, even in the smallest degree. The very servants treat me as a lost and abandoned creature. Those of my own sex that once professed love and respect for me, fly from the apartment when I speak to them, as if there were contamination in my very voice. I know that some horrible tale has been told them about me: would you but take the trouble to correct the false impression, before you depart, my solitary lot might be greatly softened, and I would then have double cause for gratitude."

"With the domestic arrangements of the house I dare not interfere—Sir William has directed all those things himself."

"And is it by his orders too that my aunt comes not to see me, nor sends a kind word of inquiry as to my health these long sad days, or a book to while away the longer and more gloomy nights?"

"It is. She has wept as many foolish tears almost as yourself, since your confinement to this room."

"Thank God! You have taken a load from off my heart. There is then one soul within the house, of my own sex and blood too, who sympathises with me during these stern severities."

"Your trials will soon be over, my pretty coz, and then we will remove to a house of our own, and you shall lord it over some of these blackies, in revenge for their want of respect, to your heart's content." Attempting to chuck her under the chin, as he spoke, she was compelled to turn her head suddenly toward the window, for the double purpose of placing herself beyond the reach of his hand, and of concealing the rising flush of anger and contempt that glowed upon her countenance. She saw that he treated her as a child—that he imagined such conversation suited to the level of her capacity, and longed to humble his proud self-sufficiency, but dared not under present circumstances. For the first time in her life, she found herself compelled to disguise her natural feelings, and suppress the bitter words which rose upon her tongue. She therefore, by way of changing the conversation, and knowing not what else to say, inquired, "How soon does your army expect to return?"

"Soon, my dear coz, very soon. In ten days at farthest, I hope to lay some of the trophies of victory at your feet, and twine you a bridal turban from the standard of the rebel chief." Again she was forced to turn her head away. And the harmony of their meeting, constrained and unnatural as it was, would probably very soon have been ruptured by the almost bursting indignation which agitated her bosom, had not the martial summons to the evening parade called her tormentor from her presence.

By dawn of day, on the morning after the interview just related, the army under the command of Sir William Berkley took up its line of march toward the falls of the Powhatan.

Virginia was a sad and silent spectator of the imposing pageant. She stood at her window facing one of the cross streets, through which their march was directed, and examined the devices of banner after banner, as they moved along in martial pomp, to the soul-inspiring music of the drums and trumpets. No sympathizing emotions or half embodied supplications to the Ruler of Nations for the safety of their persons or the success of their arms burst from her lips. She saw the proud and self-satisfied Beverly curvetting by on his equally proud steed; she even saw him gayly wave his towering plumes in recognition of her presence without an answering nod or a single indication of approval. Her heart and hopes followed the standard of the youthful Captain who commanded the force which these were summoned to scatter and destroy. Long after the last ensign had passed from her sight, and the music was heard only in faint and distant echoes as it swelled and died away upon the air, she stood in the same spot, her eyes apparently still occupied with passing objects. It was not so—she was endeavouring to look into futurity. She pictured in her imagination the army of the Cavaliers, under Bacon, struggling in the murderous ambuscade of the concentrated savage tribes in front, and mercilessly cut down by their own countrymen in the rear. She saw the stern and uncompromising Sir William and his veteran compeers, brandishing their sabres over the heads of the younger Cavaliers, and Beverly and Bacon engaged in the deadly contest of personal rivalry and political hatred. Notwithstanding the disadvantages of the latter's position, youthful hopes and a sanguine temperament, awarded the victory to the cause which she believed the just one. She had already, as by miracle, escaped a fate which she considered far more to be deplored than death, and resolved to trust her own cause, and that in which it was involved, to him who rules the destinies of battles. She remembered, with feelings of adoration, that he had said that the race was not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong.