Oriana, after awaiting till a late hour the return of her brother and his friend, had retired to rest, and was sleeping soundly when the party entered the house, after their remarkable adventure. She was therefore unconscious, upon descending from her apartment in the morning, of the addition to her little household. Standing upon the veranda, she perceived what she supposed to be her brother’s form moving among the shrubbery in the garden. She hastened to accost him, curious to ascertain the nature of the excitement in Richmond on the preceding afternoon. Great was her astonishment and unfeigned her pleasure, upon turning a little clump of bushes, to find herself face to face with Harold Hare.

He had been lost in meditation, but upon seeing her his brow lit up as a midnight sky brightens when a passing cloud has unshrouded the full moon. With a cry of joy she held out both her hands to him, which he pressed silently for a moment as he gazed tenderly upon the upturned, smiling face, and then, pushing back the black tresses, he touched her white forehead with his lips.

Arthur Wayne was looking out from his lattice above, and his eye chanced to turn that way at the moment of the meeting. He started as if struck with a sudden pang, and his cheek, always pale, became of an ashen hue. Long he gazed with labored breath upon the pair, as if unable to realize what he had seen; then, with a suppressed moan, he sank into a chair, and leaned his brow heavily upon his hand. Thus for half an hour he remained motionless; it was only after a second summons that he roused himself and descended to the morning meal.

At the breakfast table Oriana was in high spirits, and failed to observe that Arthur was more sad than usual. Her brother, however, was preoccupied and thoughtful, and even Harold, although happy in the society of one he loved, could not refrain from moments of abstraction. Of course the adventure of the preceding night was concealed from Oriana, but it yet furnished the young men with matter for reflection; and, coupled with the exciting intelligence from South Carolina, it suggested, to Harold especially, a vision of an unhappy future. It was natural that the thought should obtrude itself of how soon a barrier might be placed between friends and loved ones, and the most sacred ties sundered, perhaps forever.

Miss Randolph, Oriana’s aunt, usually reserved and silent, seemed on this occasion the most inquisitive and talkative of the party. Her interest in the momentous turn that affairs had taken was naturally aroused, and she questioned the young men closely as to their view of the probable consequences.

“Surely,” she remarked, “a nation of Christian people will choose some alternative other than the sword to adjust their differences.”

“Why, aunt,” replied Oriana, with spirit, “what better weapon than the sword for the oppressed?”

“I fear there is treason lurking in that little heart of yours,” said Harold, with a pensive smile.

“I am a true Southerner, Mr. Hare; and if I were a man, I would take down my father’s rifle and march into General Beauregard’s camp. We have been too long anathematized as the vilest of God’s creatures, because we will not turn over to the world’s cold charity the helpless beings that were bequeathed into our charge by our fathers. I would protect my slave against Northern fanaticism as firmly as I would guard my children from the interference of a stranger, were I a mother.”

“The government against which you would rebel,” said Harold, “contemplates no interference with your slaves.”

“Why, Mr. Hare,” rejoined Oriana, warmly, “we of the South can see the spirit of abolitionism sitting in the executive chair, as plainly as we see the sunshine on an unclouded summer day. As well might we change places with our bondmen, as submit to this deliberate crusade against our institutions. Mr. Wayne, you are a man not prone to prejudice, I sincerely believe. Would you from your heart assert that this government is not hostile to Southern slavery?”

“I believe you are, on both sides, too sensitive upon the unhappy subject. You are breeding danger, and perhaps ruin, out of abstract ideas, and civil war will have laid the country waste before either party will have awakened to a knowledge that no actual cause of contention exists.”

“Perhaps,” said Beverly, “the mere fact that the two sections are hostile in sentiment, is the best reason why they should be hostile in deed, if a separation can only be accomplished by force of arms.”

“And do you really fancy,” said Harold, sharply, “that a separation is possible, in the face of the opposition of twenty millions of loyal citizens?”

“Yes,” interrupted Oriana, “in the face of the opposing world. We established our right to self-government in 1776; and in 1861 we are prepared to prove our power to sustain that right.”

“You are a young enthusiast,” said Harold, smiling. “This rebellion will be crushed before the flowers in that garden shall be touched with the earliest frost.”

“I think you have formed a false estimate of the movement,” remarked Beverly, gravely; “or rather, you have not fully considered of the subject.”

“Harold,” said Arthur, sadly, “I regret, and perhaps censure, equally with yourself, the precipitancy of our Carolinian brothers; but this is not an age, nor a country, where six millions of freeborn people can be controlled by bayonets and cannon.”

They were about rising from the table, when a servant announced that some gentlemen desired to speak with Mr. Weems in private. He passed into the drawing-room, and found himself in the presence of three men, two of whom he recognized as small farmers of the neighborhood, and the other as the landlord of a public house. With a brief salutation, he seated himself beside them, and after a few commonplace remarks, paused, as if to learn their business with him.

After a little somewhat awkward hesitation, the publican broke silence.

“Squire Weems, we’ve called about a rather unpleasant sort of business”

“The sooner we transact it, then, the better for all, I fancy, gentlemen.”

“Just so. Old Judge Weems, your father, was a true Virginian, squire, and we know you are of the right sort, too.” Beverly bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment. “Squire, the boys hereabouts met down thar at my house last night, to take into consideration them two Northern fellows that are putting up with you.”

“Well, sir?”

“We don’t want any Yankee abolitionists in these parts.”

“Mr. Lucas, I have no guests for whom I will not vouch.”

“Can’t help that, squire, them chaps is spotted, and the boys have voted they must leave. As they be your company, us three’ve been deputized to call on you and have a talk about it. We don’t want to do nothing unpleasant whar you’re consarned, squire.”

“Gentlemen, my guests shall remain with me while they please to honor me with their company, and I will protect them from violence or indignity with my life.”

“There’s no mistake but you’re good grit, squire, but ’tain’t no use. You know what the boys mean to do, they’ll do. Now, whar’s the good of kicking up a shindy about it?”

“No good whatever, Mr. Lucas. You had better let this matter drop. You know me too well to suppose that I would harbor dangerous characters. It is my earnest desire to avoid everything that may bring about an unnecessary excitement, or disturb the peace of the community; and I shall therefore make no secret of this, interview to my friends. But whether they remain with me or go, shall be entirely at their option. I trust that my roof will be held sacred by my fellow-citizens.”

“There’ll be no harm done to you or yours, Squire Weems, whatever happens. But those strangers had better be out of these parts by to-morrow, sure. Good morning, squire.”

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

And the three worthies took their departure, not fully satisfied whether the object of their mission had been fulfilled.

Beverly, anxious to avoid a collision with the wild spirits of the neighborhood, which would be disagreeable, if not dangerous, to his guests, frankly related to Harold and Arthur the tenor of the conversation that had passed. Oriana was on fire with indignation, but her concern for Harold’s safety had its weight with her, and she wisely refrained from opposing their departure; and both the young men, aware that a prolongation of their visit would cause the family at Riverside manor much inconvenience and anxiety, straightway announced their intention of proceeding northward on the following morning.

But it was no part of Seth Rawbon’s purpose to allow his rival, Hare, to depart in peace. The chastisement which he had received at Harold’s hands added a most deadly hate to the jealousy which his knowledge of Oriana’s preference had caused. He had considerable influence with several of the dissolute and lawless characters of the vicinity, and a liberal allowance of Monongahela, together with sundry pecuniary favors, enabled him to depend upon their assistance in any adventure that did not promise particularly serious results. Now the capture and mock trial of a couple of Yankee strangers did not seem much out of the way to these not over-scrupulous worthies; and Rawbon’s cunning representations as to the extent of their abolition proclivities were scarcely necessary, in view of the liberality of his bribes, to secure their cooperation in his scheme.

Rawbon had been prowling about the manor house during the day, in the hope of obtaining some clue to the intentions of the inmates, and observing a mulatto boy engaged in arranging the boat for present use, he walked carelessly along the bank to the old boat-house, and, by a few adroit questions, ascertained that “Missis and the two gen’lmen gwine to take a sail this arternoon.”

The evening was drawing on apace when Oriana, accompanied by Arthur and Harold, set forth on the last of the many excursions they had enjoyed on James River; but they had purposely selected a late hour, that on their return they might realize the tranquil pleasures of a sail by moonlight. Beverly was busy finishing some correspondence for the North, which he intended giving into the charge of his friend Arthur, and he therefore remained at home. Phil, a smart mulatto, about ten years of age, who was a general favorite in the family and an especial pet of Oriana, was allowed to accompany the party.

It was a lovely evening, only cool enough to be comfortable for Oriana to be wrapped in her woollen shawl. As the shadows of twilight darkened on the silent river, a spirit of sadness was with the party, that vague and painful melancholy that weighs upon the heart when happy ties are about to be sundered, and loved ones are about to part. Arthur had brought his flute, and with an effort to throw off the feeling of gloom, he essayed a lively air; but it seemed like discord by association with their thoughts. He ceased abruptly, and, at Oriana’s request, chose a more mournful theme. When the last notes of the plaintive melody had been lost in the stillness of the night, there was an oppressive pause, only broken by the rustle of the little sail and the faint rippling of the wave.

“I seem to be sailing into the shadows of misfortune,” said Oriana, in a low, sad tone. “I wish the moon would rise, for this darkness presses upon my heart like the fingers of a sorrowful destiny. What a coward I am to-night!”

“A most obedient satellite,” replied Arthur. “Look where she heralds her approach by spreading a misty glow on the brow of yonder hill.”

“We have left the shadows of misfortune behind us,” said Harold, as a flood of moonlight flashed over the river, seeming to dash a million of diamonds in the path of the gliding boat.

“Alas! the fickle orb!” murmured Oriana; “it rises but to mock us, and hides itself already in the bosom of that sable cloud. Is there not a threat of rain there, Mr. Hare?”

“It looks unpromising, at the best,” said Harold; “I think it would be prudent to return.”

Suddenly, little Phil, who had been lying at ease, with his head against the thwarts, arose on his elbow and cried out:

“Wha’dat?”

“What is what, Phil?” asked Oriana. “Why, Phil, you have been dreaming,” she added, observing the lad’s confusion at having spoken so vehemently.

“Miss Orany, dar’s a boat out yonder. I heard ’em pulling, sure.”

“Nonsense, Phil! you’ve been asleep.”

“By Gol! I heard ’em, sure. What a boat doing round here dis time o’ night? Dem’s some niggers arter chickens, sure.”

And little Phil, satisfied that he had fathomed the mystery, lay down again in a fit of silent indignation. The boat was put about, but the wind had died away, and the sail flapped idly against the mast. Harold, glad of the opportunity for a little exercise, shipped the sculls and bent to his work.

“Miss Oriana, put her head for the bank if you please. We shall have less current to pull against in-shore.”

The boat glided along under the shadow of the bank, and no sound was heard but the regular thugging and splashing of the oars and the voices of insects on the shore. They approached a curve in the river where the bank was thickly wooded, and dense shrubbery projected over the stream.

“Wha’ dat?” shouted Phil again, starting up in the bow and peering into the darkness. A boat shot out from the shadow of the foliage, and her course was checked directly in their path. The movement was so sudden that, before Harold could check his headway, the two boats fouled. A boathook was thrust into the thwarts; Arthur sprang to the bows to cast it off.

“Don’t touch that,” shouted a hoarse voice; and he felt the muzzle of a pistol thrust into his breast.

“None of that, Seth,” cried another; and the speaker laid hold of his comrade’s arm. “We must have no shooting, you know.”

Arthur had thrown off the boathook, but some half-dozen armed men had already leaped into the frail vessel, crowding it to such an extent that a struggle, even had it not been madness against such odds, would have occasioned great personal danger to Oriana. Both Arthur and Harold seemed instinctively to comprehend this, and therefore offered no opposition. Their boat was taken in tow, and in a few moments the entire party, with one exception, were landed upon the adjacent bank. That exception was little Phil. In the confusion that ensued upon the collision of the two boats, the lad had quietly slipped overboard, and swam ground to the stern where his mistress sat. “Miss Orany, hist! Miss Orany!”

The bewildered girl turned and beheld the black face peering over the gunwale.

“Miss Orany, here I is. O Lor’! Miss Orany, what we gwine to do?”

She bowed her head toward him and whispered hurriedly, but calmly:

“Mind what I tell you, Phil. You watch where they take us to, and then run home and tell Master Beverly. Do you understand me, Phil?”

“Yes, I does, Miss Orany;” and the little fellow struck out silently for the shore, and crept among the bushes.

Oriana betrayed no sign, of fear as she stood with her two companions on the bank a few paces from their captors. The latter, in a low but earnest tone, were disputing with one who seemed to act as their leader.

“You didn’t tell us nothing about the lady,” said a brawny, rugged-looking fellow, angrily. “Now, look here, Seth Rawbon, this ain’t a goin’ to do. I’d cut your heart out, before I’d let any harm come to Squire Weems’s sister.”

“You lied to us, you long-headed Yankee turncoat,” muttered another. “What in thunder do you mean bringing us down here for kidnapping a lady?”

“Ain’t I worried about it as much as you?” answered Rawbon. “Can’t you understand it’s all a mistake?”

“Well, now, you go and apologize to Miss Weems and fix matters, d’ye hear?”

“But what can we do?”

“Do? Undo what you’ve done, and show her back into the boat.”

But the two abo

“Damn them and you along with ’em! Come, boys, don’t let’s keep the lady waiting thar.”

The party approached their prisoners, and one among them, hat in hand, respectfully addressed Oriana.

“Miss Weems, we’re plaguy sorry this should ’a happened. It’s a mistake and none of our fault. Your boat’s down thar and yer shan’t be merlested.”

“Am I free to go?” asked Oriana, calmly.

“Free as air, Miss Weems.”

“With my companions?”

“No, they remain with us,” said Rawbon.

“Then I remain with them,” she replied, with dignity and firmness.

The man who had first remonstrated with Rawbon, stepped up to him and laid his hand heavily on his shoulder:

“Look here, Seth Rawbon, you’ve played out your hand in this game, now mind that. Miss Weems, you’re free to go, anyhow, with them chaps or not, just as you like.”

They stepped down the embankment, but the boats were nowhere to be seen. Rawbon, anticipating some trouble with his gang, had made a pretence only of securing the craft to a neighboring bush. The current had carried the boats out into the stream, and they had floated down the river and were lost to sight in the darkness.