THE RIVALS OF ACADIA, ANOLD STORYOFTHE NEW WORLD. 

 When two authorities are up, Neither supreme, how soon confusion May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take The _one by the other_. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

 Boston: WELLS AND LILLY, COURT-STREET. 

 1827. 

THE RIVALS OF ACADIA

DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT

 _District Clerk's Office. _

BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twenty sixth day of January, A. D. 1827, inthe fifty-first year of the Independence of the United States ofAmerica, Wells and Lilly of the said district, have deposited in thisOffice the Title of a Book, the Right whereof they claim as Proprietorsin the Words following, _to wit_:

"The Rivals of Acadia, an Old Story of the New World. 

 When two authorities are up, Neither supreme, how soon confusion May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take The one by the other _Shakspeare. _"

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled"An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the Copies ofMaps, Charts, and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies, during the Times therein mentioned, " and also to an Act, entitled "Anact supplementary to an Act, entitled, 'An Act for the encouragement ofLearning, by securing the Copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to theAuthors and Proprietors of such Copies during the times thereinmentioned, ' and extending the Benefits thereof to the Arts of Designing, Engraving, and Etching Historical, and other Prints. "

 JNO. W. DAVIS. _Clerk of the District of Masachusetts. _

THE

RIVALS OF ACADIA

CHAPTER I. 

 Far on th' horizon's verge appears a speck-- A spot--a mast--a sail--an armed deck! Their little bark her men of watch descry, And ampler canvas woos the wind from high. 

 LORD BYRON. 

On a bright day in the summer of 1643, a light pleasure-boat shot gailyacross the harbor of Boston, laden with a merry party, whose cheerfulvoices were long heard, mingling with the ripple of the waves, and themusic of the breeze, which swelled the canvas, and bore them swiftlyonward. A group of friends, who had collected on the shore to witnesstheir departure, gradually dispersed, till, at length, a singleindividual only remained, whose eyes still followed the track of thevessel, though his countenance wore that abstracted air, which shewedhis thoughts were detached from the passing scene. He seemed quiteunconscious of the silence that succeeded this transient bustle, and alow murmur, which soon begun to spread along the shore, was equallydisregarded. Suddenly a confused sound of many voices burst upon hisear, and hurried steps, as of persons in alarm and agitation, at oncearoused him from his reverie. At the same moment, a hand was laidheavily on his shoulder, and a voice exclaimed, with earnestness, "Are you insensible, Arthur Stanhope, at a moment, when every man's lifeis in jeopardy?"

"My father!" replied the young man, "what is the meaning of all thisexcitement and confusion?"

"Do you not know?" demanded the other; "a strange sail is approachingour peaceful coast; and, see! they have unfurled the standard of popishFrance. "

"It is true, by heaven!" exclaimed young Stanhope; "and, look, father, yonder boat is flying before them; this is no time to gaze idly on; wemust hasten to their rescue. "

The vessel, which produced so much alarm, was, in fact, a French ship ofconsiderable force, apparently well manned, and armed for offensive ordefensive operations. The national flag streamed gaily on the wind, and, as it anchored just against Castle Island, the roll of the drum, and theshrill notes of the fife, were distinctly heard, and men were seenbusied on deck, as if preparing for some important action. The littlebark, already mentioned, was filled, chiefly, with females andchildren, bound, on an excursion of pleasure, to an island in the bay;and their terror was extreme, on thus encountering an armed vessel ofthe French, who had, on many occasions, shewn hostility to thecolonists. The boat instantly tacked, and crowding sail, as much asprudence would permit, steered across the harbor towards Governor'sIsland. But it had evidently become an object of interest or curiosityto the French; their attention seemed wholly engrossed by it, andpresently a boat was lowered to the water, and an officer, with severalof the crew sprang into it, and rowed swiftly from the ship's side. Theyimmediately gave chase to the pleasure-boat, which was howeverconsiderably ahead, and so ably managed, that she kept clear herdistance; and with all the muscular strength, and nautical skill of theenemy, he found it impossible to gain upon her. 

In the mean time, the alarm had spread, and spectators of every age, andeither sex, thronged the shore, to witness this singular pursuit. Thecivil and military authorities prepared for defence, should it provenecessary; a battery, which protected the harbor, was hastily manned, and the militia drawn up, in rank and file, with a promptitude, notoften displayed by the heroes of a train-band company. For severalyears, no foreign or internal enemy had disturbed the public repose, andthe fortifications on Castle Island gradually fell into decay; and, from motives of economy, at this time not a single piece of artillerywas mounted, or a soldier stationed there. The enemy, of course, hadnothing to oppose his progress, should he choose to anchor in the inmostwaters of the bay. 

Governor's Island, however, at that moment, became the centre ofanxiety, and every eye was fixed upon the boat, which rapidly neared theshore. The governor, as was often his custom, had on that day retiredthere, with his family; and, attended only by a few servants, his personwas extremely insecure, should the French meditate any sinister design. In this emergency, three shallops were filled with armed men, to sailfor the protection of the chief magistrate, and ascertain the intentionsof the French. Young Stanhope was invested with the command of thislittle force; and perhaps there was no man in the colony, who would haveconducted the enterprize with more boldness and address. He had enteredthe English navy in boyhood; and, after many years of faithful service, was rapidly acquiring rank and distinction, when the unhappy dissensionsof the times threw their blighting influence on his prospects, anddisappointed his well-founded hopes of still higher advancement in hisprofession. His father, an inflexible Puritan, fled to New-England fromthe persecution of a church which he abhorred, and, with the malevolenceof narrow-minded bigotry, the heresy of the parent was punished, bydismissing the son from that honorable station, which his valour hadattained. Deeply wounded in spirit, Arthur Stanhope retired from theservice of his country, but he carried with him, to a distant land, theaffection and esteem of his brother officers, --a solace, whichmisfortune can never wrest from a noble and virtuous mind. 

On the present occasion, Stanhope made his arrangements with coolnessand precision, and received from everyone, the most prompt and zealousassistance. The alarm, which the appearance of the French at firstexcited, had gradually subsided; but still there were so many volunteersin the cause, that it was difficult to prevent the shallops from beingoverloaded. Constables with their batons, and soldiers, with fixedbayonets, guarded the place of embarkation, till, at a given signal, theboats were loosed from their moorings, and glided gently over the waves. A loud shout burst from the spectators, which was succeeded by astillness so profound, that, for several moments, the measured dash ofthe oars was distinctly heard on shore. An equal silence prevailed onboard the shallops, which were rowed in exact unison, while the men, whooccupied them, sat erect and motionless as automatons, their fire-armsglancing in the bright sun-shine, and their eyes occasionally turningwith defiance towards the supposed enemy. 

Arthur Stanhope stood on the stern of the principal vessel, and besidehim Mr. Gibbons, a young man, who watched the progress of thepleasure-boat with eager solicitude, --for it contained his mother andsisters. It had then nearly reached the island; their pursuers, probablyin despair of overtaking them, had relaxed their efforts, and rested ontheir oars, apparently undecided what course to follow. 

"They are observing us, " said Stanhope's companion, pointing to theFrench, "and I doubt they will return to the protection of their ship, and scarce leave us the liberty of disputing the way with them. "

"They will consult their prudence, in doing so, " replied Stanhope, "iftheir intentions are indeed hostile, as we have supposed. "

"If!" returned the other, "why else should they give chase to one of ourpeaceable boats, in that rude manner? But, thank heaven!" he added, joyfully, "it is now safe; see! my mother has this moment sprung onshore, with her frightened band of damsels and children! ah! I thinkthey will not _now_ admire the gallant Frenchmen, as they did lastsummer, when La Tour's gay lieutenant was here, with his compliments andtreaties!"

"I begin to think yonder vessel is from the same quarter, " said Arthur, thoughtfully; "Mons. De la Tour, perhaps, wishes to renew his alliancewith us, or seeks aid to carry on his quarrel with Mons. D'Aulney, hisrival in the government of Acadia. "

"God forbid!" said a deep, rough voice, which proceeded from thehelmsman, "that we should have any fellowship with those priests of thedevil, those monks and friars of popish France. "

"Spoke like an oracle, my honest fellow!" said Gibbons, laughing; "it isa pity that your zeal and discernment should not be rewarded by someoffice of public trust. "

"Truly, master Gibbons, we have fallen upon evil days, and the righteousno longer flourish, like green bay trees, in the high places of ourland; but though cast out of mine honorable office, there are many whocan testify to the zeal of my past services. "

"I doubt not there are many who have cause to remember it, " returnedGibbons, with a smile; "but bear a little to the leeward, unless youhave a mind to convert yonder papists, by a few rounds of good powderand shot. "

This short dialogue was broken off, by an unexpected movement of theFrench, who, after lingering, as in doubt, at some distance from theisland, suddenly recommenced rowing towards it, and at the same timestruck up a lively air on the bugle, which floated cheerily over thewaves. Soon after, their keel touched the strand, close by thepleasure-boat, which was safely moored, and deserted by everyindividual. The principal officer then leaped on shore, and walkedleisurely towards the house of governor Winthrop. Stanhope also landedin a short time, and, with Mr. Gibbons, proceeded directly to thegovernor's. The mansion exhibited no appearance of alarm; the windowswere thrown open to admit the cooling sea-breeze, children sportedaround the door, and cheerful voices within announced, that thestranger, who had just preceded them, was not an unwelcome guest. He wasconversing apart with Mr. Winthrop, when they entered, and theyinstantly recognized in him, a lieutenant of M. De la Tour, who had, ona former occasion, been sent to negociate a treaty with the magistratesof Boston. He was believed to be a Hugonot, and, on that account, aswell as from the personal regard which his conduct and manners inspired, he had been treated with much attention, during the time that heremained there. Mons. De Valette, --so he was called, --had beenparticularly intimate with the family of Major Gibbons, a gentleman ofconsideration in the colony, and he quickly espied his lady in thepleasure-boat, which he discovered in the bay. Gallantly inclined toreturn her civilities, he endeavoured to overtake her, with theintention of inviting her aboard the ship, quite unconscious that shewas flying from him in terror. But the formidable array of armedshallops, with the assemblage of people on shore, at length excited asuspicion of the truth, and he determined to follow the lady to herretreat, to explain the motives of his conduct. His apology wasgraciously accepted, and the late alarm became a subject of generalamusement. 

De Valette also improved the opportunity, to prepare governor Winthropfor the object of La Tour's voyage to Boston. M. Razilly, governor-general of the French province of Acadia, had entrusted theadministration to D'Aulney de Charnisy, and St. Etienne, lord of LaTour. The former he appointed lieutenant of the western part of thecolony, the latter of the eastern; they were separated by the river St. Croix. La Tour also held possession in right of a purchase, confirmed bythe king's patent; and, on the death of Razilly, which happened at anearly period of the settlement, he claimed the supreme command. Hispretensions were violently disputed by D'Aulney; and, from that time, each had constantly sought to dispossess the other; and the most bitterenmity kept them continually at strife. Both had repeatedly endeavouredto obtain assistance from the New-England colonists; but, as yet, theyhad prudently declined to decide in favor of either, lest the othershould prove a dangerous, or at least an annoying enemy. La Tour was, orpretended to be, a Hugonot, --which gave him a preference with the rulersof the Massachusetts; they had shewn a friendly disposition towards him, and permitted any persons, who chose, to engage in commerce with him. Hehad just returned from France, in a ship well laden with supplies forhis fort at St. John's, and a stout crew, who were mostly protestants ofRochelle. But he found the fort besieged, and the mouth of the rivershut up, by several vessels of D'Aulney's, whose force it would havebeen temerity to oppose. He sailed directly to Boston, to imploreassistance in removing his enemy; bringing with him a commission fromthe king, which established his authority, as lieutenant-general inAcadia. 

It was under these circumstances, that the French vessel appeared in theharbor of Boston, the innocent cause of so much alarm to theinhabitants. Governor Winthrop heard the details and arguments of DeValette, with polite attention; but he declined advancing any opinion, till he had consulted with the deputy, and other magistrates. He, however, desired Mr. Stanhope to return with the young officer to hisship, and request M. De la Tour to become a guest at the house of thechief magistrate, until his question was decided. 

CHAPTER II. 

 Fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

The tardy summer of the north burst forth in all its splendor on thewoods and scattered settlements of Acadia, and even the harassedgarrison at St. John's, revived under its inspiriting influence. La Tourhad been compelled to return to France in the autumn, for areinforcement and supplies, leaving the fort defended only by a hirelingforce, which could scarcely muster fifty men, fit for active service. They were a mixture of Scotch and French, Protestants and Catholics;their personal and religious disputes kept them at continual variance;and the death of an experienced officer, who had been left in command, produced a relaxation of discipline, which threatened the most seriousconsequences. The protracted absence of La Tour became a subject ofbitter complaint; and, as their stores, of every kind, gradually wastedaway, they began to talk loudly of throwing down their arms, andabandoning their posts. In this posture of affairs, the courage andfirmness of Madame la Tour alone restrained them from open mutiny. Withan air of authority, which no one presumed to question, she assumed thesupreme command, and established a rigid discipline, which the boldestdared not transgress. She daily witnessed their military exercises, assigned to every man his post of duty, and voluntarily submitted to themany privations which circumstances imposed on those beneath her. 

M. D'Aulney, in the mean time, kept a vigilant eye on the movements ofthe garrison. As spring advanced, his light vessels were sent toreconnoitre as near as safety would permit; and it was evident that hemeditated a decisive attack. Mad. La Tour used the utmost caution toprevent a surprise, and deceive the enemy respecting the weakness oftheir resources. She restricted the usual intercourse between herpeople, and those without the fort; and allowed no one to enterunquestioned, except a French priest, who came, at stated times, todispense ghostly counsel to the Catholics. 

On one of these occasions, as the holy father issued from a smallbuilding, which served as a chapel for his flock, he encountered thestiff figure and stern features of a Scotch Presbyterian, whom the ladyof La Tour, a protestant in faith, had received into her family, in thecapacity of chaplain to her household. It was on a Sabbath morning, andboth had been engaged in the offices of religion with their respectivecongregations. Each was passing on, in silence, when the Scot suddenlystopped, directly in the other's path, and surveyed him with anexpression of gloomy distrust. An indignant glow flashed across the palefeatures of the priest, but instantly faded away, and he stood in anattitude of profound humility, as if waiting to learn the cause of sorude an interruption. In spite of passion and prejudice, the bigotedsectary felt rebuked by the calm dignity of his countenance and manner;but he had gone too far to recede, without some explanation, andtherefore sternly said, "Our lady admits no stranger within these gates, and wo be to the wolfwho climbs into the fold in sheep's clothing!"

"The priest of God, " he replied, "is privileged by his holy office toadminister reproof and consolation, wherever there is an ear to listen, and a heart to feel. "

"The priest of Satan, " muttered the other, in a low, wrathful tone, "theemissary of that wicked one, who sitteth on the seven hills, filled withall abominations. "

The priest turned from him with a look of mingled pity and scorn; buthis reverend opponent caught his arm, and again strictly surveying him, exclaimed, "It is not thou, whom my lady's easy charity permits to come in hither, and lead poor deluded souls astray, with the false doctrines of thyfalse religion! Speak, and explain from whence thou comest, and whatare thy designs?"

"Thy wrath is vain and impotent, " said the priest, coolly withdrawingfrom his grasp; "but the precepts of my master enjoin humility, and Idisdain not to answer thee, though rudely questioned. Father Ambrosehath been called to a distant province, and, by his passport I comehither, to feed the flock which he hath left. "

Still dissatisfied, the chaplain was about to prosecute hisinterrogatories, but the singular rencontre had already collected acrowd around them, and the Catholics, with the vivacity of theircountry, and the zeal of their religion, began loudly to resent theinsult offered the holy father. Voices rose high in altercation; but asthe worthy Scot was totally ignorant of their language, he remained, forsome moments, at a loss to conjecture the cause of this suddenexcitement. But the menacing looks which were directed towards him, accompanied by gestures too plain to be misunderstood, at lengthconvinced him, that he was personally interested, and he commenced ahasty retreat, when his progress was arrested by the iron grasp of asturdy corporal, from which he found it impossible to free himself. Witha countenance, in which rage and entreaty were ludicrously blended, heturned towards the priest, whose earnest expostulations were addressed, in vain, to the exasperated assailants. The corporal kept his holdtenaciously, questioning him with a volubility known only to Frenchmen, and, enraged that he was neither understood nor answered, he concludedeach sentence with a shake, which jarred every sinew in the stout frameof the Scotchman. It is doubtful to what extremes the affray might havebeen carried, as the opposite party began to rally with equal warmth, for the rescue of their _teacher_; but, at that moment, a quick andrepeated note of alarum sounded in their ears, and announced somepressing danger. Thrown into consternation by this unexpected summons, the soldiers fled confusedly, or stood stupified, and uncertain whatcourse to pursue. Nor was their confusion diminished, when Madame laTour appeared in the midst of them, and, with a look, which severelyreproved their negligence, exclaimed, "Why stand ye here, my gallant men, clamouring with your idle brawls, when the enemy floats before our very gates? fly to your posts, or stayand see what a woman's hand can do. "

The appeal was decisive; in a moment every man filled his properstation, and throughout the fort, the breathless pause of suspensepreceded the expected signal of attack or defence. M. D'Aulney hadentered the river with a strong force, and owing to the negligence ofthe sentinels, appeared suddenly before the surprised garrison. Emboldened by meeting no resistance, he drew up his vessels against thefort, and incautiously approached within reach of the battery. Perceiving his error too late, he immediately tacked, and gave a signalto bear off, which was promptly obeyed by the lighter vessels. Butbefore his own, which was more unwieldly, could escape, Madame la Tourseized the favourable moment, and, with her own hand, discharged a pieceof artillery, which so materially damaged the vessel, that it was founddifficult to remove her from the incessant fire, which was then openedupon her. It was, however, effected; but, though repulsed at that time, it was not probable that D'Aulney would relinquish his designs; and, apprehensive that he might attempt a landing below the fort, a doubleguard was set, and every precaution taken to prevent another surprise. 

Madame la Tour, till the last moment of danger, was every whereconspicuous, dispensing her orders with the cool presence of mind, whichwould have honored a veteran commander. It was near the close of day, when she retired from the presence of the garrison, to seek repose fromher arduous duties. In passing an angle of the fort, she was attractedby the sound of light footsteps; and, as she paused an instant, a figurebounded from the shadow of the wall, and stood before her, wrapped in amilitary cloak, which completely enveloped its person. 

"Who are you?" demanded Madame de la Tour. 

"I am ashamed to tell you, " replied a soft, sweet voice, which the ladyinstantly recognized; "but if you can forgive me, I will uncover myself, for, indeed, I am well nigh suffocated already. "

"Foolish child! where have you been, and what is the meaning of allthis?"

"I was coming to seek for you; but I lingered here a few moments, for, in truth, I have no fancy to approach very near those formidable guns, unless they are more peaceably disposed than they have been to-day, and, now I must see if you forgive my cowardice!"

With these words the cloak was hastily unloosed, and the young page ofMad. La Tour sprang lightly from its folds. A tartan kirtle, reachingbelow the knees, with trews of the same material, and a Highland bonnet, adorned with a tuft of eagle feathers, gave him the appearance of aScottish youth;--but the sparkling black eyes, the clear brunettecomplexion, and the jetty locks which clustered around its brow andneck, proclaimed him the native of a warmer and brighter climate. Halflaughing, yet blushing with shame, the boy looked with arch timidity inhis lady's face, as if deprecating the expected reproof; but she smiledaffectionately on him, and said, "I have nothing to forgive, my child; God knows this is but a poor placefor one so young and delicate as you, and I wonder not, that yourcourage is sometimes tested beyond its strength. I would not wish youto share the dangers which it is my duty to encounter. "

"I should fear nothing could I really be of service to you, " replied thepage, "but, to-day, for instance, I must have been sadly in your way, and I am very sure the first cannon ball would have carried me off thewalls. "

"The enemy would doubtless aim at so important a mark, " said the lady, smiling, "but go now, --your valour will never win the spurs ofknighthood. "

"I am not ambitious of such an honour, " he answered gaily; "you know Iam but a fair-weather sort of page, fit only to hover around my lady'sbower, in the season of flowers and sunshine. "

"Mine is no bower of ease, " said Mad. La Tour; "but with all its perils, I am resolved to guard it with my life, and resign it only into thehands of my lord. You have promised to assist me, " she added, after amoment's pause, "and I wish you to redeem your word by remaining heretill I return. I care not to trust the faith of those idle soldiers, who, perchance, think they have done enough of duty to-day, and yourkeener eyes may keep a closer watch on the landing place, and soonerespy the motions of the enemy, who still hold their station below. "

"This I can do with pleasure, " said the page, "and I am as brave asheart can wish, when there is no danger nigh. I love to linger under theopen sky in the twilight of these bright days, which are so cheeringafter the damp fogs of spring, that I can hardly regret the eternalsunshine of my own dear France. "

"Well, do not forget my commission in your romantic musings, " repliedMad. La Tour. 

The page promised obedience, and, left to himself, assumed the post ofobservation, retreating as far as possible from the view of thesoldiers. The soft and brilliant tints of twilight slowly faded away, and the smooth surface of the river gradually darkened as its waves beatin monotonous cadence against the walls of the fort. A slight breeze, atintervals, lifted the silken folds of the banner, which drooped from thetall flag-staff, displaying the escutcheon of La Tour, surmounted by thearms of France. Far up, the noble stream, on either side, was skirted byextensive intervals, covered with the rich, bright verdure, peculiar toearly summer, and occasionally rising into gentle acclivities, orterminating in impervious forests. Tufts of woodland, and large treesscattered in groups, or standing singly, like the giants of past ages, spreading their broad arms to the winds of heaven, diversified thescene; while here and there, the smoke curled gracefully from the humblecabin of the planter, and at times, the fisherman's light oar dimpledthe clear waves, as he bounded homeward with the fruits of successfultoil. A bright moonlight, silvering the calm and beautiful landscape, displayed the vessels of D'Aulney, riding at anchor below the fort, while a thin mist, so common in that climate, began slowly to weavearound their hulks, till the tall masts and white top-sails were alonevisible, floating, like a fairy fleet, in the transparent atmosphere. The page had gazed long in silent admiration, when his attention wasarrested by the appearance of a human figure, gliding cautiously alongbeneath the parapet on which he stood. His tall, attenuated form wasclothed in the loose, black garments of a monk, and the few hairs whichthe rules of a severe order had left on his uncovered head, were whiteas the snows of winter. A cowl partially concealed his features, hiswaist was girt by a cord of discipline, and, as he moved with noiselesssteps, he seemed counting the beads of a rosary, which he carried in hishand. The page was at first on the point of speaking, believing it to befather Ambrose, the Catholic missionary; but a second glance convincedhim he was mistaken, and with curiosity, mingled with a degree of awe, he leaned forward to observe him more attentively. After proceeding afew paces, he stopped, and threw back his cowl, and as he did so, hiseye encountered the page, whom he surveyed strictly for a moment, thenturned slowly away, and disappeared by an aperture through the outerworks. The boy looked over the wall, expecting the return of thissingular intruder; nor was he aware how fixedly he remained in thatposition, till the touch of a hand, laid lightly on his arm, recalledhim to recollection. Turning quickly round, he involuntarily startedback, on perceiving the object of his curiosity close beside him. Hisgliding footsteps and peculiar appearance awakened a transient feelingof dread; but instantly repressing it, he ventured to raise his head, and as he did so, the clear light of the moon fell full on his youthfulface. The stranger was about to speak, but as the page looked towardshim, the words died away on his lips, his cheeks were flushed, and hiscold features glowed with sudden and strong excitement. 

"Holy St. Mary, who are you?" he asked, in an accent of deep feeling, ashe grasped the arm of the trembling youth. 

"I am called Hector, the page of Mad. La Tour, " he answered, in a voicescarce audible from terror, and shrinking from the hand which held him. 

"May God forgive me!" murmured the monk to himself, as he relaxed hisgrasp; while, evidently by a strong effort, every trace of emotion wasbanished from his countenance and manner. Hector still stood before him, longing, yet afraid to flee, till the other, apparently comprehendinghis feelings, said, in a slow, solemn voice, "Fear me not, boy, but go, bear this message to the lady of La Tour. Tell her, that her lord hath already spread his homeward sails, and afew hours, perhaps, will bear him hither. Tell her, that M. D'Aulneywill send to parley with her for surrender; but bid her disdain hispromises or threats; bid her hold out with a brave heart, and the hourof succor will surely arrive. "

So saying, he turned away; and Hector hastened to the apartment of hislady. 

CHAPTER III. 

 Herald, save thy labor; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;

 SHAKSPEARE. 

The arrival of some fishermen on the following morning confirmed theintelligence of father Gilbert--the name by which the priest, whosucceeded Father Ambrose, had announced himself at the fort. They hadeluded the enemy by night, and reported that several vessels laybecalmed in the Bay of Fundy; and, though they had not been near enoughto ascertain with certainty, no doubt was entertained, that it was thelittle fleet of M. La Tour, returning with the expected supplies. 

The holy character and mission of father Gilbert was his passport inevery place; and, as his duty often called him to remote parts of thesettlement, and among every description of people, it was natural thathe should obtain information of passing events, before it reached theears of the garrison. The mysterious manner in which he had communicatedhis intelligence on the preceding evening, occasioned some surprise; butMad. La Tour, in listening to the relation of her page, made dueallowance for the exaggerations of excited fancy; and she was alsoaware, that the Catholic missionaries were fond of assuming an ambiguousair, which inspired the lower people with reverence, and doubtlessincreased their influence over them. Till within a day or two, fatherGilbert had never entered the fort; but he was well known to the poorinhabitants without, by repeated acts of charity and kindness, though hesedulously shunned all social intercourse, and was remarked for theaustere discipline, and rigid self-denial to which he subjected himself. 

The spirits of the garrison revived with the expectation of relief, which was no longer considered a matter of uncertainty. In the fulnessof these renovated hopes, a boat from M. D'Aulney approached with anofficer bearing a flag of truce. He was received with becoming courtesy, and immediately shewn into the presence of Mad. La Tour. In spite of hiscontempt for female authority, and his apathy to female charms, afeeling of respectful admiration softened the harshness of his features, as the sturdy veteran bent before her, with the almost forgottengallantry of earlier years. At that period of life, when the graces ofyouth have just ripened into maturity, the lady of La Tour was as highlydistinguished by her personal attractions, as by the strength and energyof her mind. Her majestic figure displayed the utmost harmony ofproportion, and the expression of her regular and striking featuresunited, in a high degree, the sweetest sensibilities of woman, with themore bold and lofty attributes of man. At times, an air of hauteurshaded the openness of her brow, but it well became her presentsituation, and the singular command she had of late assumed. Shereceived the messenger of D'Aulney with politeness, but the cold reserveof her countenance and manner, convinced him, that his task wasdifficult, if not hopeless. For an instant, his experienced eye droopedbeneath her piercing glance; and, perceiving her advantage, she was thefirst to break the silence. 

"What message from my lord of D'Aulney, " she asked, "procures me thehonor of this interview? or is it too bold for a woman's ear, that youremain thus silent? I have but brief time to spend in words, and wouldquickly learn what brave service he now demands of me?"

"My lord of D'Aulney, " replied the officer, "bids me tell you, that hewars not with women; that he respects your weakness, and forgives theinjuries which you have sought to do him. "

"Forgives!" said the lady, with a contemptuous smile; "thy lord isgracious and merciful, --aye, merciful to himself, perhaps, and carefulfor his poor vessels, which but yesterday shivered beneath our cannon!Is this all?"

"He requires of you, " resumed the officer, piqued by her scornfulmanner, "the restoration of those rights, which the lord of la Tour hathunjustly usurped; he requires the submission of this garrison, and thepossession of this fort, and pledges his word, on such conditions, topreserve inviolate the life and liberty of every individual. "

"Thy lord is most just and reasonable in his demands, " returned thelady, sarcastically; "but hath he no threats in reserve, no terrorswherewith to enforce compliance?"

"He bids me tell you, " said the excited messenger, "that if you rejecthis offered clemency, you do it at your peril, and the blood of theinnocent will be required at your hands. He knows the weakness of yourresources, and he will come with power to shake these frail walls totheir foundations, and make the stoutest heart within them tremble withdismay. "

"And bid him come, " said the lady, every feature glowing with indignantfeeling, and high resolve; "bid him come, and we will teach him torespect the rights which he has dared to infringe; to acknowledge theauthority which he has presumed to insult; to withdraw the claims, whichhe has most arrogantly preferred. Tell him, that the lady of La Tour isresolved to sustain the honor of her absent lord, to defend his justcause to the last extremity, and preserve, inviolate, the possessionswhich his king hath intrusted to his keeping. Go tell your lord, that, though a woman, my heart is fearless as his own; say, that I spurn hisoffered mercy, I defy his threatened vengeance, and to God, thedefender of the innocent, I look for succor in the hour of danger andstrife. "

So saying, she turned from him, with a courteous gesture, though hermanner convinced him that any farther parley would be useless; andendeavoring to conceal his chagrin by an air of studied civility, thedissatisfied messenger was reconducted to the boat. 

The vessels of M. D'Aulney left their anchorage below the fort, at anearly hour in the morning; but it was reported, that they still lay nearthe mouth of the river, probably to intercept the return of La Tour. Theday passed away, and he did not arrive, nor were any tidings receivedfrom him. Mad. La Tour's page remarked the unusual dejection of hislady, and, emulous perhaps of her braver spirit, resolved, if possible, to obtain some information, which might relieve her anxiety. With thisintention he left the fort soon after sunset, attended only by a largeNewfoundland dog, which was his constant companion, whenever he venturedbeyond the gates. For some time, he walked slowly along the bank of theriver, hoping to meet with some fishermen, who usually returned fromtheir labors at the close of day, and were most likely to have gatheredthe tidings which he wished to learn. The gloom of evening, which haddeepened around him, was gradually dispersed by the light of the risingmoon; and as he stood alone in that solitary place, the recollection ofhis interview with the strange priest on the preceding evening, recurred to his imagination with a pertinacity, which he vainlyendeavored to resist. He looked carefully round, almost expecting to seethe tall, ghost-like figure of the holy father again beside him; butthere was no sound abroad, except the sighing of the wind and waves; andthe shadows of the trees lay unbroken on the velvet turf. From thisdisquiet musing, so foreign to his light and careless disposition, thepage was at length agreeably roused by the quick dash of oars, and in amoment he perceived a small bark canoe, guided by a single individual, bounding swiftly over the waves. As it approached near the place wherehe stood, Hector retreated to conceal himself in a tuft of ever-greens, from whence he could, unseen, observe the person who drew near. He hadreason to congratulate himself on this precaution, as the boat shortlyneared the spot which he had just quitted, and in the occupant hediscovered the dark features of a young Indian, who had apparently beenengaged in the labor or amusement of fishing. Not caring to disclosehimself to the savage, the page shrunk behind the trunk of a large pinetree, while the dog crouched quietly at his feet, equally intent on thestranger's motions, --his shaggy ears bent to the ground, and hisintelligent eyes turned often inquiringly to his master's face, as if toconsult his wishes and inclination. 

The Indian leaped from his canoe, the instant it touched the strand, and began hastily to secure it by a rope, which he fastened around thetrunk of an uprooted tree. From his appearance, he belonged to one ofthose native tribes, who, from constant intercourse and traffic with theFrench Acadians, had imbibed some of the habits and ideas of civilizedlife. His dress was, in many respects, similar to the European's; butthe embroidered moccasins, the cloak of deer-skins, and plume of scarletfeathers, shewed that he had not altogether abandoned the customs andfinery of his own people. His figure was less tall and athletic than thegenerality of Indian youth, and his finely formed features were animatedby an expression of vivacity and careless good-humour, very differentfrom the usual gravity of his nation. The page looked at him with adegree of curiosity and interest which he could neither suppress nordefine. Half ashamed of his own timidity, he resolved to address him, and seek the information he was so desirous of obtaining, if, indeed, hehad been sufficiently conversant with the French settlers to communicatehis ideas in that language. While he still hesitated, the Indian hadsecured his canoe, and as he stooped to take something from it, he beganto hum in a low voice, and presently, to the great surprise of Hector, broke into a lively French air, the words and tune of which wereperfectly familiar to his ear. The dog also seemed to recognize it; hestarted on his feet, listened attentively, and then, with a joyfulbark, sprang towards the Indian, and began to fawn around him and lickhis hands, with every demonstration of sincere pleasure. 

"By our lady, you are a brave fellow, my faithful Hero, " said theIndian, in very pure French, as he caressed the animal; then casting asearching glance around, he continued to address him, "But how came youhere, and alone, to greet your master on his return?"

The page could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise, as helistened to the well-remembered voice; but drawing his cloak moreclosely round him, and confining his dark locks beneath the tartanbonnet, which he pulled over his brow, he advanced nearer, though stillunseen, and said in a disguised tone, "Methinks thou art but a sorry actor, to be thrown off thy guard by thebarking of a dog; if I had a tongue so little used to keep its owncounsel, I would choose a mask which it would not so readily betray. "

"Thou art right, by all the saints, " replied the other; "and be thoufriend or foe, I will see to whom I am indebted for this sage reproof. "

So saying, he darted towards the place where the page was concealed, andHector, hiding his face as much as possible, bowed with an air ofprofound respect before him. 

"Ha! whom have we here?" he asked, surveying the page with extremecuriosity. 

"The page of my lady De la Tour;" returned Hector, his laughing eyedrooping beneath the inquisitorial gaze. 

"A pretty popinjay, brought out for my lady's amusement!" said thestranger, smiling; "you make rare sport with your antic tricks, at thefort yonder, I doubt not, boy. "

"I am but a poor substitute for my lord's lieutenant, whose mirth was asfar-famed as his courage;" returned the page, gravely. 

"Thou art a saucy knave!" said the other, quickly; but instantlychecking himself, he added, "and how fares it with your lady, in theabsence of her lord?"

"She is well, thank heaven, but"--

"But what?" interrupted the stranger, eagerly; "is any one--has anymisfortune reached her?"

"None, which she has not had the courage to resist; the baffled foe cantell you a tale of constancy and firmness, which the bravest soldiermight be proud to emulate. "

"Bravely spoken, my little page; and your lady doubtless found an ableassistant and counsellor in you! ha! how fared it with you, when the dinof battle sounded in your ears?"

"Indifferently well, " said the page, with a suppressed smile; "I am buta novice in the art of war. But have you learned aught that has befallenus?"

"A rumour only has reached me, but I hope soon to obtain more accurateand satisfactory information. "

"You will hardly gain admittance to the fort in that harlequin dress, "said Hector; "and I can save you the trouble of attempting it, byanswering all the inquiries you may wish to make. "

"Can you?" asked the other, with an incredulous smile; "then you aremore deeply skilled than I could think, or _wish_ you to be. "

"It may be so, " returned the page, significantly; "but you will soonfind that the knowledge which you seek to gain, is as well known to me, as to any one whom you hope to find there. "

"You speak enigmas, boy, " said the other, sharply; "tell me quickly towhom, and what you allude?"

"Go, ask my lady, " said the page, with provoking calmness; "I may notbetray the secrets of her household. "

"You!" said the other, scornfully; "a pretty stripling, truly, toreceive the confidence of your lady. "

"If not my lady's, " replied the page, "perhaps her young companion hasless discretion in her choice of confidants. "

"Ha!" said the stranger, starting, and changing colour, in spite of histawny disguise; "what say you of _her_? speak; and speak truly, for Ishall soon know if thou art false, from her own lips. "

"_Her_ lips will never contradict _my_ words, " returned the boy; "butgo, take the pass-word, enter the fort, and see--you will not find herthere. "

"Not find her there?" he repeated in astonishment, and with a bewilderedair; then suddenly grasping the page's arm, he said, in no gentle tone, "Now, by my faith, boy, you test my patience beyond endurance; if Ithought you were deceiving me"--

He stopped abruptly, and withdrew his hand, as a laugh, which he couldno longer repress, burst from the lips of Hector, and at the sameinstant the heavy cloak fell from his shoulders to the ground. 

"What mountebank trick is this?" demanded the stranger, angrily; but, ashis eye glanced over the figure of the page, his countenance rapidlychanged, and in an altered tone, he exclaimed, "By the holy rood, you are"--

"Hush!" interrupted Hector, quickly pressing his finger on the other'slips; and, with a feeling of instinctive dread, he pointed to fatherGilbert, who was approaching, and in a moment stood calmly and silentlybeside them. As the young man turned to scan the person of the priest, Hector hastily gathered his cloak around him, and before they were awareof his intention, fled from the spot, and was soon secure within thewalls of the fort. The pretended Indian would have pursued, when heperceived the page's flight, but his steps were arrested by the nervousgrasp of the priest. 

"Loose your hold, sirrah!" he said, impatiently; but instantlyrecollecting himself, added, with a gesture of respect, "Pardon me, holyfather, my mind was chafed with its own thoughts, or I should not haveforgotten the reverence due to your character and office. "

"Know you that boy?" asked the priest, in a tremulous voice, and withoutappearing to notice his apology. 

"I once knew him well, " returned the other, looking at the monk insurprise; "a few months since, we were companions in the fort of St. John's. But why do you question me thus?"

"Ask me not, " returned the priest, resuming his habitual calmness; "but, as well might you pursue the wind, as seek to overtake that light-footedpage. "

"You have kept me till it is too late to make the attempt;" murmured theother; and, his thoughts reverting to what had just passed, he continuedto himself, "A pretty page, truly! and who, but a fool, or a mad-cap, like myself, could have looked at those eyes once, and not know themagain?"

"You are disturbed, young man, " said the priest, regarding himattentively; "and that disguise, for whatever purpose assumed, seems tosit but ill upon you. "

"You speak most truly, good father; but I hope to doff these tawdrygarments before morning, if the saints prosper my undertaking. "

"Time is waning, my son, and that which you have to do, do quickly; thedawn of day must not find you lingering here, if your safety and honorare dear to you. "

"You know me!" said the young man, surprised, "but I am totallyunconscious of having ever seen you before. "

"I am not sought by the young and gay, " replied the priest, "but we maymeet again; yonder is your path, " pointing towards the fort, "mine leadsto retirement and solitude. "

With these words he turned from him; and the young man, with hastysteps, pursued his lonely way to the fort of St. John's. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 I am sick of these protracted And hesitating councils:

 LORD BYRON. 

The appearance of M. De la Tour at Boston, became a subject of seriousinquiry and discussion to the inhabitants of that place. Time had ratherincreased than mitigated the religious prejudices, which separated themfrom the parent country, and the approach of every stranger was viewedwith distrust and jealousy. The restless spirit of fanaticism andfaction, curbed within the narrow limits of colonial government, gladlyseized on every occasion to display its blind and pertinacious zeal. Theliberal temper, and impartial administration of governor Winthrop, hadbeen often censured by the more rigid Puritans, and his open espousal ofLa Tour's cause, excited much discontent and animosity. Though avowedlya Hugonot, there was reason to believe La Tour embraced the sentimentsof that party from motives of policy, and it was rumored that heentertained Romish priests in his fort, and permitted them to celebratethe rites of their religion. This was sufficient food for passion andprejudice; and though La Tour, and his principal officer, De Valette, were entertained with the utmost hospitality at the house of the chiefmagistrate, his cause obtained few advocates, and his person was, ingeneral, regarded with suspicion and dislike. But the actions of Mr. Winthrop were always dictated by principle; he was, therefore, firm inhis resolves, and the voice of censure or applause had no power to drawhim from the path of duty. 

La Tour had always shown himself friendly to the New-England colonists;but M. D'Aulney, who was openly a papist, had in several instancesintercepted their trading vessels, and treated the crews in a mostunjustifiable manner. He had also wrested a trading house, at Penobscot, from the New-Plymouth colonists, and established his own fort there, unjustly alleging, that it came within the limits of Acadia. Thisconduct rendered him extremely obnoxious, particularly to theinhabitants of the Massachusetts; but his vicinity to them gave him somany opportunities of annoyance, that they dreaded to increase hisanimosity by appearing to favor a rival. With the most discordant views, and widely differing feelings, the magistrates and deputies of Bostonconvened, at the governor's request, to consult on the propriety ofyielding to the wishes of La Tour. A stormy council at length broke up, with the decision, that they could not, consistently with a treaty, which they had lately ratified with the neighboring provinces, renderhim assistance in their public capacity; neither did they feelauthorized to prevent any private individuals from enlisting in hisservice, either on his offer of reward, or from more disinterestedmotives. 

"We owe them thanks, even for this concession, " said La Tour to hislieutenant; "and, by my faith, we will return with such a force as shallmake the traitor D'Aulney fly before us to the inmost shelter of hisstrong hold;--aye, he may thank our clemency if we do not pursue himthere, and make the foundations of his fort tremble like the walls ofJericho. "

"It must be with something more than the blast of a trumpet, " returnedDe Valette; "if common report speaks truth, he has strongly intrenchedhimself in this same fort that he took from the worthy puritans, somefew years since. In truth, I think we do them good service by avengingthis old grievance, which they have so long complained of, and I doubtif we are not indebted in some measure to this same grudge for thebenefit of their assistance. "

"I care not by what motives they are actuated, " said La Tour, "as longas my own designs are accomplished; and our chief concern, at present, is to take advantage of this favourable crisis, and, if possible, to getunder sail, before the enemy hears of our success, and makes hisescape. "

"Yes, " said De Valette, "and before our friends have time to changetheir minds, and withdraw the promised assistance. "

"Why do you suggest such an idea?" asked La Tour, his brow darkeningwith displeasure; "by heavens, they dare not provoke me by so gross anact of treachery!"

"I do not think they intend it, " returned De Valette; "but you knowthere is a powerful opposition to our interest in this good town, and ifany of their worthy _teachers_ should chance to hit upon a text ofscripture which they could interpret against us, --farewell to theexpected aid! Nay, " he added, laughing, "I believe there are alreadysome, who fancy they see the cloven foot of popery beneath our plainexterior, and, if that should once shew itself, why, they would as soonfight for the devil, to whom they might think us very closely allied. "

"You forget, Eustace, " said La Tour, lowering his voice, and lookingcautiously around, "that we stand on open ground, and a bird of the airmay carry our secrets to some of these long-eared, canting hypocrites!but go now, muster your volunteers as soon as possible, and our sailsonce spread to a fair wind, their scruples will avail them little. "

The apprehensions of De Valette were not without foundation, and hiskeen observation had detected symptoms of retraction in some who were atfirst most forward in their proffers of service. The decision of themagistrates had been very generally condemned by the graver part of thecommunity; its advocates were principally found among the young andenterprising, who gladly embraced any opportunity to signalize theircourage and activity. With these, Arthur Stanhope was conspicuous forhis zeal and perseverance, though he had many difficulties to contendagainst, arising from the inveterate prejudices of his father. 

"It is a cause, in which we have no lot or portion, " said the elderStanhope, in reply to his son's arguments; "neither is it right that weshould draw upon ourselves the vengeance of M. D'Aulney, bystrengthening the power of a rival, who, perchance, hath no more ofjustice, or the king's favor, than himself. "

"The public, " said Arthur, "is not responsible for the act of a fewindividuals; and the evil, if any exists, must fall entirely on our ownheads. "

"It is an idle distinction, which the injured party will neveracknowledge, " returned the father; "and I much wonder that the governorand magistrates suffer themselves to be blinded by such vain pretences. "

"We shall at least serve a good cause, " replied Arthur, "by humbling thearrogant pretensions of a papist, --one who has set up a cross, andopenly bowed before it, on the very borders of our territory. "

"And are you sure that the adventurer, La Tour, is free from theidolatry of that abominable church?" asked Mr. Stanhope. 

"We should, I think, have the charity to believe so, till it is fullyand fairly contradicted, " said Arthur; "we know that the crew of hisvessel are mostly protestants from Rochelle, and would they follow thestandard of a popish adventurer?"

"You are young, Arthur, " returned his father, "and know not yet thewiles of the deceiver; God forgive me, if I am uncharitable, but thetestimony of many worthy persons goes to prove, that this same La Tourhath openly employed a monkish priest, dressed in the habit of a layman, as his agent in important concerns. "

"These persons may have been mistaken, father; at any rate, if we dosin, it is in ignorance, and we are certainly not accountable for theerrors of others. "

"So, doubtless, reasoned Jehoshaphat, " his father replied, "when he wastempted, by a lying spirit, to join with Ahab, an idolater, againstRamoth-Gilead; and was he not reproved for helping the ungodly?"

"The cases appear to me widely different, " said Arthur; "and, in thepresent instance, I think we only obey the dictates of Christiancharity, which enjoins us to assist the stranger in his distress. "

"You know my opinion, Arthur, " returned his father, "and I shall notprohibit you from following your inclination, as you are of an age toact and judge for yourself; but I require you to weigh the mattermaturely, and not yield, without due consideration, to the impulse of anadventurous disposition. "

Arthur Stanhope readily promised to deliberate, and decide with theutmost caution; and the result of this deliberation was, to accept thecommand of a vessel of respectable force, which La Tour had taken intohis service. Three, of smaller size, the whole manned by about eightyvolunteers, completed the equipment. Thus successful, M. La Tour sailedfrom Boston, expressing the utmost respect and gratitude to itscitizens, for the friendly aid they had granted to him. 

The little fleet made a gallant show, spreading its white sails to woothe summer breeze, and boldly ploughing the deep waters of the bay. Aparting salute rolled heavily along the adjacent shores, and wassucceeded by the sprightly notes of a French horn, which floated merrilyover the waves. The town, and its green environs, shortly receded, thedistant hills faded in the horizon, and the emerald isles lay, likespecks, on the bosom of the ocean. Soon, the blended sky and water werethe only objects on which the eye could rest; and Arthur Stanhope felthis spirits rise, as he again launched forth on the changeful elementwhich he had loved from childhood. Nothing occurred to interrupt theirpassage, till they had advanced far up the Bay of Fundy, when the windsuddenly died away, and left them becalmed, within a few hours sail ofthe St. John's. This accident was a seasonable warning to D'Aulney, whothen lay near the mouth of the river, waiting for La Tour's return; but, being apprized of his reinforcement, he prudently retreated from theunequal conflict. With the caution of experience, he successfullyavoided La Tour's track; and the latter, who felt already sure of hisprey, had at last the vexation to discover him, at a safe distance, andwhen the wind and tide rendered pursuit impossible. A thick fog, whichsoon began to rise, entirely separated them; and approaching nightrendered it expedient to anchor, until the return of day. A report of M. D'Aulney's menaced attack on the fort had already reached La Tour, though it was too confused to convey much information, or relieve hisextreme anxiety. But he endured the suspense far better than hislieutenant, who made no attempt to conceal his vexation at the necessarydelay. After pacing the deck for some time in silence, he suddenlyexclaimed to La Tour, "It is tedious beyond measure to lie here, becalmed almost within sightof the fort! and then so little reliance can be placed on the flyingreports which we have heard! I wish, as nothing can, at any rate, bedone to-night, you would allow me to push off in a boat by myself andreconnoitre with my own eyes. "

"And leave me to meet the enemy without you in the morning;--is thatyour intention?" asked La Tour, pettishly. 

"You do not ask that question seriously, I presume?" said De Valette. 

"Why, not exactly, Eustace, " he answered; "though I confess I think itrather a strange request to make just at this time. "

"Why so?" asked De Valette; "I would only borrow a few hours fromrepose, and my plan may be accomplished with ease;--nor shall you havereason to complain, that I am tardy at the call of duty. "

"I understand you now, my brave nephew and lieutenant, " said La Tour, smiling; "you would play the lover on this moonlight night, and serenadethe lady of your heart, to apprise her of your safe return. "

"There was not quite so much romance in my plot, " replied De Valette;"but if you permit me to execute it, I pledge myself to return beforemidnight; and though you are not a lover, I am sure you are far frombeing indifferent to the intelligence which I may bring you. "

"Go, if you will, if you _can_ in safety, " said La Tour; "though, couldyour impatience brook the delay of a few short hours, it would bewell--well for yourself, perhaps; for if I remember right, you could illbear a look of coldness, and Lucič is not always lavish of her smiles. "

"I fear it not, " said De Valette; "she would not greet me coldly afterso long an absence; and though you smile at my folly, I am not ashamedto confess my eagerness to see her. "

"She already knows her power over you but too well, " said La Tour; "shewher that you are indifferent--disdainful, if you like--and trust me, shewill learn to prize the love, which she now pretends to slight. "

"The heart of woman must be wayward indeed, " said De Valette, "if suchis its nature or artifice; but my hopes are not so desperate yet, and ifmy memory serves me truly, I have more smiles than frowns on record. "

With these words, De Valette threw himself into a small boat, and in afew moments reached the shore. He entered the hut of a half-civilizedIndian, and to avoid being recognized by any of D'Aulney's people whomhe might chance to encounter, borrowed his savage attire, and in thatdisguise proceeded to the fort, near which he met the page of Mad. LaTour, as has been already related. 

CHAPTER V. 

 He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? With every minute you do change a mind. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

De Valette was true to his engagement, and before the promised hour, returned in safety to his ship. With the first dawn of day, the vesselswere put in readiness to weigh anchor, and sail at a moment's warning. At that crisis, La Tour had the vexation of finding his plans well nighfrustrated by the stubborness of his New-England allies. Alleging thatthey were restricted by their engagement to see La Tour in safety to hisfort, a large majority resolutely declined committing any act ofaggression, or joining in an attack which might be considered beyond thelimits of their treaty. Excessively provoked at what he termed theirabsurd scruples, La Tour sent his lieutenant to request a few of theleading men to meet aboard his vessel, hoping to prevail with them torelinquish their ill-timed doubts. He walked the quarter-deck withimpatient steps, while waiting the boat's return, and even his Frenchcomplaisance could not disguise the chagrin and anger which he felt. 

"I have desired your attendance here, gentlemen, " he said in a haughtytone, as they approached him, "to learn how far I may rely on theservices which have been so freely proffered to me. "

"As far as our duty to God and our country will permit, sir, " repliedone, whose seniority entitled him to take a lead in the discourse. 

"Mr. Leveret hath spoken rightly, " said another; "and I question if itis our duty to draw the sword when we are not expressly called to do so, and especially, as in this instance, when it would seem far better forit to remain in the scabbard. "

"I am ignorant, " said La Tour, contemptuously, "of that _duty_ whichwould lead a man to play the coward in a moment of difficulty, andtamely turn from an enemy, who has insultingly defied him, when oneeffort can crush him in his grasp. "

"_We_ are not actuated by revenge, " returned Mr. Leveret; "neither havewe pledged ourselves to support your quarrel with M. D'Aulney; buttouching our agreement to convoy you to your fort of St. John's, we areready to fulfil it, even at the peril of our lives. "

"These are nice distinctions, " said La Tour, angrily; "and had youexplained them more fully at the outset, I should have known whatdependence could be placed on your protection. "

"We abhor deceit, " said Mr. Leveret, calmly; "and that which we havepromised, we are ready to perform; but we are not permitted to turnaside from this design, to pursue an enemy who flees before us. "

"As our conduct in this affair is entirely a matter of conscience andprivate opinion, " said Arthur Stanhope, "I presume every one is atliberty to consult his own wishes, and follow the dictates of his ownjudgment; for myself, I have freely offered to assist M. De la Tour tothe extent of my abilities, and I wait his commands in whatever servicehe may choose to employ me. "

"I expected this, from the honour of your profession; and the franknessof your character, " said La Tour, with warmth; "and believe me, yourlaurels will not be tarnished, in the cause you have so generouslyespoused. "

"I trust, young man, " said Mr. Leveret, "that you are aware of theresponsibility you incur, by acting thus openly in opposition to theopinion of so many older and more experienced than yourself. "

"I have no doubt that many will be ready to censure me, " returnedStanhope; "and some, perhaps, whose judgments I much respect; but Istand acquitted to my own conscience, and am ready to give an answer forwhat I do, to any who have a right to question me. "

"And the crew of your vessel?"--asked Mr. Leveret. 

"I shall use no undue influence with any one, " interrupted Stanhope;"though I think there is scarcely a man in my service, who is notresolved to follow me to the end of this enterprise. "

"We part, then, " said Mr. Leveret; "and may heaven prosper you in allyour _lawful_ undertakings. "

"Your emphasis on the word _lawful_, " returned Stanhope, "implies adoubt, which I hope will soon be discarded; but, in the mean time, letas many as choose return with you, and I doubt not there will be enoughleft with us to assist M. De la Tour on this occasion. "

The conference was shortly terminated; and it was amicably settled, thatthose who hesitated to depart from the strict letter of their agreement, should proceed in three of the English vessels, with M. De la Tour, tofort St. John's. De Valette and Stanhope were left in command of the twolargest ships, with discretionary powers to employ them as circumstancesmight render expedient. 

The delay which these arrangements necessarily occasioned, was improvedto the utmost by M. D'Aulney. Convinced, that he was unable to cope withthe superior force, which opposed him, he took advantage of a favorablewind, and, at an early hour, crowded sail for his fort at Penobscot. DeValette and Stanhope pursued, as soon as they were at liberty; but, though they had occasional glimpses of his vessels through the day, theyfound it impossible to come up with them. Night at length terminatedthe fruitless chase; they were imperfectly acquainted with the coast, and again obliged to anchor, when day-light no longer served to directtheir course in the difficult waters they were navigating. 

Morning shone brightly on the wild shores of the Penobscot, within whoseample basin the vessels of De Valette and Stanhope rode securely atanchor. The waves broke gently around them, and the beautiful islands, which adorn the bay, garlanded with verdure and blossoms, seemedrejoicing in the brief but brilliant summer, which had opened upon them. Dark forests of evergreens, intermingled with the lighter foliage of theoak, the maple, and other deciduous trees, covered the extensive coast, and fringed the borders of the noble Penobscot, which rolled its silvertide from the interior lakes to mingle with the waters of the ocean. Thefootsteps of civilized man seemed scarcely to have pressed the soil, which the hardy native had for ages enjoyed as his birthright; and theaxe and ploughshare had yet rarely invaded the hunting grounds, where hepursued the wild deer, and roused the wolf from his lair. A few Frenchsettlers, who adhered to D'Aulney, had built and planted around thefort, which stood on a point of land, jutting into the broad mouth ofthe river, and these were the only marks of cultivation which disturbedthe vast wilderness that spread around them. 

The local advantages of this situation, rendered it a place ofconsequence, and its possession had already been severely contested. Asa military post, on the verge of the English colonies, its retention wasimportant to the French interest in Acadia; and the extensive commerceit opened with the natives in the interior, through the navigablestreams, which emptied into the bay, was a source of private emolument, that D'Aulney was anxious to secure. To retain these advantages, hewished to avoid an engagement with La Tour, whose newly acquiredstrength rendered him, at that time, a formidable opponent. He was, therefore, anxious to preserve his small naval force from destruction, and, for that purpose, he found it necessary to run his vessels intoshallow water, where the enemy's heavier ships could not follow. 

This plan was accomplished during the night; and when De Valette andStanhope approached the fort, at an early hour, they were surprised tofind that D'Aulney had drawn his men on shore, and thrown upintrenchments to defend the landing-place. Though baffled in their firstdesign by this artifice, they were but the more zealous to effect someobject which might realize the expectations of La Tour. With thisintention, they passed up the narrow channel to the north of thepeninsula, in boats; and landing a portion of their men, attacked M. D'Aulney in his intrenchments. The assault was so sudden and determined, that every obstacle yielded to its impetuosity, and D'Aulney in vainendeavored to rally his soldiers, who fled in confusion to the shelterof the fort, leaving several of their number dead and wounded in thetrenches. Convinced, that it would be rashness to pursue, as the fortwas well manned, and capable of strong resistance, the young officersdrew off their men in good order, and returned to their vessels withoutthe loss of an individual. They remained in the bay of Penobscot forseveral days, when, convinced that nothing more could be done at thattime, they thought it advisable to return to St. John's. 

Night was closing in, as the vessels drew near the entrance of theriver; every sail was set, and a stiff breeze bore them swiftly onward. A bright streak still lingered in the western horizon, and in the east, a few stars began to glimmer through the hazy atmosphere. Thewatch-lights of the fort at length broke cheerfully on the gloom, andstrongly contrasted with the dark line of forests, which frowned on theopposite shore. The boding notes of the screech-owl, and the howling ofwild beasts, which came from their deep recesses, were silenced by theanimating strains of martial music, which enlivened the solitary scene. They anchored before the walls, and the friendly signal of De Valettewas quickly answered by the sentinel on duty. With light footsteps theyoung Frenchman sprang on shore, and followed by Arthur Stanhope, passed the gateway, which led to the interior of the fort. 

"Methinks the garrison have retired early to-night, " said De Valette;"there is scarcely a face to be seen, except a few long-favoredPresbyterians;--it is a Catholic holiday, too, and our soldiers are notwont to let such pass by without a merry-making. Ho, Ronald!" hecontinued, addressing the guard, "what is in the wind now, my honestfellow? are you all dead, or asleep within here?"

"Neither, please your honor, " he answered, in a dolorous accent; "butwhat is worse, they have all gone astray, and are, even now, lookingwith sinful eyes upon the wicked ceremonies of that abominable church ofRome. "

"You are warm, good Ronald; but where is your lord?"

"Even gone with the multitude, in this evil matter; and, as our worthyteacher, Mr. Broadhead, hath observed, it is a double condemnation forone like him--"

"Hush, sirrah!" interrupted De Valette, sharply; "not a word ofdisrespect to your lord and commander, or I will throw you, and yourworthy teacher, over the walls of the fort. Speak at once, man, and tellme, what has taken place here. "

"It is a bridal, please your honor, and--"

"A bridal!" exclaimed De Valette, rapidly changing color; "and wherehave you found a bride and bridegroom, in this wilderness?"

"My lady's young--" Ronald began; but De Valette waited not to hear theconclusion, for at that moment a light, streaming from a low buildingopposite, attracted his attention, and, with nervous irritability, headvanced towards it. It was the building used for a Catholic chapel, andthe light proceeded from a nuptial procession, which was then issuingfrom it. Two boys walked before it, in loose black garments, with whitescarfs thrown over their shoulders, and bearing flaming torches in theirhands. Next came father Gilbert, with slow, thoughtful steps; and LaTour beside him, with the stern, abstracted countenance of one, who hadlittle concern in the ceremonies, which he sanctioned by his presence. Behind them was the bridegroom, a handsome young soldier, who lookedfondly on the blushing girl, who leaned upon his arm, and had justplighted her faith to him, by an irrevocable vow. The domestics of LaTour's household followed, with the Catholic part of the garrison; and, as soon as the door of the chapel closed, a lively air was struck up, inhonor of the joyful occasion. 

"I am a fool, " murmured De Valette to himself, when a full examinationhad satisfied him, --"an errant fool; 'tis strange, that _one_ image mustbe forever in my mind; that I should tremble at the very sound of abridal, lest, perchance, it might be _her's_. "

Ashamed of the emotion he had involuntarily betrayed, De Valette turnedto look for Stanhope, who remained on the spot, where he had left him, engrossed by a scene, which was amusing from its novelty, and thesingularity of time and place where it occurred. 

"You must excuse me, Stanhope, " he said; "but my curiosity, for once, exceeded my politeness; it is not often that we 'marry, and give inmarriage, ' in this wilderness, --though I will, by and by, shew you adamsel, whom kings might sue for. "

"_My_ curiosity is excited now, " returned Stanhope; "and, if beauty isso rare with you, beware how you lead me into temptation. It is an oldremark, that love flies from the city, and is most dangerous amidst thesimplicity of nature. "

"Forewarned, forearmed; remember, " said De Valette, laughing, "I am atrue friend, but I could ill brook a rival. "

CHAPTER VI. 

 Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet And hose in my disposition?

 SHAKSPEARE. 

De Valette and Stanhope continued to watch the procession till itstopped before the door of a comfortable house, which was occupied by LaTour and his family. There, the music ceased, the soldiers filed off totheir respective quarters, and the new married pair received the partingbenediction of father Gilbert. That ceremony concluded, the priestretired, as if dreading the contamination of any festive scene, attendedonly by the two boys who had officiated as torch-bearers, --a servicegenerally performed in the Catholic church by young persons initiatedinto the holy office. 

"By our lady, my good uncle, " said De Valette to La Tour, who had seen, and lingered behind to speak with him, "our Puritan allies would soonwithdraw their aid from us, should they chance to see, what I havewitnessed this evening;--by my faith, they would think the devil waskeeping a high holiday here, and that you had become his chief favorite, and prime minister. "

"Your jesting is ill-timed, Eustace, " returned La Tour; "you have, indeed, arrived at an unlucky hour, but we must make the best of it;and, be sure that none of the New-England men leave the ships to-night. I hope we shall not need their succors long, if you have aimed a trueblow at D'Aulney. Say, where have you left him?"

"We have driven him back to his strong hold. But more of thathereafter, --Mr. Stanhope waits to speak with you. "

"Mr. Stanhope is very welcome, " said La Tour, advancing cordially tomeet him; "and I trust no apology is necessary for the confusion inwhich he finds us. "

"None, certainly, " returned Stanhope; "and I trust you will not sufferme to cause any interruption. I am not quite so superstitious, " headded, smiling, "as to fear contagion from accidentally witnessingforms, which are not altogether agreeable to my conscience. "

"You deserve to be canonized for your liberality, " said De Valette; "forI doubt if there could be another such rare example found, in all theNew England colonies. We Hugonots, " he continued, with affected gravity, "account ourselves less rigid than your self-denying sect, and aresometimes drawn into ceremonies, which our hearts abominate. "

"No more of this, Eustace, " said La Tour; "Mr. Stanhope must know thatall of us are, at times, governed by circumstances, which we cannotcontrol; and he has heard enough of my situation, to conceive theaddress which is necessary to control a garrison, composed of differentnations and religions, who are often mutinous, and at all timesdiscordant. I should scarcely at any other time have been so engaged, but Mad. De la Tour, who is really too sincere a protestant to attend aCatholic service, prevailed on me to be present at the marriage of herfavorite maid, --I might almost say companion, --with a young soldier, whohas long been distinguished by his fidelity in my service. "

Before Stanhope could reply to this plausible explanation, theirattention was attracted by the sound of approaching voices, and thesonorous tones of Mr. Broadhead, the Presbyterian minister, wereinstantly recognized. 

"I tell thee, boy, " he said, "thou art in the broad way which leadeth todestruction. "

"Do you think so, father?" asked his companion, who was one of thetorch-bearers, and still carried the blazing insignium of hisoffice--"and what shall I do, to find my way out of it?"

"Abjure the devil and his works, if thou art desirous of returning tothe right path, " he replied. 

"You mean the pope and the church, I suppose, " said the boy, in a toneof simplicity; "like my lady's chaplain, who often edifies his hearerson this topic. "

"It would be well for thee to hearken to him, boy; and perchance itmight prove a word in season to thy soul's refreshment. "

"It has sometimes proved a refreshment to my body, " said the boy; "hisexhortations are so ravishing, that they are apt to lull one to soundrepose. "

"Thou art a flippant youth!" said the chaplain, stopping abruptly, andspeaking in an accent of displeasure. "But I pity thy delusion, " headded, after a brief pause, "and bid thee remember, that if thou hastaccess to the word, and turnest from it, thou can'st not make the pleaof ignorance, in extenuation of thy crime. "

"It is no fault in me to believe as I have been taught, " said the boy, sullenly; "and it would ill become me, to dispute the doctrines which Ihave received from those who have a claim on my respect and obedience. "

"They are evil doctrines, child; perverse heresies to lead men astray, into the darkness of error and idolatry. "

"I could not have believed it!" answered the other, gravely; "I thoughtI was listening to the truth, from the lips of my lady's chaplain. "

"And who says, that I do not teach the truth? I, who have made it mystudy and delight from my youth upwards?"

"Not I, truly; but your reverence chides me for believing in error, when, my belief is daily confirmed by your own instructions andexample. "

"Who are you, that presumes to say so? and, with these vestments ofSatan on your back, to bear witness to your falsehood?" demanded thechaplain. 

"Now may the saints defend me from your anger! I did not mean tooffend, " said the boy, shrinking from his extended hand, and bending hishead, as if to count the beads of a rosary which hung around his neck. 

"Did _I_ teach you this mummery?" resumed the irritated Scot; "did _I_teach you to put on those robes of the devil, and hold that lightedtorch to him, as you have but now done?"

"I crave your pardon, " returned the boy; "I thought it was my lady'schaplain, whom I was lighting across the yard, but your reverence knowsthe truth better than I do. "

As he spoke, he waved the torch on high, and the light fell full uponthe excited features of Mr. Broadhead. A laugh from De Valette, who had, unobserved, drawn near enough to overhear them, startled both, andchecked the angry reply, which was bursting from the chaplain's lips. Hesurveyed the intruder a moment in stubborn silence, then quietlyretreated; probably aware, from former experience, that the gay youngCatholic had not much veneration for his person or character. The boyhastily extinguished his torch, murmuring, in a low voice, --

"His reverence may find his way back in the dark, as he best can; and itwill be well if he does not need the light of my torch, before he issafe in his quarters: light the devil, indeed! he took good care not tothink of that, till he had served his own purpose with it!"

"What are you muttering about, boy?" asked De Valette. 

"About my torch, and the devil, and other good Catholics, please yourhonor, " he answered, with a low bow. 

"Have a care, sirrah!" said De Valette; "I allow no one, in my presence, to speak disrespectfully of the religion of my country. "

"It is a good cloak, " returned the boy; "and I would not abuse agarment, which has just been serviceable to me, however worthless it maybe, in reality. "

"It may have been worn by scoundrels, " said De Valette; "but itsintrinsic value is not diminished on that account. Would you intimatethat you have assumed it to answer some sinister design?"

"And, supposing I have, " he asked; "what then?"

"Why, then you are a hypocrite. "

"It is well for my lord's lieutenant to speak of hypocrisy, " said theboy, laughing; "it is like Satan preaching sanctity; tell the goodpuritans of Boston, that the French Hugonot who worshipped in theirconventicle with so much decorum, is a papist, and what, think you, would they say?"

"Who are you, that dares speak to me thus?" asked De Valette, angrily. 

"That is a question, which I do not choose to answer; I care not to letstrangers into my secret counsels. "

"You are impertinent, boy;" said De Valette, "yet your bearing shewsthat you have discernment enough to distinguish between right and wrong, and you must be aware that policy sometimes renders a disguiseexpedient, and harmless too, if neither honour or principle arecompromised. "

"I like a disguise, occasionally, of all things, " said the boy, archly;"are you quick at detecting one?"

"Sometimes I am, " returned De Valette; "but--now, by my troth, " heexclaimed, starting, and gazing intently on him, "is it possible, thatyou have again deceived me?"

"Nothing more likely, " answered the other, carelessly; "but, hush! M. Dela Tour, and the stranger with him, are observing us. See! they comethis way: not a word more, if you have any wish to please me. "

"Stay but one moment, " said De Valette, grasping his arm; "I _must_ knowfor what purpose you are thus attired. "

"Well, release me, and I will tell you the whole truth, though you mightsuppose it was merely some idle whim. I wished to see Annette married, and as Mad. De la Tour thought it would be out of character for her pageto appear in a Catholic assembly, I prevailed on a boy, whom fatherGilbert had selected to officiate in the ceremony to transfer his dressand office to me: this is all;--and now are you satisfied?"

"Better than I expected to be, I assure you; but, for the love of thesaints, be careful, or this whimsical fancy of your's may lead to someunpleasant consequences. "

"Never fear; I enjoy this Proteus sort of life extremely, and you mayexpect to see me in some new shape, before long. "

"Your own shape is far better than any you can assume, " said De Valette;"and by these silken locks, which, if I had looked at, I must haveknown, you cannot impose on me again. "

"Twice deceived, beware of the third time, " said the page, laughing;and, breaking from De Valette, he was in a moment on the threshold ofthe door. 

"Here is a newly made priest, as I live!" said La Tour, catching thepage by his arm, and drawing him back a few paces. "But methinks yourstep is too quick and buoyant, my gentle youth, for your vocation. "

The page made no reply, but drooping his head, suffered a profusion ofdark ringlets to fall over his face, as if purposely to conceal hisfeatures. 

"This would be a pretty veil for a girl, " said La Tour, parting the hairfrom his forehead; "but, by my troth, these curls are out of place, onthe head of a grave priest; the shaved crown would better become adisciple of the austere father Gilbert. --What, mute still, my littleanchorite? Speak, if thou hast not a vow of silence on thee!"

"And if I have, " said the page, pettishly, "I must break it, though itshould cost me a week's penance!"

"Ha! my lady's _soi-disant_ page!" exclaimed La Tour, struck by thesound of his voice, --which, in the excitement of the moment, he had notattempted to disguise, --and drawing him towards a lamp, he bent hissearching eye full upon the boy's face. 

"I pray you let me begone, my lady waits for me, " said the page, impatiently. 

"A pretty, antic trick!" continued La Tour, without regarding hisentreaty, "and played off, no doubt, for some sage purpose! Look, Eustace!" he added, laughing, "but have a care, that you do not becomeenamoured of the holy orders!"

"Look till you are weary!" said Hector, reddening with vexation; anddashing his scarf and rosary to the ground, he hastily unfastened thecollar of his long, black vest, and throwing it from him, stood beforethem, dressed as a page, in proud and indignant silence. 

"Why, you blush like a girl, Hector, " said La Tour, tauntingly; "thoughI think, by the flashing of your eye, it is rather from anger, thanshame. Look, Mr. Stanhope, what think _you_ of our gentle page, and_ci-devant_ priest?"

Mr. Stanhope _was_ regarding him, with an attention, which rendered himheedless of the question; he met the eye of Hector, and instantly theboy's cheeks were blanched with a deadly paleness, which was rapidlyfollowed by a glow of the deepest crimson. An exclamation trembled onStanhope's lips, but he forcibly repressed it, and his embarrassment wasunremarked. De Valette had noticed Hector's changing complexion, and, naturally attributing it to the confusion occasioned by a stranger'spresence, he took his hand with an expression of kindness, thoughgreatly surprised to feel it tremble within his own. 

"Why, " asked De Valette, "are you so powerfully agitated?"

"I am not agitated, " said Hector, starting as from a dream; "I wasvexed, --that is all; but it is over now, " and resuming his usual gaietyof manner, he turned to La Tour, and added, "I have played my borrowed part long enough for this evening, and ifyour own curiosity is satisfied, and you have amused your friendssufficiently at my expense, I will again crave permission to retire. "

"Go, " said La Tour, --"go and doff your foolish disguises; it is, indeed, time to end this whimsical farce. "

"I shall obey you, " returned the page; and gladly retreated from hispresence. 

Fort St. John's, on that evening, presented a scene of unusualfestivity. La Tour permitted his soldiers to celebrate the marriage oftheir comrade, and their mirth was the more exuberant, from theprivations they had of late endured. Even the joy, which the return oftheir commander naturally inspired, had been prudently repressed, whilethe New-England vessels were unlading their supplies, from respect tothe peculiar feelings of the people who had afforded them so muchfriendly assistance. These vessels had left the fort, on the morning ofthat day; and their departure relieved the garrison from a degree ofrestraint, to which they were wholly unaccustomed. 

La Tour remained conversing with Arthur Stanhope, where the page, whowas soon followed by De Valette, had left them, till a message from hislady requested their presence in her apartment. The scene without, wasthreatening to become one of noisy revel. Many of the soldiers hadgathered around a huge bonfire, amusing themselves with a variety ofgames; and, at a little distance, a few females, their wives anddaughters, were collected on a plat of grass, and dancing with the youngmen, to the sound of a violin. The shrill fife, the deep-toned drum, andnoisy bag-pipe, occasionally swelled the concert; though the monotonousstrains of the latter instrument, by which a few sturdy Scots performedtheir national dance, were not always in perfect unison with the gaystrains of the light-hearted Frenchmen. Here and there, a gloomyPresbyterian, or stern Hugonot, was observed, stealing along at acautious distance from these cheerful groups, on which he cast an eye ofaversion and distrust, apparently afraid to venture within the circle ofsuch unlawful pleasures. 

"Keep a sharp eye on these mad fellows, Ronald, " said La Tour to thesentinel on duty; "and, if there is any disturbance, let me know it, and, beshrew me, if they have another holiday to make merry with!"

"Your honor shall be obeyed, " said the sentinel, in a surly tone. 

"See you to it, then, " continued La Tour; "and be sure that none ofthose English pass the gates to-night. And have a care, that you do notneglect my orders, when your own hour of merriment arrives. "

"I have no lot nor portion in such things, " said Ronald, gruffly; "for, as the scripture saith"--

"Have done with your texts, Ronald, " interrupted La Tour; "you Scots areforever preaching, when you ought to practice; your duty is to hear andobey, and I require nothing more of you. "

So saying, he turned away, leaving the guard to the solitary indulgenceof his thoughts, which the amusements of that evening had disturbed, inno ordinary degree. 

Mad. De la Tour, had condescended to entertain the bride and bridegroomat her own house; and permitted such of their companions as wereinclined, to join them on the festive occasion. These were sufficient toform a cheerful group; apart from them, Mad. La Tour was conversing withDe Valette, and a lovely girl, who seemed an object of peculiar interestto him, when La Tour entered the room with Mr. Stanhope. 

"I bring you a friend, to whose services we are much indebted, " said LaTour to his lady; "and I must request your assistance, in endeavoring torender this dreary place agreeable to him. "

"I shall feel inclined to do all in my power, from selfish motives, "returned the lady, "independently of our personal obligations to Mr. Stanhope; and, I trust, it is unnecessary to assure him, that we shallbe most happy to retain him as our guest, so long as his inclinationwill permit him to remain. "

Stanhope returned a polite answer to these civilities; but his thoughtswere abstracted, and his eyes continually turned towards the young lady, whose blushing face was animated by an arch smile of peculiar meaning. La Tour observed the slight confusion of both, but, attributing it toanother cause, he said, "Allow me, Mr. Stanhope, to present you to my fair ward, Mademoiselle deCourcy, whom, I perceive, you have already identified with the priest, and page, who acted so conspicuous a part this evening. "

"My acquaintance with Mr. Stanhope is of a much longer date, " she said, quickly, and rising to offer him her hand, with an air of frankness, which, however, could not disguise a certain consciousness, which sentthe tell-tale blood to her cheeks. 

"It has been far too long, " said Stanhope, his countenance glowing withdelight, "to suffer me to be deceived by a slight disguise, thoughnothing could be more unexpected to me, than the happiness of meetingwith you here. "

"My aunt looks very inquisitive, " said the young lady, withdrawing herhand; and, turning to Mad. De la Tour, she continued, "I have been sofortunate as to recognize an old friend in Mr. Stanhope; one, with whosefamily my aunt Rossville was on terms of the strictest intimacy, duringour short residence in England. "

"My sister's friends are doubly welcome to me, " said Mad. La Tour; "andI shall esteem the arrival of Mr. Stanhope particularly fortunate tous. "

"It is singular, indeed, that you should meet so very unexpectedly, inthis obscure corner of the earth!" said De Valette, endeavouring tospeak with gaiety, though he had remarked their mutual embarrassmentwith secret uneasiness;--"how can you account for it, Lucič?"

"I am not philosophic enough to resolve such difficult questions, " sheanswered, smiling; "but, yonder are the musicians, waiting to sooth uswith the melody of sweet sounds; we are all prepared for a dance, andhere is my hand, if you will look a little more in the dancing mood, --ifnot, I can choose another. "

"Do as you like, " said De Valette, carelessly; "strangers are oftenpreferred before tried friends. "

"Yes, when tried friends look coldly on us, " said Lucič, "as you donow, --so, fare thee well; there is a plump damsel, with an eye likeJuno's, I commend her to thee for a partner. "

She turned quickly from him, and speaking a few words to Stanhope, theyjoined the dancers together. De Valette remained standing a few momentsin moody silence; but the exhilarating strains of the violin proved asirresistible as the blast of Oberon's horn, and, selecting a prettymaiden, he mingled in the dance, and was soon again the gayest of thegay. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in all, save hope, the same

 LORD BYRON. 

"Then you do not think Mademoiselle de Courcy very beautiful?" asked DeValette, detaining Stanhope a moment after the family had retired. 

"Not exactly beautiful, " replied Stanhope; "though she has, --what is inmy opinion far more captivating, --grace, spirit, and intelligence, withbeauty enough, I allow, to render her--"

"Quite irresistible, you would say!" interrupted De Valette; "but, ingood truth, I care not to hear you finish the sentence, with such alover-like panegyric!"

"Your admiration of her is very exclusive, " said Stanhope, smiling; "butyou should not ask an opinion, which you are not willing to hearcandidly expressed. "

"I have no fear of the truth, " answered De Valette; "and, after avoluntary absence of two years, on your part, I can scarcely suspect youof feeling a very tender interest in the lady. "

"Your inference is not conclusive, " returned Stanhope; "and I shouldmuch doubt the truth of that love, or friendship, which could notwithstand the trial of even a more prolonged absence. "

"I suspect there are few who would bear that test, " said De Valette, whoevidently wished to penetrate the real sentiments of Stanhope; "and onemust have perseverance, indeed, who can remain constant to Lucič, through all her whims and disguises. "

"Her gaiety springs from a light and innocent heart, " replied Stanhope;"and only renders her more piquant and interesting;--but, speaking ofdisguises, --how long, may I ask, has she played the pretty page, and forwhat purpose was the character assumed?"

"It was at the suggestion of Mad. De la Tour, I believe, and Lucič'slove of frolic induced her readily to adopt it. You know the fort wasseriously threatened before our return; and Mad. De la Tour, who had fewaround her in whom she could confide, found her little page extremelyuseful, in executing divers commissions, which, in her feminine attire, could not have been achieved with equal propriety. "

"I do not think a fondness for disguise is natural to her, " saidStanhope; "though she seems to have supported her borrowed characterwith considerable address. "

"Yes, she completely deceived me at first; and this evening, I againlost the use of my senses, and mistook her for the sauciest knave of apriest, that ever muttered an ave-marie. "

"Long as it is, since I have seen her, " said Stanhope, "I think I couldhave sworn to that face and voice, under any disguise. "

"You obtained a full view of her features, at once, " said De Valette;"when I first met her, they were carefully shaded by a tartan bonnet, and she entirely altered the tones of her voice; and this evening, again, she would scarcely have been recognized in the imperfect light, had she not suffered her vexation to betray her. But the night wanes, and it is time for us to separate; I must go abroad, and see that allthings are quiet and in order, after this unusual revelling. "

De Valette then quitted the house, and Stanhope gladly sought thesolitude of his own apartment, where he could reflect, at leisure, onthe agitating events of the few last hours. He walked to and fro, withrapid steps, till, exhausted by his excitement, he threw himself besidean open window, and endeavoured to collect the confused ideas, whichcrowded on his mind and memory. The noise of mirth and music had longsince passed away, and the weary guard, who walked his dull round ofduty in solitude and silence, was the only living object which met hiseye. No sound was abroad, but the voice of the restless stream, whichglittered beneath the rising moon;--the breath of midnight fanned himwith its refreshing coolness, and the calm beauty of that lonely hourgradually soothed his restless spirits. 

He had encountered the object of a fond and cherished attachment, butunder circumstances of perplexity and doubt, which marred the pleasureof that unexpected meeting. More than two years had elapsed since hefirst saw Lucič de Courcy, then residing in the north of England, whither she had accompanied a maternal aunt, the widow of an Englishmanof rank and fortune. Madame Rossville, who was in a declining state ofhealth, had yielded to the importunity of her husband's connexions, andleft her native land for the summer months, hoping to receive benefitfrom change of scene and climate. She had no children, and Lucič, whomshe adopted in infancy, was dear to her, as a daughter could have been. They resided at a short distance from the elder Mr. Stanhope; and thestrict Hugonot principles of the French invalid interested the rigidpuritan, and led to a friendly intimacy between the families. 

Arthur Stanhope had then just retired from his profession, and thechagrin and disappointment, which at first depressed his spirits, gradually yielded to the charm which led him daily to the house of Mad. Rossville. Constant intercourse and familiar acquaintance strengthenedthe influence, which Lucič's sweetness and vivacity had created, and hesoon loved her with the fervor and purity of a young andunsophisticated heart. Yet he loved in silence, --for his future planswere frustrated, his ambitious hopes were blighted; a writ of banishmentand proscription hung over his father's house, and what had he to offerto one endowed by nature and fortune with gifts, which ranked her withthe proudest and noblest in the land! But love needs not the aid ofwords; and the sentiments of the heart, beaming in an ingenuouscountenance, are more forcible than any language which the lips canutter. Lucič was too artless to disguise the feelings which she was, asyet, scarce conscious of cherishing; but Arthur read in the smile andblush which ever welcomed his approach, the sigh which seemed to regrethis departure, and the eloquent expression of an eye, which varied withevery emotion of her soul, a tale of tenderness as ardent and confidingas his own. The future was unheeded in the dream of present enjoyment;for who, that loves, can doubt of happiness, or bear to look forward tothe melancholy train of dark and disappointed hours which time mayunfold!

In the midst of these dawning hopes, Arthur Stanhope was called to adistant part of the kingdom on business, which nearly concerned hisfather's private interest. Lucič wept at his departure; and, for thefirst time, his brow was clouded in her presence, and his heart chilledby the bodings of approaching evil. Several weeks passed away, and hewas still detained from home; to add to his uneasiness, no tidings fromthence had reached him, since the early period of his absence. Publicrumor, indeed, told him that new persecutions had gone forth against thepuritans; and the inflexible temper of his father, who had long beenpeculiarly obnoxious to the church party, excited the utmost anxiety, and determined him, at all events, to hasten his return. 

After travelling nearly through the night, Arthur ascended one of theloftiest hills in Northumberland, just as the sun was shedding hisearliest radiance on a beautiful valley, which lay before him. It washis native valley, and the mansion of his father's looked cheerfulamidst the group of venerable trees which surrounded it. Time, since helast quitted it, had seared the freshness of their foliage, and thegolden tints of autumn had succeeded the verdure of summer. A littlefarther on, the house of Mad. Rossville was just discernible; andArthur's heart bounded with transport, as he thought how soon he shouldagain embrace those whom he most loved on earth! But a different fateawaited him, and tidings, which withered every hope he had so long andfondly cherished. The ecclesiastical tyranny, which had exiled so manyof the non-conformists from their friends and country, was, at last, extended to the elder Mr. Stanhope. His estates were confiscated, and awarrant was issued for his imprisonment; but, with extreme difficulty, he succeeded in effecting an escape to the sea-coast. He was therejoined by his wife; and, through the kind assistance of friends, theycollected the remains of a once ample fortune, and only waited thearrival of their son, to quit their country forever, and embark forNew-England. 

There was yet another blow, for which Arthur was wholly unprepared. Mad. Rossville, whose health rapidly failed on the approach of coolerweather, had died a short time previous to his return, leaving herorphan niece under the protection of her only sister, who hastened toEngland on hearing of her danger, and arrived but a few hours before herdecease. Her late cheerful abode was deserted; and Arthur could obtainno information respecting Lucič, except that she had gone back to Francewith her relative, immediately after the melancholy event. 

"Gone, without one kind farewell, one word of remembrance!" was thefirst bitter reflection of Arthur, on receiving this intelligence. "She, who might have been all the world to him, whose sunny smiles could havecheered the darkest hour of affliction, --she was gone! and, amidst theattractions of wealth, and the charms of society and friends, how soonmight he fade from her remembrance!"

But that was not a time to indulge the regrets of a romantic passion;the situation of his parents required the support and consolations offilial tenderness; and no selfish indulgence could, for a moment, detainhim from them. He hastily abandoned the home of his childhood--thescenes of maturer happiness; and, re-passing the barrier of his nativehills, in a few days rejoined his parents at the sea-port, where theywaited his arrival. They had made arrangements to take passage in thefirst vessel which sailed for Boston, and Arthur did not hesitate amoment to attend them in their arduous undertaking. For a time, indeed, his active spirit bent beneath the pressure of disappointment, and allplaces were alike indifferent to him. But the excitement of new scenesand pursuits at length roused his interest, and incited him to mentalexertion. With the return of spring also, hopes, which he believedforever crushed, began to regain their influence in his mind. He wasabout to revisit England, on some affairs of consequence; and heresolved to improve the opportunity to satisfy his anxiety respectingLucič, and learn, if possible, what he had still left to hope or fear. But an alarming illness, which attacked his mother, and left her long ina dangerous state, obliged him to defer his design; and another winterpassed away, and various circumstances still rendered the voyageimpracticable. Time gradually softened, but it could not destroy, theimpression of his ill-fated attachment; and, though the image of Lucičwas still cherished in his remembrance, he began to regard the days oftheir happy intercourse as a pleasant dream which had passed away, --adelightful vision of the fancy, which he loved to contemplate, but couldnever hope to realise. 

It was, indeed, with emotions too powerful for disguise, that he foundhimself again, and so unexpectedly, in the presence of his belovedLucič. He was ignorant of the name, even, of the relative to whom Mad. Rossville had entrusted her, --he had not the most distant idea, that shewas connected with the lady of La Tour; and, in approaching the fort ofSt. John's, he little thought, that he was so near the goal of hiswishes. But the first joyful sensations were not unmingled with doubtand alarm. He found her lovely and attractive, as when he had last seenher; but, since that time, what changes had taken place, and how mighther heart have altered! De Valette, young, handsome, and agreeable, confessed himself her lover; he was the favorite of her guardians, andwhat influence had he, or might he not obtain, over her affections!

Such reflections of mingled pain and pleasure occupied the mind ofStanhope, and alternate hopes and fears beguiled the midnight hour, andbanished every idea of repose. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 I pray you have the ditty o'er again! Of all the strains that mewing minstrels sing, The lover's one for me. I could expire To hear a man, with bristles on his chin, Sing soft, with upturn'd eyes, and arched brows, Which talk of trickling tears that never fall. Let's have it o'er again. 

 J. S. KNOWLES. 

The meditations of Stanhope were suddenly interrupted by the loudbarking of a dog, which lay in his kennel below the window; and it waspresently answered by a low, protracted whistle, that instantly quelledthe vigilant animal's irritation. Arthur mechanically raised his head, to ascertain who was intruding on the silence of that lonely hour, andsaw a figure approaching, with quick, light footsteps, which a glanceassured him was M. De Valette. He was already near the building, andsoon stopped beneath a window in a projecting angle, which he appearedto examine with great attention. Arthur felt a painful suspicion thatthis casement belonged to Lucič's apartment, and, as it was nearlyopposite his own, he drew back, to avoid being observed, though hewatched, with intense interest, the motions of De Valette. The youngFrenchman applied a flute to his lips, and played a few notes of alively air, --then, suddenly breaking off, he changed the measure intoone so soft and plaintive, that the sounds seemed to float, like aerialharmony, upon the stillness of the night. He paused, and lookedearnestly toward the window: the moon shone brightly against it, but allwas quiet within, and around, while he sang, in a clear and manly voice, the following serenade:

 Awake, my love! the moon on high Shines in the deep blue, arched sky, And through the clust'ring woodbine peeps. To seek the couch where Lucie sleeps. 

 Awake, my love! for see, afar, Shines, soft and bright, the evening star; But oh! its brightest beams must die, Beneath the light of Lucie's eye. 

 Awake, my love! dost thou not hear The night-bird's carol, wild and clear? But not its sweetest notes detain When Lucie breathes her sweeter strain. 

 Awake, my love! the fragrant gale Steals odours from yon spicy vale; But can the richly perfum'd air With Lucie's balmy breath compare?

 Awake, my love! for all around, With beauty, pleasure, hope, is crown'd But hope nor pleasure dawn on me, Till Lucie's graceful form I see. 

 Awake, my love! for in thy bower, Thy lover spends the lonely hour;-- She hears me!--from the lattice screen Behold my Lucie gently lean!

The window had, indeed, slowly opened, towards the conclusion of thesong, and Arthur observed some one, --Lucič, he doubted not, --standingbefore it, partially concealed by the folds of a curtain. 

"Sung like a troubadour!" exclaimed a voice, which he could not mistake;"but, prithee, my tuneful knight, were those concluding lines extempore, or had you really the vanity to anticipate the effect of your musicalincantation?"

"And who but yourself, Lucič, would doubt that charms like yours couldgive inspiration to even the dullest muse?"

"Very fine, truly; but I will wager my life, Eustace, that mine are notthe only ears, which have been charmed with this melodious ditty, --thatI am not the first damsel who has reigned, the goddess of an hour, inthis same serenade! Confess the truth, my good friend, and I will givethee absolution!"

"And to whom but you, my sweet Lucič, could I address such language?you, who have so long reigned sole mistress of every thought and hopeof my heart!"

"Sole mistress in the wilderness, no doubt!" said the laughing girl;"where there is no other to be found, except a tawny damsel or two, whowould scarcely understand your poetic flights! but you have justreturned from a brighter clime, and the dark-eyed demoiselles of merryFrance, perchance, might thank you for such a tribute to their charms!"

"And do you think so meanly of me, Lucič, " asked De Valette, reproachfully, "as to believe me capable of playing the flatterer, wherever I go, and paying court to every pretty face, that claims myadmiration?"

"Nay, I think so _well_ of you, Eustace; I have such an exalted opinionof your gallantry, that I cannot believe you would remain three monthsin the very land of glorious chivalry, and prove disloyal to the cause!Be candid, now, and tell me, if this nonpareil morceau has not servedyou for a passport to the favor of the pretty villagers, as youjourneyed through the country?"

"I protest, Lucič, you are"--

"No protestations, " interrupted Lucič, "I have not the 'faith of a grainof mustard seed, ' in them;--but, in honest truth, Eustace, your muse hasbeen wandering among the orange groves of France; she could never havegathered so much _fragrance_, and _brightness_, and all that sort ofthing, from the pines and firs of this poor spot of earth!"

"And if she has culled the sweets of a milder region, " said De Valette, "it is only to form a garland for one, who is worthy of the fairestflowers that blossom in the gardens of paradise. "

"Very well, and quite poetic, monsieur; your Pegasus is in an amblingmood to-night; but have a care that he do not throw you, as he did, ofold, the audacious mortal who attempted to soar too high. And I pray youwill have more regard to the truth, in future, and not scandalize theevening star, by bringing it into your performance so out of season; itmay have shone upon the vineyards of Provence, but it is long since itglittered in our northern hemisphere. "

"Have you done, my gentle mentor?" asked De Valette, in an accent ofvexation. 

"Not quite; I wish to know whether you, or the melodious screech-owl, represent the tuneful bird of night, alluded to in the aforesaidstanzas? I have heard no other who could pour forth such exquisitenotes, since my destiny brought me hither. "

"And it will be long ere you hear me again, " said De Valette, angrily. "I shall be careful not to excite your mirthful humor again, at my ownexpense!"

"Now you are not angry with me, I hope, Eustace, " she said, withaffected concern; "you well know, that I admire your music exceedingly;nay, I think it unrivalled, even by the choice psalmody of our worthychaplain; and as to the poetry, I doubt if any has yet equalled it, inthis our ancient settlement of St. John's. "

"Farewell, Lucič, " said De Valette; "when I waken you again"--

"Oh, you did not waken me, " interrupted Lucič, I will spare yourconscience that reproach; had I gone to rest, I should scarcely haverisen, even had a band of fairies tuned their tiny instruments in themoonlight, beneath my window. But, go now, Eustace, --yet stay, and tellme first, if we part in charity?"

"Yes, it must be so, I suppose; I _was_ vexed with you, Lucič, but youwell know that your smiles are always irresistible. "

"Well, you will allow that I have been very lavish of my smilesto-night, Eustace; so leave me now, lest I begin to frown, by way ofvariety. Adieu!"

She immediately closed the window, and De Valette turned away, playingcarelessly on his flute as he retired. 

"Thank heaven! he is gone;" was the mental exclamation of Stanhope, whose impatience and curiosity were painfully exercised by thisprotracted conversation; for he had retreated from the window, at itscommencement, to avoid the possibility of hearing, what was not probablyintended to reach the ears of a third person. "Would any but a favoredlover, " he thought, "be admitted to such an interview?" The idea wasinsupportable; he traversed his apartment with perturbed and hastysteps, and it was not till long after De Valette retired, that he soughtthe repose of his pillow, and even then, in a state of mind whichcompletely banished slumber from his eyes. 

When Stanhope looked out, on the following morning, he saw Lucič, alonein a small garden, adjoining the house, busily employed in training someflowers; and the painful impression of the last night was almostforgotten, in the impulse which he felt to join her. He was chagrined tomeet De Valette, as he crossed a passage, but repressing a repugnance, which he felt might be unjustly excited, he addressed him with his usualcordiality, and they entered the garden together. Lucič's face wasturned from them, and she did not seem aware of their approach, tillstartled by the voice of De Valette. 

"You do not seem very industriously inclined, " he said; "or are youresting, to indulge the luxury of a morning reverie?"

"I _was_ in a most profound reverie, " she replied, turning quicklyround; "and you have destroyed as fair a vision, as ever dawned on thewaking fancy. "

"Was your vision of the past or future?" asked De Valette. 

"Only of the past; I care not for the future, which is too uncertain tobe trusted, and which may have nothing but misfortunes in reserve forme. "

"You are in a pensive mood, just now, " said De Valette; "when I last sawyou, I could scarce have believed a cloud would ever cross the sunshineof your face. "

"Experience might have rendered you more discerning, " she answered, witha smile; "but you, who love variety so well, should not complain of thechanges of my mood. "

"Change, as often as you will, " said De Valette; "and, in everyvariation, you cannot fail to please. "

"And you, " said Lucič, "cannot fail of seeming very foolish, till youleave off this annoying habit of turning every word into acompliment:--nay, do not look displeased, " she added, gaily; "you knowthat you deserve reproof, occasionally, and there is no one who willadminister it to you, but myself. "

"But what _you_ define a compliment, " said Stanhope, "would probablyappear, to any other person, the simple language of sincerity. "

"I cannot contend against two opponents, " returned Lucič; "so I may aswell give up my argument, though I still maintain its validity. "

"We will call it a drawn game, then, " said De Valette, laughing; "sonow, Lucič, candidly confess that you were disposed to find fault withme, without sufficient cause. "

"There is certainly no flattery in this, " replied Lucič; "but I willconfess nothing, --except that I danced away my spirits last evening, andwas most melodiously disturbed afterwards, by some strolling minstrel. Were you not annoyed by unseasonable music, Mr. Stanhope?"

"I heard music, at a late hour, " he replied; "but it did not disturb me, as I was still awake. "

As he spoke, he was vexed to feel the color mount to his very temples;and Lucič, who instantly comprehended the cause of his confusion, benther eyes to the ground, while her cheeks were suffused with blushes. Anembarrasing pause ensued; and De Valette, displeased at the secretsympathy which their looks betrayed, stooped to pluck a rose, that grewon a small bush beside him. 

"What have you done, Eustace?" asked Lucič, hastily, and glad to breakthe awkward silence; "you have spoiled my favorite rose-bush, which Iwould not have given for all the flowers of the garden. "

"It is a poor little thing, " said De Valette, turning it carelessly inhis hand; "I could gather you a dozen far more beautiful, and quite asfragrant. "

"Not one that I value half as much, " she answered, taking it from him, and breathing on the crushed leaves, to restore their freshness; "I havereared it with much care, from a stock which I brought fromNorthumberland; and it has now blossomed for the first time--a mementoof many happy days. "

Her words were addressed to Stanhope, and he was receiving the rose fromher hand, when her countenance suddenly changed, and, closing her eyes, as if to exclude some unwelcome object, she clung to his offered arm forsupport. He was too much absorbed by her, to seek the cause of heralarm; but De Valette observed father Gilbert, standing at a littledistance, his eyes intently fixed on Lucič, while his features betrayedthe conflict of powerful emotions. 

"Why are you thus agitated, Lucič?" asked De Valette, in surprise;"surely you recognize the priest; you do not fear him?"

"He _makes_ me fear him, Eustace; he always looks at me so fixedly, sowildly, that I cannot--dare not meet his gaze. "

"This is mere fancy, Lucič, " he answered, lightly; "is it strange thateven the holy father should gaze on you with earnestness?"

"It is no time to jest, Eustace, " she answered, with a trembling voice;"speak to him, --he is coming hither, --I will not stay. "

While she spoke, the priest drew near her, --paused a moment, --and, murmuring a few words in a low voice, turned again, and, with athoughtful and abstracted air, walked slowly from them. De Valettefollowed him; and Lucič, glad to escape, returned, with Stanhope, to thehouse. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 Untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late! Yet I am chang'd; though still enough the same In strength, to bear what time cannot abate, And feed on bitter fruits, without accusing fate. 

 LORD BYRON. 

Father Gilbert stopped a few paces from the spot which Lucič had justquitted, and, leaning against a tree, appeared so entirely absorbed byhis own reflections, that De Valette for some moments hesitated toaddress him. The rapid mutations of his countenance still betrayed apowerful mental struggle; and De Valette felt his curiosity and intereststrongly awakened, by the sudden and uncontrollable excitement of one, whose usually cold and abstracted air, shewed little sympathy with theconcerns of humanity. Gradually, however, his features resumed theiraccustomed calmness; but, on raising his eyes, and meeting the inquiringgaze of De Valette, he drooped his head, as if ashamed to have betrayedemotions, so inconsistent with the vow which professed to raise himabove the influence of all worldly passions. 

"I fear you are ill, father, " said De Valette, approaching him withkindness; "can I do anything to assist or relieve you?"

"I _was_ ill, my son, " he replied; "but it is over now--passed away likea troubled phantasy, which visits the weary and restless slumberer, andflies at the approach of returning reason. "

"Your language is figurative, " returned De Valette, "and implies thesufferance of mental, rather than bodily pain. If such is your unhappystate, I know full well that human skill is unavailing. "

"What know _you_ of pain?" asked the priest, with startling energy;"_you_, who bask in the sunshine of fortune's smile, --whose days are oneceaseless round of careless gaiety, --whose repose is yet unbroken by thegnawing worm of never-dying repentance! Such, too, I was, in thespring-time of my life; I drained the cup of pleasure, --but misery anddisappointment were in its dregs; I yielded to the follies and passionsof my youthful heart, --and the sting of remorse and ceaseless regrethave entered my inmost soul!"

"Pardon me, father, " said De Valette, "if I have unconsciously awakenedthoughts which time, perchance, had well nigh soothed intoforgetfulness!"

"Awakened thoughts!" the priest repeated, in a melancholy voice; "theycan never, never sleep! repentance cannot obliterate them, --years ofpenance--fastings, and vigils, and wanderings, cannot wear them from myremembrance! Look at me, my son, and may this decaying frame, whichtime might yet have spared, teach thee the vanity of human hopes, andlead thee to resist the impulses of passion, and to mistrust andregulate, even the virtuous inclinations of thy heart!"

"Your words will be long remembered, father!" said De Valette, touchedby the sorrow of the venerable man; "and may the good saints restorepeace and hope to your wounded spirit!"

"And may heaven bless you, my son, and preserve you from those fatalerrors which have wrecked my peace, and withered the fairest hopes thatever blossomed on the tree of earthly happiness! Go now, " he added, in afirmer tone, "forget this interview, if possible, and when we meetagain, think not of what you have now heard and witnessed, but see in meonly the humble missionary of the church, who, till this day"--his voiceagain trembled, "till _she_ crossed my path"--

"_She_!" interrupted De Valette; "do you mean Mademoiselle de Courcy?"

"De Courcy!" repeated the priest, grasping the arm of Eustace, while thepaleness of death overspread his features; "who bears that most unhappyname?"

"The niece of Mad. De la Tour, " returned De Valette; "and, howeverunfortunate the name, it has, as yet, entailed no evil on its presentpossessor. "

"Was it she, whom I just now saw with you?" asked the priest, withincreasing agitation. 

"It was; and pardon me, father, your vehemence has already greatlyalarmed her. "

"I meant it not, " he replied; "but I will not meet her again--no, I darenot look again upon that face. Has she parents, young man?" hecontinued, after a brief pause. 

"She has been an orphan from infancy, " replied De Valette; "and Mad. Dela Tour is almost the only relative whom she claims on earth. "

"She is a protestant?" said father Gilbert, inquiringly. 

"She is, " said De Valette; "though her parents, I have heard, wereCatholics, and Lucič has herself told me, that in her early childhoodshe was instructed in that faith. "

"Lucič!" muttered the priest, to himself, as if unconscious of another'spresence; "and _that_ name too! but no, --_she_ was not left among theenemies of our faith, --it is a strange--an idle dream. "

He covered his face with his hands, and remained several moments, apparently in deep musing; and when he again looked up, every trace ofemotion was gone, though a shade of melancholy, deeper even than usual, had settled on his features. 

"Go!" he said to De Valette, "and betray not the weakness you havewitnessed; go in peace, and forget, even to pity me!"

Father Gilbert's manner was too imposing to be disputed, and De Valetteleft him with silent reverence, --perplexed by the mystery of his words, and the singularity of his conduct. Before he reached the house, however, he had convinced himself, that the priest was not perfectlysane, and that some fancied resemblance had touched the chords ofmemory, and revived the fading images of early, and perhaps unhappydays. This appeared to him, the only rational way to account for hiseccentricity; and under this impression, as well as from the priest'sinjunction, he resolved not to mention the interview and conversation toany person. He was particularly anxious to conceal it from Lucič, whoseapprehensions might be increased by the account; and, in a short time, indeed, --with the lightness of an unreflecting disposition, --acircumstance which had, at the moment, so strongly impressed him, wasnearly effaced from his remembrance. Father Gilbert left the fort, andits vicinity, in the course of that day; but as the priests werecontinually called to visit the scattered and distant settlements, hisabsence, though prolonged beyond the usual time, was scarcely heeded. 

In the mean while, La Tour was informed that M. D'Aulney continued toembrace every opportunity to display his hostility towards him. Disappointed in the result of his meditated attack on fort St. John's, he had recourse to various petty means of injury and annoyance. TheEnglish colony, at Pemaquid, were friendly to La Tour, and their vesselsfrequently visited his fort to trade in the commodities of the country. A shallop from thence had put in at Penobscot, relying on the goodfaith of D'Aulney; but, on some slight pretence, he detained it severaldays, and though, at length permitted to proceed on its voyage to St. John's, the delay produced much loss and embarrassment. La Tour resolvedto avenge these repeated insults; and, hearing that the fort atPenobscot was at that time weakly defended, he made immediatepreparations to commence an attack on it. 

Arthur Stanhope still lingered at St. John's, and every day increasedhis reluctance to depart from it. Happy in the society of Lucič, hecould not resolve to quit her till the hopes, which her smiles againencouraged, had received her explicit sanction or rebuke. He felt too, that honor required of him an avowal of the sentiments which he had notattempted to disguise; he, therefore, sought the earliest opportunity toreveal them, and with grateful pleasure he received from her, a blushingconfession, that his affection had been long reciprocated. Hishappiness, however, was slightly diminished by an injunction of secresywhich she imposed on him; though he found it difficult to object againstthe motives which induced her to urge the request. Lucič believed theirattachment was already discovered; but she had no doubt that an opendisclosure would occasion a prohibition from her guardian, who, duringher minority, had a right to restrain her choice. She was reluctant toact in open defiance to his commands; and she also resolved never tosacrifice her happiness to his ambitious schemes. It had long been afavorite object with La Tour, to unite her to his nephew, De Valette, whose rank and expectations would have rendered an alliance equal, and, in many respects, advantageous. Mad. De la Tour also, favored theconnexion; and, though Lucič had invariably discouraged their wishes, her aversion was considered as mere girlish caprice or coquetry, whichwould eventually yield to their solicitations and advice. De Valette'sreligion was the only obstacle which Mad. La Tour was willing to admit, and he possessed so many desirable qualifications, she was ready to passthat over, as a matter of minor importance. Both, she alleged, mightenjoy their own opinions; and, even in so close a connexion, perfectunion of religious sentiment was not essential to happiness. Lucičthought otherwise; she had been educated a protestant, and, with many ofthe prejudices which the persecuted Hugonots of that period couldscarcely fail of cherishing towards a church which had sought to crushthem by its perfidy and oppression. These feelings, alone, would haveinduced her to persist in a refusal; but, independently of them, she wasconvinced that it would never be in her power to return the affection ofDe Valette, with that fervor and exclusiveness which so sacred a bonddemanded. 

From her first acquaintance with Arthur Stanhope, Lucič had placed, perhaps, an imprudent value on his society and attentions; and whencompelled during his absence to quit the scenes of their daily and happyintercourse, in haste and affliction, and without even a partingexpression of kindness and regret, she felt, for a time, that her sun ofhappiness was shrouded in perpetual clouds. Romantic as this attachmentseemed, it stood the test of time and absence, lingered in the recessesof her heart through every change of scene, and brightened the darkestshades of doubt, and difficulty, and disappointment. Hitherto, herfirmness of mind and principle had enabled her to resist the wishes ofher aunt, and the remonstrances of La Tour; but their importunity had, of late, increased, and evidently from an apprehension, that theundisguised partiality of Stanhope might obtain an influence over her, detrimental to their favorite and long cherished plans. Lucič sincerelyregretted that her choice was so unfortunately opposed to the wishes ofher aunt; and she feared to encounter the anger of La Tour, whose sternand irritable spirit, when once aroused, was uncontrollable as thestormy ocean. But time, she sanguinely believed, would remove everyobstacle. Stanhope was soon to leave her, and, in his absence, she mightgradually change the sentiments of Mad. La Tour; and she hoped the prideand generosity of De Valette would prompt him voluntarily to withdraw asuit, which was so unfavourably received. Even if these expectationswere disappointed, she would attain her majority in the ensuing spring, when her hand would be at her own disposal, and she should no longerhesitate to bestow it, according to the dictates of her heart. 

Stanhope had offered his assistance to La Tour, in the projectedexpedition to Penobscot; and, as the necessary arrangements were nearlycompleted, a few days only remained for his continuance at St. John's. To all, except Lucič, it was evident his absence would be unregretted;for he could not but remark the cold and altered manner of Mad. De laTour, which she vainly endeavored to disguise, by an air of studiedpoliteness; nor the reserve and petulance of De Valette, which he didnot attempt to conceal. La Tour was too politic to display his disliketowards one, whose services were so useful to him; though his prejudiceswere, in reality, the most inveterate. 

Father Gilbert returned to the fort, after an absence of three weeks, and he brought intelligence which deeply concerned La Tour. D'Aulney hadentered into a negociation with the magistrates of Boston, by which hesought to engage them in his interest, to the exclusion, and evidentdisadvantage of La Tour. He had sent commissioners, duly authorised toconclude a treaty of peace and commerce with them, and also a letter, signed by the vice admiral of France, which confirmed his right to thegovernment. To this was added a copy, or pretended copy, of certainproceedings, which proscribed La Tour as a rebel and a traitor. GovernorWinthrop had, in vain, endeavored to heal the differences, whichsubsisted between the French commanders in Acadia; D'Aulney refused toaccede to any conciliatory measures. Till then, the Massachusetts colonyhad favored La Tour, on account of his religious principles; but theauthority of M. D'Aulney now seemed so well established, and his powerto injure them was so extensive, that they consented to sign thearticles in question. They, however, entered into no combination againstLa Tour, nor debarred themselves from their usual friendly intercoursewith him. 

M. De la Tour listened to these details with extreme indignation, andfelt an increased anxiety to depart without delay. The preparationswere, therefore, soon concluded, and they waited only for a favorablewind, to convey them from the fort of St. John's. 

CHAPTER X. 

 My fear hath catch'd your fondness--

 * * * * *

 Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue; If it be not, foreswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

Arthur Stanhope's protracted stay at St. John's, occasioned muchdiscontent and repining among the crew of his vessel. Many of thembecame weary of their inactive life, and impatient to be restored to thefriends and occupations they had left; while the laxity of the Frenchsoldiers, --the open celebration of popish ceremonies, --the veryappearance of the priest, --excited the indignation of the more rigid andreflecting. The daily exhortations of Mad. De la Tour's chaplain werenot calculated to allay these irritated feelings. One of the mostaustere of the Scotch dissenters, Mr. Broadhead, had been induced, byreligious zeal, to follow the fortunes of his patron, Sir WilliamAlexander, who, in 1621, received a grant of Acadia, or Nova Scotia, and established the first permanent settlement in that country. It had, till then, been alternately claimed and neglected, both by French andEnglish; and he was, a few years after, induced to relinquish his grantto La Tour, whose title was confirmed by a patent from the king ofEngland. 

La Tour, in forming this settlement, was influenced principally bymotives of interest; his colony was composed of adventurers fromdifferent nations, and it seemed a matter of indifference to him, towhat master he owed allegiance. By the well-known treaty of St. Germain's, Acadia was ceded to the crown of France, on which it alonedepended, till finally conquered by the English, when, at a much laterperiod, its improvement and importance rendered it more worthy ofserious contest. The policy of the French government, while it remainedunder their jurisdiction, induced them to attempt the conversion of thenative tribes, as a means of advancing their own interest, and retardingthe influence of the English colonies. For this purpose, they sent outCatholic missionaries, at an early period, to the different settlements;and Jesuits were particularly employed, as the address and subtletywhich always distinguished that order of priests peculiarly fitted themfor the difficult task of christianizing the idolatrous savages. Theirpower was slowly progressive; but, in time, they acquired an ascendancy, which was extended to the minutest of the secular, as well as spiritualconcerns of the province. 

The puritans of New-England regarded these dangerous neighbors withdistrust and fear; nor could they restrain their indignation, when theemblems of the Romish church were planted on the very borders of theirterritory. The haughty carriage, which La Tour at first assumed, increased their aversion, and, in their weakness, rendered him justlydreaded. He prohibited the English from trading with the natives, to theeast of Pemaquid, on authority from the king of France; and, whendesired to shew his commission, arrogantly answered, "that his sword wassufficient, while it could overcome, and when that failed, he would findsome other means to prove and defend his right. " The rival, and attimes, superior power of D'Aulney, however, at length reduced theselofty pretensions, till he was finally obliged to sue for the favor, which he had once affected to despise. 

Mr. Broadhead, glad to escape the storms of his native country, remainedthrough all these changes of government and religion, and, at last, found an unmolested station in the household of Mad. De la Tour. Hisspirit, indeed, was often vexed by La Tour's indifference towards theprotestant cause, which he pretended to favor; and, even with horror, hesometimes beheld him returning from the ceremonials of the papal church. The presence of the priests, also, about the fort, was a constantannoyance to him, and he seldom encountered one of them, without aclashing of words, which, occasionally, required the interference of LaTour, or his lady. In his zeal for proselytism, he seized everyopportunity to harangue the Catholic soldiers; and his wrath, at what hetermed their idolatry, was commonly exhausted in indiscriminateinvectives, against every ceremony and doctrine of their religion. Frequent tumults were the result of these collisions, though restrainedin some measure by the commands of Mad. De la Tour, who exacted theutmost respect towards her chaplain; and La Tour, himself, found itnecessary to use his authority, in preventing such dangerousexcitements. He was, therefore, compelled to retire within his ownimmediate sphere of duty, and, however grieved and irritated by theprevalence of error around him, he in time learned to repress hisfeelings, at least in the presence of those, to whom they could giveoffence. 

The arrival of a New-England vessel at St. John's, opened to Mr. Broadhead a more extensive field of labor; and he soon found many wholistened with avidity to his complaints, and joined in his censures, ofthe conduct and principles of La Tour. His asperity was soothed by thesympathy he received from them; and without intending to injure theinterests of his lord, his representations naturally weakened theirconfidence in him; and many began seriously to repent engaging in acause, which they had espoused in a moment of enthusiasm, and withoutdue consideration. 

Arthur Stanhope, absorbed by one engrossing passion, had no leisure tomark the progress of this growing discontent; and his frequent absencefrom the vessel, which gave an appearance of alienation from theirinterest and concerns, increased the dissatisfaction of his people. Itwas, therefore, with equal surprise and displeasure, that he at lengthdiscovered their change of feeling, and received from a large majority adecided refusal to enter into any new engagements with La Tour. Theirterm of duty, they alleged, had already expired, --they were notsatisfied with the proposed expedition, and would no longer remain infellowship with the adherents of an idolatrous church. Anger, remonstrance, and persuasion, were equally ineffectual to change theirdetermination. Their enlistment was voluntary, and they had alreadyeffected the object for which they engaged; they, therefore, consideredthemselves released from further orders, and at liberty to return totheir homes; and, with a stern, yet virtuous resolution, they declared, their consciences could not be bribed by all the gold of France. 

Stanhope, vexed at a result which he had so little anticipated, andconscious that he had, in reality, no control over them, for his commandwas merely nominal, was glad to secure the services of the few who stilladhered to him, and to compromise with the remainder. With somedifficulty, he prevailed on them to continue at the fort till hereturned from Penobscot, consenting to abandon his vessel to theiruse, --for they were not willing to mingle with the garrison, --and embarkhimself, with as many of his own men as chose to accompany him, and afew Scots, in a smaller one of La Tour's, which could be immediatelyprepared for the voyage, and was better adapted to their reducednumbers. 

This alteration occasioned some delay; and La Tour's impatience was, more than once, vented in imprecations on the individuals, whose senseof duty interfered with his selfish projects. An adverse wind detainedthem a day or two, after every arrangement was completed; but so greatwas La Tour's eagerness to depart, that he embarked at sun-set, on thefirst appearance of a favourable change, hoping to weigh anchor by thedawn of day, or sooner, should the night prove clear, and the wind shiftto the desired point. Stanhope remonstrated against this haste, as hisnautical experience led him to apprehend evil from it; the clouds whichfor some time had boded an approaching storm, indeed, seemed passingaway; but dark masses still lingered in the horizon, and the turbidwaters of the bay assumed that calm and sullen aspect, which so oftenprecedes a tempest. But La Tour was obstinate in his resolution; and, asit was important that the vessels should sail in company, Stanhopeyielded to his solicitations, and left the fort with that dreariness ofheart, which ever attends the moment of parting from those we love. 

Mad. De la Tour, soon after her husband's departure, passed the gate, ona visit of charity to a neighboring cottage. The long summer twilightwas deepening on the hills, as she returned; and, with surprise, sheobserved Lucič loitering among a tuft of trees, which grow near thewater's edge, at a short distance from her path. Believing she had comeout to seek her, Mad. La Tour approached the spot where she stood; butLucič's attention was wholly engaged by a light boat which had justpushed from the shore, and rapidly neared the vessel of Arthur Stanhope, which lay at anchor below the fort. She could not identify the onlyperson which it contained, but a suspicion that it was Stanhope, instantly crossed her mind. Suppressing her vexation, Mad. La Touraddressed Lucič;--she started, and a crimson glow suffused her face, asshe looked up and met the eyes of her aunt, fixed inquiringly on her. 

"You are abroad at an unusual hour this evening, Lucič, " said Mad. De laTour, without appearing to notice her confusion. 

"Yes, later than I was aware, " she answered, with some hesitation; "Ihave been to Annette's cottage, and was accidentally detained on myreturn. "

"Accidentally!" repeated Mad. De la Tour, with a look which againcrimsoned the cheek of Lucič; "you were not detained by any ill tidings, I trust, though your tearful eyes betray emotions, which, you know, Ilove you too well to witness, without a wish to learn the cause. "

"How can you ask the cause, dear aunt, when we have just parted from somany friends, whose absence, and probable danger, cannot but leave usanxious and dejected!"

"You were not wont to indulge a gloomy or anxious spirit, Lucič; and whyshould you _now_ yield to it? Nay, but an hour or two since, you partedwith apparent composure from all; and what has since happened tooccasion this regret? and why should you conceal it from me, who have solong been your friend and confidant?"

"From _you_, dear aunt, I would conceal nothing; you have a right toknow every thought and wish of my heart; but"--

"But what?" asked Mad. La Tour, as she hesitated; "answer me onequestion, Lucič; has not Mr. Stanhope but just now quitted you?"

"He has, " said Lucič, deeply blushing, though her ingenuous countenancetold that she was relieved from a painful reserve; "and now all is knownto you, --all, --and more, perhaps, than I ought, at present, to haverevealed. "

"More, far more, than you ought ever to have had it in your power toreveal!" said Mad. De la Tour, in an accent of displeasure; "and it isfor this stranger that you have slighted the wishes of your naturalguardians, --that you have rejected the love of one, in every respectworthy of your choice!"

"Those wishes were inconsistent with my duty, " returned Lucič; "and thatlove I could never recompense! Dearest aunt, " she added, and the tearsagain filled her eyes, "forgive me in this one instance; it is the onlythought of my heart, which has been concealed from you; and, believe me, _this_ was concealed, only to save yourself and me from reproaches, which, were I now mistress of my actions, I should not fear to meet. "

"Rather say, Lucič, it was concealed to suit the wishes of your lover;but is it honorable in him to seek your affections clandestinely? tobind you by promises, which are unsanctioned by your friends?"

"You are unjust to him, " said Lucič, eagerly; "you suspect him of ameanness, which he could never practice. I only am to blame for whateveris wrong and secret. He has never wished to disguise his attachment, andyou were not slow to detect and regret it; he was encouraged by my dearaunt Rossville, but circumstances separated us, and I scarcely daredhope that we should ever meet again"--

"But you _did_ meet, " interrupted Mad. De la Tour, "and why all thismystery and reserve?"

"I dreaded my uncle's anger, " said Lucič: "and persuaded Stanhope, against his inclination, to leave me without any explanation to myguardian, till the time arrives when I shall be at liberty to choose formyself; and till then, I have refused to enter into anyengagements, --except those which my heart has long since made, and whichnothing ever can dissolve. "

"To me, at least, Lucič, you might have confided this; you would nothave found me arbitrary or tyrannical, and methinks, the advice of anexperienced friend would not have been amiss on a subject of suchimportance. "

"I well know your lenity and affection, dear aunt, " returned Lucič; "butI was most unwilling to involve you in my difficulties, and expose youto my uncle's displeasure; in time, all would have been known to you; Ishould have taken no important step without your advice; and why shouldI perplex you, with what could now be of no avail?"

"I am willing to believe you _intended_ to do right, Lucič, though I amnot yet convinced that you _have_ done so; but we are near the gate, andwill dismiss the subject till another opportunity. "

Lucič gladly assented, and their walk was pursued in silence. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 Bedimm'd The noontide sun, called forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

At day-break, the vessels of La Tour and Stanhope spread their sails toa light wind, which bore them slowly from the harbor of St. John's. Thefort long lingered in their view, and the richly wooded shores andfertile fields gradually receded, as the rising sun began to shed itsradiance on the luxuriant landscape. But the morning, which had burstforth in brightness, was soon overcast with clouds; and the light, whichhad shone so cheeringly on hill and valley, like the last gleams ofdeparting hope, became shrouded in gloom and darkness. Still, however, they kept on their course; and by degrees the wind grew stronger, andthe dead calm of the sea was agitated by its increasing violence. 

The confines of Acadia, which were then undefined, stretched along theborders of the bay, presenting a vast and uncultivated tract, varyingthrough every shade of sterility and verdure; from the bare andbeetling promontory, which defied the encroaching tide, the desertplain, and dark morass, to the impervious forest, the sloping upland, and the green valley, watered by its countless streams. A transientsun-beam, at times, gilded this variegated prospect, and again theflitting clouds chequered it with their dark shadows, till the densevapor, which hung over the water, at length arose, and formed animpenetrable veil, excluding every object from the sight. 

Night closed in prematurely; the ships parted company, and, in theincreasing darkness, there was little prospect of joining again; nor wasit possible for either to ascertain the situation of its partner. LaTour's vessel had out-sailed the other, through the day; and he had sooften navigated the bay, and rivers of the coast, that every isle andheadland were perfectly familiar to him. But Stanhope had littlepractical knowledge of its localities, and, not caring to trustimplicitly to his pilot, he proceeded with the utmost caution, soundingat convenient distances, lest he should deviate from the usual course, and run aground on rocks, or in shallow water. Though with little chanceof success, he caused lights to be hung out, hoping they might attractthe attention of La Tour; but their rays could not penetrate the heavymist, which concealed even the nearest objects from observation. Signalguns were also fired at intervals, but their report mingled with thesullen murmur of the wind and waves, and no answering sound was heard onthe solitary deep. Apprehensive that they approached too near the land, in the gloom and uncertainty which surrounded them, Stanhope resolved toanchor, and wait for returning day. 

This resolution was generally approved; for, among the adventurers whoaccompanied him, Stanhope could number few expert seamen, and thenatural fears of the inexperienced were heightened by superstitiousfeelings, at that time prevalent among all classes of people. Manyseemed persuaded that they were suffered to fall into danger, as ajudgment for joining with papists, in a cause of doubtful equity; andthey expressed a determination to relinquish all further concern in it, should they be permitted to reach the destined shore in safety. Arguments, at such a moment, were useless; and Arthur, perplexed andanxious, yet cautious to conceal his disquietude, passed the whole ofthat tedious night in watch upon the deck. 

Another dawn revived the hopes of all, --but they were only transient;the tempest, which had been so long gathering, was ready to burst upontheir heads. Clouds piled on clouds darkened the heavens, the winds blewwith extreme violence, and the angry waves, crested with foamy wreaths, now bore the vessel mountain high, then sunk with a tremendous roar, threatening to engulph it in the fearful abyss. Still the ship steeredbravely on her course, in defiance of the raging elements; and Stanhopehoped to guide her safely to a harbor, at no great distance, where shemight ride out the storm at anchor, for destruction appeared inevitable, if they remained in the open sea. This harbor lay at an island, near theentrance of the river Schoodic, or St. Croix; and was much frequented bythe trading and fishing vessels of New-England and Acadia. Already theyseemed to gain the promised haven, and every eye was eagerly directed toit, with the almost certain prospect of release from danger andsuspense. 

It was necessary to tack, to enter the channel of the river; and, atthat fatal moment, the wind struck the mainmast with a force whichinstantly threw it over-board; and the ship, cast on her beam-ends bythe violence of the shock, lay exposed to a heavy sea, which broke overher deck and stern. The crew, roused by their immediate hazard, usedevery exertion to right the vessel; and Stanhope, who had not abandonedthe helm since the first moment of peril, managed, with admirabledexterity, to bear her off from the dangerous shore, to which she wascontinually impelled by the wind and tide. But another blast, morefierce than the former, combined with the waves, to complete the work ofdestruction. The vessel was left a mere hulk; and the rudder, their lasthope, torn away by the appalling concussion, she was driven among thebreakers, which burst furiously around her. 

"The ship is gone!" said Stanhope, with unnatural calmness, as he feltit reel, and on the verge of foundering; "save yourselves, if it is nottoo late!"

A boat had been fortunately preserved amidst the general wreck; and withthe vehemence of despair, they precipitated themselves into it. Itseemed perilous, indeed, to trust so frail a bark, and heavy laden as itwas, amidst the boiling surge; but it was their only resource, and, withtrembling anxiety, they ventured upon the dangerous experiment. Stanhopewas the last to enter; and with silent, and almost breathless caution, they again steered towards the island, from which they had been sorudely driven. Some fishermen, who had found a refuge there from thestorm, and witnessed the distress, which they were unable, sooner, torelieve, came to their assistance, and in a short time all were safelylanded, and comfortably sheltered in huts, which had been erected by thefrequenters of the island. 

Stanhope's solicitude respecting La Tour was relieved by the fishermen, several of whom had seen his vessel early on that morning, standing outfor Penobscot Bay; and though slightly damaged, they had no doubt shewould weather the storm, which was, probably, less violent there, thanin the more turbulent Bay of Fundy. Arthur was desirous of rejoininghim, as soon as possible; to report his own misfortune, and assist inthe execution of those plans, which had induced the voyage. But his men, in general, were still reluctant to complete their late engagement; theyregarded the disaster which had so recently placed their lives injeopardy as a signal interposition of Providence, and they resolved toobey the warning, and return to their respective homes. Stanhope, vexedwith their wavering conduct, and convinced that he could not place anyreliance on their services, made no attempt to detain them. The Scots, and a few of his own people, still adhered to him: and he hired a smallvessel, which lay at the island, intending to proceed to Penobscot assoon as the weather would permit. 

The storm continued through that day;--the evening, also, proved darkand tempestuous; but Stanhope, exhausted by fatigue, slept soundly on arude couch, and beneath a shelter that admitted both wind and rain. Hewas awake, however, by the earliest dawn, and actively directing thenecessary arrangements for his departure. The storm had passed away; nota cloud lingered in the azure sky, and the first tinge of orient lightwas calmly reflected from the waves, which curled and murmured aroundthe beautiful island they embraced. The herbage had put on a deeperverdure, and the wild flowers of summer sent forth a richer fragrance onthe fresh and balmy air. The moistened foliage of the trees displayed athousand varying hues; and, among their branches, innumerable birdssported their brilliant plumage, and warbled their melodious notes, asif rejoicing in the restored serenity of nature. 

Arthur had wandered from the scene of busy preparation; he was aloneamidst this paradise of sweets, but his heart held intercourse with theloved and distant object of his hopes, whose image was ever present tohis fancy. He stood against the ruins of a fort, which had been builtalmost forty years before, by the Sieur de Monts, who, on that spot, first planted the standard of the king of France, in Acadia. Circumstances soon after induced him to remove the settlement he hadcommenced there, across the bay to Port-Royal; the island was neglectedby succeeding adventurers, and his labors were suffered to fall intoruin. Time had already laid his withering finger upon the walls, andleft his mouldering image amid the fair creations of the youthful world. Fragments, overgrown with moss and lichen, strewed the ground; thecreeping ivy wreathed its garlands around the broken walls, and loftytrees had struck their roots deep into the foundations, and threw theshadow of their branches across the crumbling pile. 

The lonely and picturesque beauty of the scene, and the associationsconnected with it, at first diverted the current of Arthur's thoughts;but Lucič soon resumed her influence over his imagination. Yet apainful impression, that he had wasted some moments in this dream offancy, which should have been spent in action, shortly aroused him fromhis musing; and, as he felt the airy vision dissolve, he almostunconsciously pronounced the name most dear to him. 

That name was instantly repeated, --but so low, that he might havefancied it the tremulous echo of his own voice, but for the startlingsigh which accompanied it, and struck him with almost superstitious awe. He turned to see if any one was near, and met the eyes of fatherGilbert, fixed on him with a gaze of earnest, yet melancholy, enquiry. The cowl, which generally shaded his brow, was thrown back, and hischeeks, furrowed by early and habitual grief, were blanched to evenunusual paleness. He grasped a crucifix in his folded hands, and hiscold, stern features, were softened by an expression of deep sorrow, which touched the heart of Stanhope. He bent respectfully before theholy man, but remained silent, and uncertain how to address him. 

"You have been unfortunate, young man, " said the priest, after amoment's pause; "but, remember that the evils of life are not inflictedwithout design; and happy are they, who early profit by the lessons ofadversity!"

"I have escaped unharmed, and with the lives of all my companions, "returned Stanhope; "I should, therefore, be ungrateful to repine at theslight evil which has befallen me; but you were more highly favored, toreach a safe harbor, before the tempest began to rage!"

"Storms and sunshine are alike to me, " he answered; "for twenty years Ihave braved the wintry tempests, and endured the summer heats, oftenunsheltered in the savage desert; and still I follow, wherever theduties of my holy calling lead, imparting to others that consolation, which can never again cheer my wearied spirit. Leave me, now, youngman, " he added, after a brief silence; "your duty calls you hence; andwhy linger you here, and dream away those fleeting moments, which cannever be recalled?"

"Perhaps I merit that reproof, " said Stanhope, coloring highly; "but Ihave not been inattentive to my duty, and I am, even now, in readinessto depart. "

"Pardon me, my son, if I have spoken harshly, " returned the priest; "butI would urge you to hasten your departure. La Tour, ere this, hasreached Penobscot; he is too rash and impetuous to delay his purpose, and one hour may turn the scale to victory or defeat. "

Stanhope answered only by a gesture of respect, as he turned away fromhim; and he proceeded directly to the beach, where his vessel lay, reflecting, as he went along, on the singularity of father Gilbert'ssudden appearance, and wondering why he should have repeated the name ofLucič, and with such evident emotion. The agitation he had betrayed, onmeeting her in the garden at St. John's, was not forgotten; and Arthurhad longed, yet dared not, to ask some questions which might lead to anelucidation of the seeming mystery. 

The sun had scarcely risen, when Stanhope left the island of St. Croix;the wind was fair and steady, and the sea retained no traces of itsrecent turbulence, except some fragments of the wreck, which floatedaround. Their vessel was but a poor substitute for the one which theyhad lost, but it sailed well, and answered the purpose of their shortvoyage; and the crew were stout in heart and spirits, notwithstandingtheir late disasters. Stanhope particularly regretted the loss of theirfire-arms and ammunition, though he had fortunately obtained a smallsupply from the people at the island. Early in the afternoon theyentered the bay of Penobscot, and Stanhope directed his courseimmediately towards the fort; he ventured, at no great distance, toreconnoitre, and was surprised that he had, as yet, seen nothing of LaTour. The sun at length declined behind the western hills, leaving aflood of golden light upon the waveless deep. The extensive line ofcoast, indented by numerous bays, adorned with a thousand isles of everyform and size, presented a rich and boundless prospect; and, graced withthe charms of summer, and reposing in the calm of that glowing twilight, it seemed almost like a region of enchantment. 

The serenity and beauty of such a scene was more deeply enjoyed, fromthe contrast which it presented to the turbulence of the preceding day;and Stanhope lingered around the coast, till warned by the gatheringgloom that it was time to seek a harbor, where they might repose insecurity through the night. Trusting to the experience of his pilot, heentered what is called Frenchman's Bay, and anchored to the eastward ofMount Desert island. Night seemed to approach reluctantly, and gemmedwith her starry train, she threw a softer veil around the lovely scenes, which had shone so brightly beneath the light of day. The wild solitudesof nature uttered no sound; the breeze had ceased its sighing, and thewaves broke gently on the grassy shore. The moon rode high in theheavens, pouring her young light on sea and land; and the summit of theBlue Hills was radiant with her silver beams. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 _Mar. _ I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. _Auf. _ We hate alike; Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor More than thy fame and envy. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

La Tour, in the darkness of the night succeeding his departure from St. John's, had found it impossible to communicate with Stanhope; and, prudently consulting his own safety in view of the approaching storm, hecrowded sail, hoping to reach some haven, before the elements commencedtheir fearful conflict. In his zeal for personal security, he persuadedhimself, that Arthur's nautical skill would extricate him from danger;but he forgot the peculiar difficulties to which he was exposed by hisignorance of the coast, and also, that he was embarked in a vessel farless prepared than his own, to encounter the heavy gale which seemedmustering from every quarter of the heavens. Perfectly familiar, himself, with a course which he frequently traversed, --in an excellentship, and assisted by experienced seamen, --he was enabled to steer, with comparative safety, through the almost tangible darkness; and, early on the following morning, he entered the smoother waters ofPenobscot Bay, and anchored securely in one of the numerous harborswhich it embraces. 

The day passed away, and brought no tidings from Stanhope; and DeValette, though their friendship had of late been interrupted bycoldness and distrust, had too much generosity to feel insensible to hisprobable danger. But La Tour expressed the utmost confidence that he hadfound some sheltering port, --as the whole extent of coast abounds withharbors, which may be entered with perfect security, --and the nightproving too tempestuous to venture abroad for intelligence, De Valettewas obliged to rest contented with hoping for the best. 

La Tour wishing to obtain more minute information respecting thesituation of D'Aulney, intended to proceed, first, to Pemaquid; and, should Stanhope, from any cause, fail of joining him, he might probablyreceive assistance from the English at that place, who had always beenfriendly to him, and were particularly interested in suppressing thedreaded power of M. D'Aulney. But, while busied in preparation, on theday succeeding the storm, and repairing the slight damage which hisvessel had sustained, the report of some fishermen entirely changed theplan and destiny of the expedition. La Tour learned from them, thatD'Aulney was at that time absent from his fort, having left it, two orthree days before, with a small party, to go on a hunting excursion upthe river Penobscot. His garrison, they added, had been recentlyreduced, by fitting out a vessel for France, to return with ammunition, and other supplies, in which he was extremely deficient. 

This information determined La Tour to attack the fort without delay. Every thing seemed to favor his wishes, and hold out a prospect ofsuccess. Though small in numbers, he placed perfect confidence in thecourage of his men, most of whom had long adhered to his service, andfollowed him in the desultory skirmishes in which he frequently engaged. Impetuous to a fault, and brave even to rashness, he had, as yet, beengenerally successful in his undertakings, and, though often unimportant, even to his own interests, they were marked by a reckless contempt ofdanger, calculated to inspirit and attach the followers of such anadventurer. 

La Tour, piloted by a fisherman whom he took aboard, landed on apeninsula, since called Bagaduce point, on which the fort was situated. He intended to make his first attack on a farm-house of D'Aulney's, where he was told some military stores were lodged; and, from thence, bring up his men in rear of the fort. He sanguinely believed, that inthe absence of the commander, it would soon yield to his sudden andimpetuous assault; or, if he had been in any respect deceived, that itwould be easy to secure a safe retreat to the boats from which he hadlanded. De Valette, in the mean time, was ordered to divert theattention of the garrison, by sailing before the walls; and, ifnecessary, to afford a more efficient succor. 

In perfect silence, La Tour led on his little band through tangledcopse-wood and impervious shades; and, with measured tread, and thoughtsintent upon the coming strife, they crushed, unheeded, the wild flowerwhich spread its simple charms before them, and burst asunder thebeautiful garlands which summer had woven around their path. The melodyof nature was hushed at their approach; the birds nestled in their leafycoverts; the timid hare bounded before their steps, and the squirrellooked down in silence from his airy height, as they passed on, anddisturbed the solitude of the peaceful retreat. 

They at length emerged from the sheltering woods, and entered anextensive plain, which had been cleared and cultivated, and, in themidst of which, stood the farm-house, already mentioned. It was severalmiles from the fort; a few men were stationed there, but the place wasconsidered so secure, from its retired situation, that they weregenerally employed in the labors of agriculture. La Tour's partyapproached almost within musket shot, before the alarm was given, andthe defenders had scarcely time to throw themselves into the house, andbarricade the doors and windows. The besiegers commenced a violentonset, and volley succeeded volley, with a rapidity which nothing couldwithstand. The contest was too unequal to continue long; La Tour soonentered the house a conqueror, secured all who were in it as prisoners, and took possession of the few munitions which had been stored there. Hethen ordered the building to be set on fire, and the soldiers, withwanton cruelty, killed all the domestic animals which were grazingaround it. Neither party sustained any loss; two or three only werewounded, and those, with the prisoners, were sent back, under asufficient guard, to the boats; the remainder turned from the scene ofdestruction with utter indifference, and again proceeded towards thefort. 

The noontide sun was intensely hot, and they halted a few moments on theverge of an extensive forest, to rest in its cooling shade, and allaytheir thirst from a limpid stream which gurgled from its green recesses. Scarcely had they resumed the line of march, when a confused sound burstupon their ears; and instantly, the heavy roll of a drum reverberatedthrough the woods, and a party rushed on them, from its protectingshades, with overpowering force. La Tour, with a courage and presence ofmind which never deserted him, presented an undaunted front to the foe, and urged his followers by encouragement and commands, to stand firm, and defend themselves to the last extremity. A few only emulated hisexample; the rest, seized with an unaccountable panic, sought refuge inflight, or surrendered passively to the victors. 

La Tour, in vain, endeavoured to rally them; surrounded by superiornumbers, and their retreat entirely intercepted, submission ordestruction seemed inevitable. But his proud spirit could ill brook analternative which he considered so disgraceful; and, left to sustain theconflict alone, he still wielded his sword with a boldness anddexterity, that surprised and distanced every opponent. Yet skill andvalor united were unavailing against such fearful odds; and the weaponwhich he would never have voluntarily relinquished, was at lengthwrested from his grasp. 

A smile of triumph brightened the gloomy features of M. D'Aulney, as hemet the eye of his proud and defeated enemy; but La Tour returned it bya glance of haughty defiance, which fully expressed the bitterness ofhis chafed and unsubdued feelings. He then turned to his humbledfollowers, and surveyed them with a look of angry contempt, beneathwhich, the boldest shrunk abashed. 

"Cowards!" he exclaimed, yielding to his indignation; "fear ye to meetmy eye? would that its lightnings could blast ye, perjured and recreantthat ye are! ay, look upon the ground, which should have drank yourheart's blood before it witnessed your disgrace; look not on me, whomyou have betrayed--look not on the banner of your country, which youhave stained by this day's cowardice!"

A low murmur rose from the rebuked and sullen soldiers; and D'Aulney, fearing some disturbance, commanded silence, and ordered his people toprepare for instant march. 

"For you, St. Etienne, lord of la Tour, " he said, "it shall be my careto provide a place of security, till the pleasure of our lawfulsovereign is made known concerning you. "

"To that sovereign I willingly appeal, " replied La Tour; "and, if ashadow of justice lingers around his throne, the rights which you havepresumed to arrogate will be restored to me, and my authorityestablished on a basis, which you will not venture to dispute. "

"Let the writ of proscription be first revoked, " said D'Aulney, with asneer; "let the names of rebel, and traitor, be blotted from yourescutcheon, before you appeal to that justice, or reclaim an authoritywhich has been long since annulled. "

"False, and mean-spirited!" exclaimed La Tour, scornfully; "you stoop toinsult a prisoner, who is powerless in your hands, but from whoseindignation you would cower, like the guilty thing you are, had Iliberty and my good sword to revenge your baseness! Go, use me as youwill, use me as you _dare_, M. D'Aulney, but remember the day ofvengeance may ere long arrive. "

"_My_ day of vengeance _has_ arrived, " returned D'Aulney, and his eyeflashed with rage; "and you will rue the hour in which you provoked myslumbering wrath. "

"Your wrath has _never_ slumbered, " replied La Tour, "and my hatred toyou will mingle with the last throb of my existence. Like an evil demon, you have followed me through life; you blighted the hopes of myyouth, --the interests and ambition of my manhood have been thwarted byyour machinations, and I have now no reason to look for mercy at yourhands; still I defy your malice, and I bid you triumph at your peril. "

"We have strong holds in that fort which you have so long wished topossess, " said D'Aulney, with provoking coolness; "and traitors, who arelodged there, have little chance of escape. "

La Tour refrained from replying, even by a glance: the soldiers, at thatmoment, commenced their march; and guarded, with ostentatious care, hewalked apart from the other prisoners towards the fort. The angry aspectof his countenance yielded to an expression of calm contempt, andthrough the remainder of the way he preserved an unbroken silence. 

In the mean time, De Valette had strictly obeyed the instructions of LaTour. His appearance before the fort evidently excited much sensationthere; and though he kept at a prudent distance, he could observe thegarrison in motion, and ascertain from their various evolutions, thatthey were preparing for a vigorous defence. He ordered his vessel to beput in a state for action, and waited impatiently to see the standardof D'Aulney supplanted by that of De la Tour. But his illusions weredispelled by the return of a boat with the prisoners, taken at thefarm-house, and a few soldiers who had escaped by flight from the fateof their companions. Vexed and mortified by a result so unexpected, DeValette hesitated what course to pursue. La Tour had not thoughtnecessary to provide for such an exigence, as he never admitted thepossibility of falling a prisoner into the hands of D'Aulney. Hislieutenant, therefore, determined to sail for Pemaquid, to seekassistance, which would enable him, at least, to recover the liberty ofLa Tour. He also hoped to gain some information respecting Stanhope, whose services at that crisis were particularly desirable. 

M. D'Aulney had returned to his fort unexpectedly on the morning of thatday; and the approach of La Tour was betrayed to him by a boy, whoescaped from the farm-house, at the beginning of the skirmish. Nothingcould have gratified his revenge more completely, than to obtainpossession of the person of his rival; and this long desired object wasthus easily attained, at a moment when least expected. 

The prejudices of a superior are readily embraced by those under hisauthority; and, as La Tour approached the fort, every eye glancedtriumphantly on him, and every countenance reflected, in some degree, the vindictive feelings of the commander. But he endured their gazewith stern indifference, and his step was as firm, and his bearing aslofty, as if he entered the gates a conqueror. A small apartment, attached to the habitable buildings of the fort, which had often servedon similar occasions, was prepared; for a temporary prison, until hisfinal destination was determined. D'Aulney, himself, examined thisapartment with the utmost caution, lest any aperture should beunnoticed, through which the prisoner might effect his escape. La Tour, during this research, remained guarded in an adjoining passage, andthrough the open door, he perceived, with a smile of scorn, what indeedseemed the superfluous care, which was taken to provide for hissecurity. The soldiers waited at a respectful distance, awed by thecourage he had displayed, and the anger which still flashed from hisfull dark eye. 

In this interval, La Tour's attention was attracted by the sound oflight footsteps advancing along the passage; and immediately a delicatefemale figure passed hastily on towards a flight of stairs, not far fromthe spot where he was standing. Her motions were evidently confused andtimid, plainly evincing that she had unconsciously entered among thesoldiers; and her features were concealed by a veil, which she drewclosely around them. She flitted rapidly by La Tour, but at a littledistance paused, in a situation which screened her from every eye buthis. Throwing back her veil, she looked earnestly at him; a deep blushoverspread her face, and pressing her finger on her lips, in token ofsilence, she swiftly descended the stairs. 

That momentary glance subdued every stormy passion of his soul; earlyscenes of joy and sorrow rushed on his remembrance, and clasping hishands across his brow, he stood, for a time, unmindful of all aroundhim, absorbed by his excited thoughts. But the voice of D'Aulney againsounded in his ears, and renewed the strife of bitter feelings, whichhad been so briefly calmed. His cheek glowed with deeper resentment, andit required a powerful effort of self-command to repress the invectivethat trembled on his lips, but which, he felt, it would be more thanuseless to indulge. He entered his prison, therefore, in silence; and, with gloomy immobility, listened to the heavy sound of the bolts, whichsecured the door, and consigned him to the dreariness of profoundsolitude. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 That of all things upon the earth, he hated Your person most: that he would pawn his fortunes To hopeless restitution, so he might Be called your vanquisher. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

The first hours of misfortune are generally the most tedious; and thenight which succeeded the imprisonment of La Tour appeared to him almostendless in duration. A small and closely grated window sparinglyadmitted the light and air of heaven; and, through its narrow openings, he watched the last beams of the moon, and saw the stars twinkle morefaintly in the advancing light of morning, before he sought that repose, which entire exhaustion rendered indispensable. 

He was aroused at a late hour on the following morning, from feverishslumber, by the opening of his door; and, starting up, he, with equalsurprise and displeasure, recognized M. D'Aulney in the intruder. Aglance of angry defiance was the only salutation which he deigned togive; but it was unnoticed by D'Aulney, who had apparently resolved torestrain the violence, which they had mutually indulged on the precedingday. 

"I come to offer you freedom, M. De la Tour, " he said, after a moment'shesitation, "and on terms which the most prejudiced could not butconsider lenient. "

"Freedom from life, then!" La Tour scornfully replied; "I can expect noother liberty, while it is in your power to hold me in bondage. "

"Beware how you defy my power!" replied D'Aulney; "or provoke the wrathwhich may burst in vengeance on your head. You are my prisoner, De laTour; and, as the representative of royalty here, the command of life ordeath is entrusted to my discretion. "

"I deny that command, " said La Tour, "and bid you exercise it at yourperil. Prove to me the authority which constitutes you my judge; whichgives you a right to scrutinize the actions of a compeer; to hold induresse the person of a free and loyal subject of our king;--prove this, and I may submit to your judgment, I may crave the clemency, which I nowdespise--nay, which I would not stoop to receive from your hands. "

"You speak boldly, for a rebel and a traitor!" said D'Aulney, contemptuously; "for one whose office is annulled, and whose name isbranded with infamy!"

"Come you hither to insult me, false-hearted villain?" exclaimed LaTour, passionately; "prisoner and defenceless, though I now am, you mayyet have cause to repent the rashness which brings you to my presence!"

"Your threats are idle, " returned D'Aulney; "I never feared you, even inyour greatest strength; and think you, that I can _now_ be intimidatedby your words?"

"What is the purport of this interview?" asked La Tour, impatiently;"and why am I compelled to endure your presence? speak, and briefly, ifyou have aught to ask of me; or go, and leave me to the solitude, whichyou have so rudely disturbed. "

"I spoke to you of freedom, " replied D'Aulney; "but since you persist inbelieving my intentions evil, it would be useless to name the terms onwhich I offer it. "

"You can offer no terms, " said La Tour, "which comport with the honor ofa gentleman and a soldier to accept. "

"Are you ignorant, " asked D'Aulney, "that you are proscribed, that anorder is issued for your arrest, and that a traitor's doom awaits you, in your native land?"

"It is a calumny, vile as your own base heart, " exclaimed La Tour; "andso help me, heaven, as I shall one day prove its falsehood. "

"You have been denounced at a more impartial tribunal than mine, " saidD'Aulney, deliberately unrolling a parchment which he carried, andpointing to the seal of France; "these characters, " he added, "aretraced by high authority; and need you any farther proof, that yourhonors are wrested from you, and your name consigned to infamy?"

"Your malice has invented this, " said La Tour, glancing his eyeindignantly over the contents of the scroll; "but even this shall notavail you; and, cunningly as you have woven your treacherous web aroundme, I shall yet escape the snare, and triumph over all yourmachinations!"

"It is vain to boast of deeds, which you may never be at liberty toperform, " replied D'Aulney; "your escape from this prison is impossible, and, of course, your fate is entirely at my disposal. But, grossly asyou have injured me, I am willing to reconcile past differences; notfrom any hope of personal advantage, but to preserve the peace of thecolony, and sustain the honor of the government. "

"That mask of disinterestedness and patriotism, " said La Tour, scornfully, "is well assumed; but, beshrew me! if it does not hide somedark and selfish purpose. Reconcile!" he added, in a tone of bitterness;"that word can never pass current with us; my hatred to you is sostrong, so deeply-rooted, that nothing could ever compel me to serveyou, even if, by so doing, I might advance my own fortunes to the heightof princely grandeur. "

"Your choice is too limited to admit of dainty scruples, " said D'Aulney, tauntingly; "but, you may be induced to grant from necessity, what youwould refuse as a favor. You must be convinced, that your title andauthority in Acadia are now abolished, and you have every reason toapprehend the severity of the law, if you are returned a prisoner toFrance. I offer you immediate liberty, with sufficient privileges torender you independent, on condition that you will make a legal transferof your late government to me, and thus amicably reunite the colony, which was so unhappily divided on the death of Razilly. Put yoursignature to this paper, and you are that moment free. "

"Now, by the holy rood!" said La Tour, bursting into a laugh of scorn;"but that I think you are jesting with me, I would trample you beneathmy feet, as I do this;" and snatching the offered paper from his hand, he tore it in pieces, and stamped violently on the scattered fragments. 

"You reject my proposals, then?" asked D'Aulney, pale with angryemotions. 

"Dare you ask me, again, to accept them?" returned La Tour; "think you, I would sanction the slanders you have fabricated, by such a surrenderof my rights? that I would thus bring reproach upon my name, andbequeath poverty and disgrace to my children?"

"It is well, " replied D'Aulney; "and the consequences of your folly mustfall on your own head; but, when too late, you may repent theperverseness which is driving you to destruction. "

"Were the worst fate which your malevolence could devise, at this momentbefore me, " said La Tour, "my resolution would remain unalterable. I amnot so poor in spirit, as to shrink before the blast of adversity; noram I yet destitute of followers, who will fight for my rescue, orbravely avenge my fall. "

"We shall soon find other employment for them, " D'Aulney coolly replied;"this fortunate expedition of yours has scattered your vaunted force, and left your fort exposed to assaults, which it is too defenceless torepel. "

"Make the experiment, " said La Tour, proudly; "and again you may return, vanquished by a woman's prowess. Try the valor of men, who burn toredress their master's wrongs; and, if you dare, once more encounter thedauntless courage of a wife, anxious for her husband's safety, andtenacious of her husband's honor. "

"You are fortunate, " said D'Aulney, sarcastically, "to possess so bravea representative; I trust, it has long since reconciled you to thechance, which prevented your alliance with one less valiant, --one, toogentle to share the fortunes of such a bold adventurer. "

"Touch not upon that theme, " said La Tour, starting with almost frenziedviolence; "time may wear away every other remembrance, but the treacheryof a friend must remain indelible and unforgiven. "

"Solitude, perchance, may calm your moody feelings, and I will leave youto its soothing influence;" said D'Aulney, in a tone of assumedindifference, which was contradicted by the angry flash that darted fromhis eye. He laid his hand on the door, while he spoke; La Tour returnedno answer, and the next moment he was left to his own reflections; and, bitter as they were, he felt that to be again alone, was a state ofcomparative happiness. But, whatever he endured, not a shadow of fear orapprehension obtruded on his mind. The shame of defeat, perhaps, mostdeeply goaded him; and his interview with D'Aulney had awakened everydark and stormy passion in his breast. Confinement was, indeed, irksometo his active spirit; but he would not admit the possibility of its longcontinuance; and he had no doubt, that the exertions of De Valette wouldsoon restore him to freedom. He rightly believed, that both the prideand affection of his nephew would stimulate him to attempt it, and hehoped his efforts would be aided by Stanhope, if he had been sofortunate as to escape the storm. 

Stanhope, however, was, as yet, ignorant of these events; and themorning light, which stole so heavily through the grated window of LaTour's prison-room, shone brightly on the waters of the Bay, where hisvessel had anchored through the night. He was in motion at an earlyhour, anxious to obtain information of La Tour, though totally at a lossin what direction to seek for him. In the midst of this perplexity, heobserved a boat, at some distance, slowly approaching the easternextremity of Mount Desert island. Stanhope waited impatiently to hailthe person who occupied it, believing he might receive some intelligencefrom him respecting La Tour. But, instead of making the nearest point ofland, he suddenly tacked his boat, and bore off from the shore, apparently intending to double a narrow headland, which projected intothe bay. 

The little skiff moved slowly on its course, as if guided by an idle orunskilful hand, and the oars were dipped so lightly and leisurely, thatthey scarce dimpled the waves, or moved the boat beyond the naturalmotion of the tide. The earliest blush of morn was spreading along theeastern sky, and faintly tinged the surface of the deep; and, as Arthurwatched the progress of the boat, his attention was arrested by thepeculiar appearance of the occupant, who, on drawing near the headland, raised himself from a reclining posture, and stood erect, leaning, withone hand, on an upright oar, while he employed the other in lightlysteering the boat. His tall figure, habited in the dark garments of aRomish priest, which floated loosely on the air, gave him, as he movedalone upon the solitary deep, a wild, and almost supernaturalappearance. His face was continually turned towards the shore, and attimes he bowed his head, and folded his hands across his breast, as ifabsorbed by mental devotion, or engaged in some outward service of hisreligion. 

Arthur could not mistake the person of father Gilbert; nor was hegreatly surprised at seeing him there, as he had heard much of hiswandering course of life, and knew that he was in the habit of extendinghis pastoral visits to the remotest cabins of his flock. Stanhopethought it possible he might direct him to La Tour; and he ordered aboat to be got ready immediately, in the hope of overtaking him. But bythat time, the priest had disappeared behind the projecting land, andprobably proceeded on his voyage with more expedition; for when Stanhopedoubled the point, he was no longer visible. Unwilling to give up thepursuit, Arthur continued on, passing through the channel betweenCraneberry Islands and Mount Desert, and entered a gulf which ran in onthe south side of the latter. Almost at the entrance, he discovered asmall boat, like the one in question, and from which he had no doubtfather Gilbert had just landed. 

Leaving the boatmen to wait his return, Stanhope sprang on shore withouthesitation, and rapidly followed the windings of a narrow path, thoughignorant where it led, and doubtful if it were trodden by wild animals, or by the foot of man. Shortly, the wood, which he traversed, terminatedin an open plain, slightly elevated above the waters of the bay, thatstill murmured on his ear, and glanced brightly through the foliage ofsome trees which fringed the shore. The spot was rich in verdure, retaining marks of former cultivation, and the trees, which rose to anoble height, were evidently a succession from the earlier monarchs ofthe forest. Some Jesuit missionaries had taken possession of the placeat an early period, planted a cross there, and called it by the name ofSt. Saviour. But their settlement was soon broken up by a party ofEnglish from Virginia, who claimed it for their own king, on the plea offirst discovery. It was long after neglected by both nations, and theimprovements, which had been commenced, were entirely neglected. 

Stanhope's attention was soon arrested by the object of his search. Inthe midst of the plain still lay the cross, which the English hadoverthrown; and, close beside it, father Gilbert was kneeling, asmotionless, as if life had ceased to animate him. His eyes were fastenedon a crucifix, and his pale and haggard countenance wore the traces ofthat mental anguish, which seemed forever to pursue him. His lips werefirmly closed, and every limb and feature appeared so rigid, that Arthurcould scarcely repel the dreadful apprehension, that death had seizedhis victim alone in that solitary spot. He approached him, and wasinexpressibly relieved to perceive him start at the sound of his steps, and look round, though with a vacant air, like one suddenly roused fromdeep and heavy sleep. 

"Pardon me, if I intrude, father, " said Stanhope; "but I feared you wereill, and came to ask if I could serve you. "

"Who are you?" demanded the priest, wildly, and springing from hisknees; "who are you, that seek me here, --here, in this spot, consecratedto remorse and sorrow?"

"It is but a few hours since I parted from you, " returned Stanhope; "andhad I known you purposed coming hither, I would not willingly have leftyou to cross the waves alone, in that frail boat. "

"I know you now, young man, " replied the priest, the unnaturalexcitement of his countenance yielding to its usual calm; "and I thankyou for your care; but solitude and gloom are most congenial to me, andI endure the fellowship of men, only in compliance with the duties of myholy office. Leave me, " he added; "here, at least, I would be alone. "

"This is a dreary place, father"--

"Dreary!" interrupted the priest; "and it is therefore that I seek it;twenty years have passed away, since I first found refuge in its shades, from the vanities of a world which I had too long trusted; and yearly onthis day, the solitary waste is witness to my remorse and penance. Bewarned by this, my son; and, in thy youth, avoid the crimes and follieswhich lead to an old age of sorrow. "

"True repentance may obliterate every sin, " said Stanhope; "and whyshould you despair of mercy, or even of earthly happiness?"

"Happiness!" repeated the priest; "name it not to one whose headstrongpassions blasted every cherished joy, and threw their witheringinfluence on all who loved and trusted in him; mock me not with thatdelusive hope, which only lives in the imagination of youth andinexperience. Again I bid you leave me; this day is consecrated toactive duty, and I would fortify my mind to meet its difficulties. "

"Pardon me, that I trouble you with one inquiry, " said Stanhope; "haveyou heard aught of De la Tour?"

"He is a prisoner, " returned the priest; "and if you would learn moreconcerning him, repair, without delay, to Pemaquid, where his lieutenantwaits your arrival. "

Father Gilbert turned away, as he finished speaking; and Stanhoperetraced his steps to the boat, musing with deep interest on theintelligence he had received. He rowed rapidly back to his vessel; and, weighing anchor, sailed for the bay of Pemaquid, impatient to rejoin DeValette, and learn the particulars of La Tour's capture. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 The midnight pass'd--and to the massy door, A light step came--it paused--it moved once more; Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key. 

 LORD BYRON. 

La Tour endured the first days of confinement with more patience thancould have been expected from his irascible disposition; his mind wascontinually excited by hopes of speedy release, and plans of futurevengeance. D'Aulney's visit to him was not repeated, and his solituderemained unbroken, except by the person who brought him food, and whogenerally performed his office in perfect silence. But the third daypassed more heavily away; he listened to every sound from without hisprison, and as none reached him, which announced approaching succor, hecould not repress an audible expression of anger and disappointment, athis nephew's tardiness. A thousand plans of escape were formed, andinstantly rejected, as visionary and impracticable. He too well knew thesevere and cautious temper of D'Aulney, to suppose he would leave anyavenue unguarded; and, of course, an attempt of the kind could only endin defeat, and perhaps a restriction of the few privileges he thenenjoyed. A sentinel watched continually at the outside of his door;others were stationed near enough to lend assistance on a word of alarm;and his window, even if the bars could be forced, was rendered secure bythe vigilance of a soldier placed beneath to protect it. His ownstrength and address were therefore unavailing; the conviction vexed andmortified him, and he paced his apartment with rapid steps, till hisharassed feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of irritability. 

Daylight disappeared, and the evening advanced in gloom and darkness;not a star shone in the heavens, and the moon vainly struggled with theclouds which overshadowed her. A hollow blast, at intervals, sweptacross the grated window, then murmured into total silence; the wavesrolled sullenly below, and occasionally the measured dash of oars fromsome passing boat was mingled with their melancholy cadence. La Tour'smeditations were broken by the sentinel entering with a light; and as heplaced it on a wooden stand, he lingered a moment, and regarded theprisoner with peculiar attention. He, however, took no notice of it, except to avert his face more entirely from, what he considered, a gazeof impertinent curiosity. The soldier, as he re-opened the door, againturned, and seemed on the point of speaking; but La Tour could endureno intrusion, and a glance of angry reproof from his eye, induced aprecipitate retreat. He almost instantly repented this vehemence; forthat parting look was familiar to him, and possibly he might havereceived some desirable information. 

But it was too late to recall what he had done; and La Tour again sunkinto a train of reflections, though of a more tranquil nature than thosewhich before agitated him. Recent occurrences had revived therecollections of earlier years; and he looked back, with softenedfeelings, on those peaceful scenes, which he had left in youth to buffetwith the storms of life, and the still fiercer storms of passion. Histhoughts were, at length, exclusively occupied with the appearance ofthe female whom he so unexpectedly encountered on the first evening ofhis imprisonment, and whose features he had instantly identified with animage once most dear to him; but which had, long since, been absorbed inthe pursuits of interest, and the struggles of ambition. The time hadindeed gone by, when associations, blended with that image, could deeplyagitate him; and, connected as they were, with his aversion to D'Aulney, they tended to excite emotions of anger rather than of tenderness. 

But, whatever was the nature of his feelings, they were shortly divertedto another channel by a low sound from without the door, which announcedthe cautious withdrawing of its bolts. The next instant it was opened bythe guard who had before entered; and La Tour, surprised at hisappearing so unseasonably, --for it was after midnight--was about toquestion him, when he pointed significantly to the door, and againhastily retired. 

"Antoine!" exclaimed La Tour, suddenly recognizing in him a soldier ofhis own, who, on some former occasion, had been taken prisoner byD'Aulney, and voluntarily remained in his service. The call wasunanswered; but presently the door again opened, and a figure entered, dressed in priestly guise, with a cowl drawn closely over his face. LaTour, at first, thought only of father Gilbert; and, with undefinedexpectation, rose to meet him; but another glance showed, that thisperson was low in stature, and altogether different in appearance fromthe monk. He retreated, with a sensation of keen disappointment; andbelieving that he saw before him some emissary from D'Aulney, he asked, impatiently, "Who are you, that steal in upon my solitude at this untimely hour? thatgarb is your protection, or you might have reason to repent this rashand unwelcome intrusion!"

The object of this interrogation and menace seemed to shrink from thesearching gaze of La Tour; and, without returning a word in reply, covered his face with both hands, as if still more effectually toconceal his features. 

"What trick of priestcraft is this?" demanded La Tour, angrily; "is itnot enough, that I am held in duresse by a villain's power, but must Ibe denied, even the poor privilege of bearing my confinement unmolested?What, silent yet!" he added, in a tone of sarcasm; "methinks, thou art anovice in thy cunning trade, or thou wouldst not be so chary of thyghostly counsel, or so slow to shrive the conscience of a lucklessprisoner!"

"St. Etienne!" replied a voice, which thrilled his ear, inwell-remembered accents; and, at the same moment, a trembling handremoved the cowl which covered a face glowing with confusion, andconfined the light ringlets, that again fell profusely around the neckand brow. 

"Adčle!" exclaimed La Tour, springing towards her; then suddenlyretreating to the utmost limits of the room, while every nerve shookwith powerful emotion. He closed his eyes, as if fearing to look upon aface that he had last seen in the brightness of his hopes; and whichtwelve years had left unchanged, except to mature the loveliness ofearliest youth into more womanly beauty and expression, and to deepenthe pensiveness, that always marked it, into a shade of habitualmelancholy. 

"Adčle, are _you_ too leagued against me?" resumed La Tour, withrecovered firmness, and looking stedfastly on her; "have _you_ enteredinto the secret counsels of my foe? and are you sent hither to tortureme with your presence? to remind me, by it, of past, but never to beforgotten, injuries--of the worse than infernal malice, with which hehas ever pursued me, and for which, I exult in the hope of one daycalling him to a deadly reckoning!"

"Speak you thus of my husband?" she asked, in an accent of reproof; "andthink you such language is meet to be addressed to the ear of a wife?"

"Aye, of your husband, lady, " said La Tour, yielding to his chafed andbitter feelings; "he was once my friend, too; the friend who won myconfidence, only to abuse it, who basely calumniated me, in absence, whotreacherously stole from me the dearest treasure of my heart. Adčle, " hecontinued more calmly, "I do not love you _now_; that youthful passion, which was once the sun of my existence, has lost its strength in otherties, and sterner duties; but, can I meet your eye again, and not recallthe perfidy which drove me forth, from friends and country, anadventurer in the pathless wilderness? can I look upon your face, andnot curse the wretch, who won from me its smiles, who burst our loveasunder, in all its purity and fervor, while yet unruffled by one shadeof doubt, one fear of disappointment?"

"La Tour, " said Mad. D'Aulney, striving to conceal her emotion, "why allthis bitter invective? now, indeed, most vain and useless! why wound myear, by accusations which _I_ surely do not merit, and which is a mostungrateful theme, when uttered against one whom I am bound, by everytie of duty and interest, to respect! If you believe me innocent"--

"I do believe you are most innocent!" interrupted La Tour, impetuously;"yours was a heart too guileless to deceive, too firm in virtuousprinciple to be sullied, even by a union with the vicious and depraved. No, Adčle, I have never cherished one feeling of resentment towards you;you, like myself, was the victim of that baseness, which invented a taleof falsehood to deceive you, of that meanness, which flattered yourfather's ambitious hopes, by a boast of rank and wealth; while my onlyoffer was a sincere heart, my only wealth, an untarnished name, and asword, which I hoped would one day gather me renown, in the field ofhonor. "

"Enough of this, " said the lady, exerting all her firmness; "it isunwise to recall the past, nor is this a fitting time to indulge inreminiscences of pain or pleasure; the night is fleeting fast, and everymoment of delay is attended with danger. "

"What mean you?" asked La Tour, a sudden hope of release darting throughhis mind; "_I_ fear no danger; but _you_ may well dread a tyrant'swrath, should you be seen hovering around a prison, which he would beloath to cheer with one ray of brightness. "

"I must first see you depart, " she replied; "and then, I trust, the goodsaints will guide me safely back to the couch of my sick infant, fromwhich I stole, when every eye was closed in sleep, to attempt yourliberation. "

"My liberation!" said La Tour, in surprise; "may heaven bless you forthe kind thought, Adčle; but you deceive yourself, if you admit thepossibility of effecting it. "

"You know not my resources, " she answered, with a smile; "but listen tomy plan, and you will no longer remain incredulous; I am persuaded thechance of success is much greater than the danger of discovery, andunless we _do_ succeed, I fear you will have much, and long to suffer. "

"There is no chance which I would not hazard, " said La Tour, "to freemyself from this hateful prison, which is more intolerable to me thanthe most hopeless dungeon ever invented by despotic jealousy. Yet Iwould endure any sufferings, rather than involve _you_ in difficulty, orfor an instant expose you to the suspicion of one, too unrelenting, Iwell know, to extend forgiveness, even to those who have the strongestclaims on his tenderness. "

"Passion and prejudice render you unjust, " said Mad. D'Aulney; "but thishour and place are too dangerous to authorize idle scruples, and what isto be done can admit of no delay. Yet I will first remove yourapprehensions on my account, by assuring you, that my husband thinks meignorant of your situation, and, of course, my interference in yourescape cannot be suspected. " She blushed deeply as she added, "fromwhatever cause, he has carefully concealed your imprisonment from me, and induced me to believe, that a lieutenant, only, led on your peopleto the engagement with him, and that he was the present occupant of thisapartment. I need not add, that the transient glimpse I accidentallyobtained of you, undeceived me, and that I have confined this discoveryentirely to my own breast. "

"Dastard!" exclaimed La Tour, indignantly; "this jealous care accordswell with the baseness of his heart; and I wonder not that he fears tolose the affection which was so unjustly gained, if, indeed, it wereever truly his. "

"Must I again ask you, La Tour, " she said, with a displeased air, "torefrain from these invectives, which I may not, cannot listen to, andwhich render my attempt to serve you, almost criminal?"

"Forgive me this once only, madam, " said La Tour, "and I will endeavornot to offend again. And now, will you have the goodness to impart yourplan to me; and, if you are excluded from blame and danger, how shall Ibless the generous courage which prompted you to appear in my behalf!"

"My confessor has been ill for several days, " said Mad. D'Aulney; "and, during his confinement, two missionary priests, attached to thesettlement, have frequently attended him, and been permitted to pass thegates without questioning, whenever they chose. Early this morning, Iencountered a priest, of very peculiar appearance, whose person wasentirely unknown to me; he was going to the sick man's apartment, and, Ihave since learned, supplied the place of one who usually attended, buthad unexpectedly been called away. There was something in his tallfigure, and the expression of his pale and melancholy features, whicharrested my attention; I closely remarked him, and perceived that helooked round inquisitively, though he wore an air of calm abstraction, which would scarcely have been suspected by an indifferent observer. "

"It must have been father Gilbert, " said La Tour; "and, if he isconcerned, I would place the utmost confidence in his prudence andfidelity. "

"That is his name, " said Mad. D'Aulney, "as I was afterwards told byAntoine, the guard, who now waits at the door"--

"Antoine! _he_ cannot be trusted, " interrupted La Tour; "he has oncedeserted my cause, and joined the standard of an enemy, and I cannotagain rely on his integrity. "

"He was seduced from his duty, " returned Mad. D'Aulney; "but, I believe, has sincerely repented of his error, and is now anxious to atone for it. You shall judge for yourself. A few weeks since, he was so dangerouslyill, that very faint hopes were entertained of his recovery; and, hearing that he was a stranger, and in many respects destitute, I wasinduced to visit him, and administer such comforts as his staterequired. What he termed my kindness, excited his warmest gratitude, andhe unburthened his conscience to me, of the crime which seemed to lieheavily on it. He considered his disorder a visitation of Providence, inflicted as a punishment for his desertion; and he wished mostearnestly to return to your service. I was pleased with the goodfeelings he displayed, but advised him to rest contented for thepresent, promising to aid his wishes if any opportunity offered; and, from that time I have seen little of him, till since your arrival. "

"And you have now engaged his assistance?" asked La Tour; "well, be itso; once more in the open air, I fear not even treachery; and, furnishedwith a trusty weapon, I bid defiance to every obstacle that can opposemy freedom. "

"Caution you will find more useful than strength, " said Mad. D'Aulney;"and by its aid we have thus far succeeded, even beyond my expectations. This afternoon, I observed father Gilbert in conversation with Antoine;and, trusting to the sincerity of the latter, I soon after found apretext for speaking with him, and cautiously introduced the subject ofyour escape. He was ready, at every risk, to assist in any measureswhich could be adopted; and informed me that it had already beendiscussed between himself and the priest, and that he was, this night, to stand sentinel at your door. Nothing could be more propitious to ourviews; and, in the course of the day, we have found means to arrangeevery thing, I hope, with perfect safety. "

"This is indeed a kindness, a condescending interest, of which I amwholly unworthy, " said La Tour, with energy; "how, Adčle, can I evershow you the gratitude, the"--

"Speak not of that, La Tour, " she hastily interrupted; "think now ofnothing but your safety; trust implicitly to the guidance of Antoine;and, I trust, it will soon be insured. "

"And you, " said La Tour, "who have generously hazarded so much to aidme--how can I be satisfied that you will escape unharmed? how can Ileave you, in uncertainty and peril?"

"Believe me, " said Mad. D'Aulney, "I am perfectly secure; Antoine willdesert his post to go with you, and suspicion must rest entirely on him, and father Gilbert. The priest waits for you without the fort; and, oncewith him, pursuit will be unavailing, even if your flight is soondiscovered; delay no longer, the morning watch approaches, and you mustbe far from hence, before another guard appears to relieve Antoine. These garments will sufficiently disguise you, " she added, divestingherself of a loose robe and monkish cloak, which covered her own dress;"the soldier on duty will take you for a priest returning from theconfessor's room, and you will probably pass unquestioned, as thepriests, of late, have free access here at all hours. "

"And whither do you go, and how elude observation?" asked La Tour. 

"I have only to cross the passage, and descend a narrow staircase, " shereplied; "both of which were left to the vigilance of Antoine; and Ishall reach my own apartment, without encountering any one. "

A low rap was at that moment heard without the door; Mad. D'Aulney, atthe sound, turned quickly to La Tour, and offering him her hand, with amelancholy smile, she said, "It is time for us to part; and may the blessed saints be with you, St. Etienne, and guide you from hence in safety; we may never meet again, but my prayers will always intercede for your happiness and prosperity. "

"God bless you, Adčle, " said La Tour, in a subdued voice, taking herhand respectfully, "for this night's kindness; for all that you haveever shewn me, words are too feeble to express my gratitude; may heavenwatch over you, and make you as happy as you deserve to be: farewell!"

Mad. D'Aulney turned from him in silence; and Antoine instantly openingthe door, in obedience to a signal from her, she addressed a partingword of good will to him, and hastily descended the stairs. La Tourstood with his eyes fixed on her retiring figure, till Antoine venturedto urge his departure, by reminding him, that every moment's delayincreased the danger of discovery. He started at the suggestion; and, wrapping the cloak around him, and drawing the cowl closely over hisface, they proceeded in perfect silence, leaving the door secured, asbefore, by bolts and bars, in the hope that it might lull suspicion fora short time, or, at least, retard the moment of certain discovery. Theypassed out into the open air, through a door which Antoine had the meansof opening, and thus avoided the sentinels who guarded the usualpassage. 

The continued darkness favored La Tour's disguise; they safely reachedthe gate, and Antoine informed the guard that he was ordered to conductthe holy father out, and that he had, himself, a commission from hislord, which would detain him several hours. They were immediatelypermitted to pass. Every obstacle was then surmounted, and, withfeelings of exultation, La Tour again stood upon the ocean's verge, andlistened to the rushing of the wind and waves, beneath the free andample canopy of heaven. He looked back towards the fort, visible by afew glimmering lights, and the gratitude and tenderness which had sorecently subdued his stern and haughty spirit, were strangely blendedwith revenge and hatred against the man, from whose power he was thenescaping. 

Antoine uttered a shrill whistle, which was answered by the dash ofoars; and a skiff presently shot from a little bay, and drew near thespot where they waited. Father Gilbert was in it; La Tour grasped hishand, in silence; and Antoine, taking the oars, applied all his strengthand dexterity, to bear them swiftly over the dark and troubled waters. 

CHAPTER XV. 

 Who is't can read a woman?

 SHAKSPEARE. 

Arthur Stanhope found M. De Valette at Pemaquid, according to theinformation of father Gilbert; for the priest had, in fact, left himthere on the preceding evening, and it was from him that he learned thetidings of La Tour's imprisonment. 

Soon after his interview with Stanhope, at Mount Desert, father Gilbertobtained permission to visit the confessor at Penobscot, during theabsence of a priest who usually attended him; nor did this voluntary actof charity excite any suspicion against one who had gained so high areputation for zeal and sanctity. Antoine saw, and instantly recognizedhim; and, suspecting that his visit to the fort was prompted by a wishto learn the situation of La Tour, he, under the seal of confession, imparted his yet immature plan of escape, and, almost beyond his hopes, found in him a very able assistant and adviser. 

Father Gilbert was aware that La Tour favored the Hugonot cause; but he, with reason, doubted the sincerity of his motives; for he encouragedthe Catholic religion throughout his settlement, and supported theauthority of the priests. He knew that Mad. De la Tour was warmlyattached to the protestant cause, and that her influence was extensive;the establishment of the true-faith, therefore, seemed to depend on LaTour's support and assistance; and if some measures were not soonadopted to procure his freedom, D'Aulney would probably detain him longin confinement, or perhaps send him to France, to await the slow processof a trial. If any feelings of personal regard towards La Tourinfluenced the priest, they were unacknowledged even to his own heart;for he carefully excluded every earthly object from his affections, andseemed to endure life, only in the hope that a severe and constantdischarge of his sacred duties would, at length, insure him a happyrelease from its painful bondage. 

Towards the close of the day preceding La Tour's escape, De Valettereceived a message from father Gilbert, requiring him to return, withoutdelay, to the neighbourhood of fort Penobscot. Though he assigned noreason for his request, nor gave any intimation of his plans, the youngFrenchman reposed implicit confidence in his discretion; and, moreover, as a good Catholic, he was so habituated to the control of a spiritualguide, that he did not hesitate a moment to comply with this desire. Stanhope was rather surprised at this ready submission on the part ofDe Valette, which was, by no means, a prominent trait in his character;but, as nothing could be gained by remaining at Pemaquid, he consentedto accompany him, on his nocturnal voyage. 

The wind favored their passage, but the evening was dark and gloomy;and, with no certain object in view, their progress was tedious in theextreme. The vessels kept close in company, but it was after midnightwhen they reached the place appointed by father Gilbert; and, presumingthat they should hear nothing from him till morning, they anchored neareach other, off the shore of Mount Desert. The morning twilight was justbreaking on the distant hills, when the watch from De Valette's vesseldescried an approaching boat. It was occupied by three persons, two ofthem labored at the oars, and the third sat in the midst, with foldedarms, in a state of perfect immobility. 

"That is father Gilbert, but who brings him hither?" exclaimed DeValette, as they drew up to the ship's side, and pulled in their oars. La Tour sprang upon the deck, flinging aside the disguise which he hadtill then retained; and a shout of joyful recognition was echoed byevery voice in either vessel. Antoine was received on board withenthusiasm; and, in answer to the eager inquiries which poured fromevery lip, La Tour briefly related the circumstances of his escape, though he carefully suppressed any allusion to the assistance of Mad. D'Aulney. It was long before the tumult of gratulation subsided; butfather Gilbert, who alone remained cold and unconcerned, retired from itas soon as possible, and resumed the guidance of his little bark, whichhad safely borne him on many a solitary voyage. The chant of his matinhymn rose, at intervals, on the fitful breeze; and Stanhope watched himtill he disappeared behind the point of land round which he had followedhim on the preceding day. 

La Tour, convinced that all the force which he could at present commandwas insufficient to contend with D'Aulney, whose strength had beengreatly, though perhaps without design, misrepresented to him, orderedthe sails to be set for a homeward voyage; and, before sunrise, theshores of Penobscot were left far behind them. 

The remainder of the night, which succeeded La Tour's release, waspassed by Madame d'Aulney, in a state of morbid excitement. She watchedalone by the side of her sleeping infant, and even maternal solicitudewas, for a time, suspended by the intense interest, which her ownperilous adventure, and the safety of La Tour awakened. She felt thatshe had done a deed, for which, if by any chance discovered, she couldnever hope to obtain forgiveness from her incensed husband. Still, herconscience acquitted her of any motive criminal in its nature, ortraitorous to his real interest; and the reflection that it had been inher power to confer an essential benefit on the man whom she had oncedeeply, though most unintentionally, injured, was inexpressibly soothingto her feelings. She counted the moments, which seemed to linger intheir flight, and started at the slightest sound, till sufficient timehad elapsed to convince her that he must have proceeded far on his way, towards a place of safety. 

The dreaded discovery was indeed deferred beyond her utmostexpectations. The guard, who was to relieve Antoine, repaired to hispost at the appointed time; and, though surprised to find it vacated, yet as the door was perfectly secure, he contented himself with utteringan oath at his comrade's negligence, and in a few moments it was almostforgotten. An hour or more passed away, and no motion was heard within;morning advanced--he thought it strange that his prisoner should enjoysuch sound repose, and a suspicion of the truth began to dawn upon hismind. He unbarred the door, and his suspicions were, of course, instantly realized. Repenting the easy faith which had suffered him todelay an examination, he hastened to impart the intelligence, which soonspread dismay and confusion throughout the garrison. 

Madame d'Aulney heard the loud voices, and hurried steps of the soldierswithout, and the quick note of alarum, whose fearful summons could notbe mistaken. These sounds, though long expected, struck heavily on herheart; and she uttered a fervent petition to the Virgin, to speed thewanderer on his doubtful way. She heard various reports of what hadtaken place, from her attendants; but she prudently waited for the stormof passion to subside, before she ventured into the presence of M. D'Aulney, conscious that the utmost effort of self-command would benecessary to meet his eye with her usual composure. 

"Methinks you are tardy this morning, madame!" he said, stopping in hishurried walk, and looking fixedly on her countenance, as she at lengthentered the room where he was alone. 

"Our sick child must plead my excuse, " she replied; "he still requires awatchful care, and I am unwilling to consign him to any one lessinterested than myself. "

"You are a fond mother, " said D'Aulney, resuming his walk; "but, thereare few husbands who choose to be neglected for a puling infant. "

"The duties of a wife and mother are closely blended, " she returned;"and I trust I have not been deficient in the performance of either. "

"You well know, " he said, peevishly, "that I have no fancy for thenursery, with its appendages of children and nurses; and yet, for threedays, you have scarcely condescended to quit it for an instant. Yes, forthree days, " he repeated, again stopping and looking earnestly at her, "you have secluded yourself from me, and your cheek has grown pale, asif some cherished care, or deep anxiety, had preyed upon your thoughts!"

"And what anxiety can exceed a mother's?" she asked, the tears springingto her eyes; "what care so ceaseless and unwearied, as her's, whowatches over the helpless being to whom she has given existence; whosesufferings no other eye can comprehend; whose infant wants demand theconstant soothings of her enduring tenderness, and exhaustless love! Andhas this excited your displeasure?"

"My own affairs have chafed me, Adčle, " he said, more gently; "afavorite project has miscarried, and the vengeance I have so longdesired is foiled, in the very moment when I believed success undoubted;all this, too, through my own easy credulity, and a lenity, which itsobject ill deserved from me!"

"You have erred on the safer side, " said Madame d'Aulney, timidly; "andyour own heart, I doubt not, will acknowledge, in some cooler moment, that it is far better to forego the momentary pleasure of revenge, thanto commit one deed which could stain your name with the guilt of tyrannyand oppression. "

"You know little of the wrongs, " he answered, sternly, "which for yearshave goaded me; and which, if unrevenged, would brand me with worse thana coward's infamy. The artifice, which has so often baffled my plans;the arrogance, which has usurped my claims; even you, gentle as youare, would scorn me, if I could forgive them!"

"Mutual injuries require mutual forgiveness, " she replied; "and, in thestrife of angry passions, it is not easy to discriminate the criminalfrom the accuser. But, " she added, seeing his brow darken, "you have ledme into a subject which can only betray my ignorance; you well know thatI am wholly incompetent to judge of your public affairs; and I havenever ventured to obtrude upon your private views, or personalfeelings. "

"You have too much of a woman's heart, Adčle, " he said, "to become thesharer of important councils; a freak of fancy, or a kindly feeling, might betray or destroy the wisest plan that could be formed. "

"Nay, " she answered, smiling, "I have no wish to play the counsellor;and it is well, if my husband can be satisfied with the humble dutieswhich it is my sole ambition to fulfil. "

"And there are enough of these within the limits of our own household, "D'Aulney replied; "though you are but too ready to extend yourbenevolent exertions beyond; you were, for instance, most zealous, thesaints only know why, to save the life of that scoundrel soldier of LaTour's, when he lay sick here;--I would that he had died!--and, trustingto your commendations, and his apparent honesty, I raised him to myfavor, and gave him a post, which he has but now most basely betrayed. Fool, that I was, to think he could have served with such a master, andnot bring with him the taint of treachery!"

"Poor Antoine!" said Madame d'Aulney, equivocally; "he made fairprofessions, and the most suspicious could not have doubted hissincerity. _You_ did not _then_ object to my rendering him those slightservices, which, you thought, might attach him more strongly to yourcause; and I could not think he would repay me with ingratitude. But Imarvel that you, who are so habitually wary and discerning, should havebeen deceived by his pretensions; the friend, or servant, who has onceproved perfidious, is unworthy any future confidence. "

D'Aulney started, as if stung by the last remark, and looking keenly onher, replied, "He is not the only traitor whom I have fostered and protected; someother hand has been busy in this work, and, though it were the dearestthat I have on earth, my wrath should not abate one tittle of itsjustice. "

"It was, indeed, a bold adventure!" said Mad. D'Aulney, with admirablecomposure; "but if, as I am told, a priest gained access to the prisonerthrough Antoine's intervention, they would scarcely deem it necessary torun the hazard of employing any other agency; and let us not be guiltyof injustice, by indulging suspicions of the innocent. "

"I have closely questioned the father confessor on this subject, " hereplied, thoughtfully; "and I learn that a stranger, one of his owncrafty order, yesterday visited him; and that soon after leaving hisapartment, he was observed in close conference with the wretch Antoine;but the guard denies admitting any one through the gate at a later hour;though a priest, or, as is now supposed, the prisoner in his garb, passed out after midnight, with the deserter, who gave some plausibleexcuse for departing at that unseasonable hour. "

"The men are terrified by your anger, " said Mad. D'Aulney, "and probablycontradict each other in their natural eagerness to justify themselves;you permitted the priests to enter freely, and no one can be blamed forobeying your commands, which did not prohibit a stranger under thesacred habit. "

"The confessor's illness, " resumed D'Aulney, with bitterness, "hasgathered all the priests in the land around him; and this goat, whoentered with the herd, is doubtless a creature of La Tour's; but, beshrew me, were the holy father in the last extremity, I would notadmit another, without a scrutiny which no artifice could escape. "

"You have many prisoners left, " said Madame d'Aulney, carelessly; "andthis one, though the chief, was he so very important as to justify allthis severity?"

"It matters not, madame, " he answered, sternly; "but I care not to havemy wishes thwarted by cunning; my plans defeated by fraud and artifice. Yet your curiosity shall be gratified, " he added; "or, tell me, do younot already know who has so narrowly escaped the punishment his crimeshave well deserved?"

"You told me, " she replied, "that it was a lieutenant of M. De laTour's, and I have, of course, sought no further information. "

"It is well that you did not;" he said, hastily; "but suppose I shouldnow tell you that it was the miscreant, La Tour himself, would thatpalliate the severity of which you are so ready to accuse me?"

"It would not extenuate the subterfuge which at first concealed thetruth from me, " she answered, with an indignant blush, "nor atone for awant of confidence, which I had not deserved from you. "

"And of what importance was this mighty secret to _you_?" he asked, sarcastically; "methinks you should rather thank me for the kindnesswhich saved you"--

"It was well, " she interrupted, in an accent of decision, "and now letit pass forever. Your kind precaution, fortunately, has prevented somesuspicions, which, I perceive, you were but too ready to indulge. "

"I yet trust he has not quite escaped;" resumed D'Aulney, after amoment's pause; "I have sent out parties in every direction through theneighbouring country, and swift boats across the bay; and he must begifted with almost supernatural powers, to elude pursuit. His returnshall be loudly celebrated, " he added, with a gloomy smile; "and youshall not complain, Adčle, that we do not call you in to therejoicings!"

"I think he will avoid giving that triumph, " she replied; "for hedoubtless anticipated your pursuit, and was prepared to elude it; someof his own people were, most probably, in concert with the priest, tosecure him a safe retreat. "

"I doubt not that you wish it, " said D'Aulney, angrily; "that yourejoice in his success, though it abolish my fairest schemes, andprolong a conflict which has already proved pernicious to my fortune andinterests. "

"I can wish for no event, " she answered, mildly, "which would retardyour honorable designs, and defeat any rational prospect of happiness oradvantage; neither can I adopt prejudices which I do not comprehend, orwish evil to one who has never injured me. "

"It is well, madame, " he replied; "and your benevolence, perchance, willbe rewarded. But, though he now escape, believe me, the hour ofvengeance will one day arrive; I will follow him till he surrenders thepossessions so unlawfully retained, and ceases to assume a power whichhas no longer an existence, but in name. "

"And is it for a name only, that you contend?" asked Mad. D'Aulney;"must our domestic peace and safety remain in jeopardy, and the din ofstrife forever ring around us, because a powerless enemy refuses toyield imaginary rights?"

"You are wilfully ignorant on this subject, " he replied; "and shewlittle of that submission, which a dutiful wife should feel for herhusband's judgment; but it is enough that I know the justice of my owncause, and that I bear a sword, which has ever been faithful to itstrust. Go you, " he added, tauntingly, "and count your rosary, and mutterto the saints a prayer with every bead; it may be they will protect thetraitor, whom your good wishes have already followed. "

So saying, he abruptly left the room; and Madame d'Aulney, with tearfuleyes, and an oppressed heart, hastened to the retirement of her ownapartment. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

 I cannot love him; Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 

 * * * * *

 ---- ---- but yet I cannot love him, He might have took his answer long ago. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

Rumors of M. De la Tour's defeat and capture, attended with the usualexaggerations, were not slow in reaching fort St. John's; and they couldnot fail of producing a strong excitement in the garrison, and ofrendering those more closely connected with him, deeply anxiousrespecting the result. Madame de la Tour had been attacked by a severeillness, from which she was slowly recovering; and Lucič dreaded toimpart to her the tidings, which from her own feelings, she was assuredwould excite the most painful solicitude. But her aunt's penetrating eyesoon detected the concealment, and she could no longer withhold a minutedetail of the reports which had reached her ears. They were, however, received by Mad. La Tour with unexpected firmness. She could not, indeed, suppress her uneasiness, but she felt that exertion wasnecessary, and, from that moment, the languor of disease yielded to theenergy of her mental courage. 

Madame de la Tour had experienced many vicissitudes, and, as the wife ofa soldier of fortune, she had learned to bear success with moderation, and to meet reverses with fortitude. She loved her husband, and with aspirit as high and undaunted as his own, and a mind far more noble andgenerous, she cherished his honor, as the only treasure which violenceor injustice could never wrest from him. Affection is always credulous, and fortunately for her happiness she gave no belief to the high chargeswhich were publicly alleged against him; but placed the most undoubtingtrust in his assurance, that they were the baseless calumnies of anenemy. Even the many dark shades in his character, which could notescape her discernment, she was ever ready to palliate; and her blandinfluence often restrained the violence of his stern and vindictivetemper. 

La Tour, with all his faults, was never unjust to her merits; and, though he had married her without affection, her exemplary conductgradually removed his indifference, and gained an ascendancy over him, which his pride would never have brooked from a less superior mind. Themisfortune which had now befallen him, Mad. De la Tour had reason toapprehend, would lead to still more serious consequences. Hisimprisonment might prove long and perilous; and it was probable thatD'Aulney would take advantage of so good an opportunity to renew hisattempt upon the fort. La Tour had drawn his best men from the garrison, in the sanguine hope that he was leading them to victory; and now thatdefeat and capture had befallen them, those who remained behind weredispirited by the apprehension of an attack, for which they wereentirely unprepared. Madame de la Tour again appeared amongst them; and, though pale and debilitated by recent illness, her presence inspiredthem with renewed hope and resolution. Her directions were obeyed withan alacrity, which shewed their confidence and affection; and she hadsoon the satisfaction of finding every duty promptly fulfilled, andevery precaution taken, which the most vigilant prudence could suggest. These arrangements, and their attendant cares, necessarily engrossedmuch of her time and thoughts; and diverted her mind from thecontemplation of her husband's dreary situation. 

Several days passed away, and no intelligence was received, which couldtend to relieve her anxiety. A few of the men who escaped from the wreckof Stanhope's vessel had returned to St. John's, and confirmed thereport of that disaster; but they were ignorant of any events whichafterwards took place, either with regard to him, or La Tour. Lucičendeavoured to support the irksome suspense, with something of thatequanimity which her aunt invariably exhibited. But she was lesspractised in this species of self-control; and the silence, which Madamede la Tour preserved respecting Stanhope, increased her uneasiness anddepression. She had never alluded to him, except in some casual remark, since the evening of his departure; and Lucič had no reason to believeher sentiments respecting his attachment were at all changed. Pride anddelicacy restrained her from entering on a theme, which was so pointedlyshunned; but she felt wounded by a reserve that she had never beforeexperienced; and the silence imposed on her, only gave more activity toher thoughts, which were perpetually engrossed by a subject, so closelyconnected with her happiness. Mad. De la Tour's conduct towards her wasin every other respect unchanged; her affection and confidenceundiminished; and Lucič fancied she could discern, in this, theinfluence of her guardian's prejudices, or, perhaps, a prohibition whichher aunt would not venture to disregard. 

Two or three days of gloomy weather had confined Madame de la Touralmost entirely to her own apartment; tidings long expected were stilldelayed; and, in spite of every effort, the disappointment and anxietyevidently depressed her spirits. On the first return of sunshine, sheproposed a walk with Lucič, to the cottage of Jacques and Annette, whichstood at a little distance without the fort, and had been presented tothem, on their marriage, by La Tour, as a reward of their fidelity. Itwas at the close of a balmy day, in the early part of autumn; and, for atime, they walked on in silence, each one engrossed by her ownreflections. Madame de la Tour at length abruptly said, "This soft and fragrant air brings healing on its wings! my strength andspirits are already renovated by its soothing influence, and eveninanimate nature seems rejoicing in this brilliant sunshine, so doublywelcome, after the damp and heavy fogs, which have so long hung roundus!"

"It is almost like the mild, transparent evenings of our own brightclime, " said Lucič; "but _there_ we can enjoy, without the fear ofperpetual change, while in this land of vapors, the sun which sets withmost resplendency often rises shrouded in clouds. "

"It is this contrast, which gives a piquancy to all our pleasures, " saidMad. De la Tour; "no sky is so serene, as that which succeeds a tempest;and a slight alloy of sorrow or disappointment gives a zest tosubsequent enjoyment. "

"No one can love variety better than I, " said Lucič, smiling; "providedits shades are all reflected from glowing colors; but I would prefer acalm and settled enjoyment, however monotonous it may seem, to thosesudden bursts which borrow half their brightness from the contrastedgloom of a reverse!"

"You will find nothing permanent in this changeful world, Lucič; and, from your exuberant gaiety, wisely reserve a portion of cheerfulness, at least, to support you, in the darker moments of misfortune, which themost favored cannot always escape. I have had my share of them; and itis not a trifling evil, that my husband is now a prisoner, in the handsof his most deadly enemy; but it is weakness to indulge in uselessregrets and apprehensions, and I have only to perform my dutyfaithfully, and cherish the hope, that his own courage, or theassistance of his friends, will soon effect his rescue. "

"We have but too much reason to believe, that they are all sharers ofhis captivity, " returned Lucič; "had De Valette, or any of them escaped, they would surely have returned hither, before this time. "

"They would scarcely be welcome here, " said Mad. De la Tour, "if theyreturned, before they had done all that brave men could do, to recoverthe liberty of him, whom they have pledged themselves to serve!"

"Their own feelings, I doubt not, " replied Lucič, "would prompt them touse every exertion to effect that object, and Eustace's courage, weknow, is unquestioned. We have heard, too, " she added, with slighthesitation, "that Mr. Stanhope procured another vessel, after hisdisaster, to go on and assist my uncle; and if, as is possible, he andDe Valette are still at liberty, it would be strange indeed, if theirunited efforts proved unavailing. "

"I have no reason to doubt the courage or sincerity of Mr. Stanhope, "said Mad. De la Tour; "but it is most natural to place our chiefreliance on those whom we have long known and regarded; and Eustace iscertainly more deeply concerned in the honor and safety of his uncle, than a stranger possibly can be. "

"His personal feelings may be more strongly interested, " replied Lucič;"but where honor or duty is involved, I believe Stanhope would peril hislife against that of the bravest man in Christendom. "

"Your good opinion of this English stranger, " her aunt coolly replied, "seems rather to increase; but absence is a deceitful medium, particularly when the object viewed through it is invested with theattractions of a foolish partiality. "

"Absence has never influenced my feelings on this subject, " said Lucič, deeply coloring; "my opinion of Mr. Stanhope has been the same, from theearliest period of our acquaintance. "

"It is strange, " said Madame de la Tour, "that, for so long a time, youshould have refrained from mentioning even the name of this valuedfriend to me; that you should have permitted the affection of De Valetteto gain encouragement and strength, when you were resolved to disappointit; and that too, from a romantic attachment, which you had little hopeof realizing, and blushed to acknowledge!"

"I have no reason, " replied Lucič, "to blush for an attachment whichwas honorably sought, and bestowed on a worthy object; but involved, asit long was, in uncertainty, maidenly pride forbade the confession, evento _you_; and De Valette surely had no reason to expect it from me!Without this motive, my regard for him never could have exceeded that ofa friend, or sister; my conscience acquits me of having shewn him anyungenerous encouragement; and, if he suffers disappointment, he mustseek the cause in his own pertinacious vanity, which led him to believehis pretensions irresistible. "

"It may rather be found in your own caprice, Lucič; a caprice whichwould lead few young women to reject an alliance in every respect soadvantageous. "

"Had I no other objection to De Valette, " said Lucič, "I should be mostunwilling to connect myself so closely with one, whose religiousprinciples are directly at variance with those which I have been taughtfrom childhood to reverence; my dear aunt Rossville often spoke to me onthis subject, and almost in her last moments, warned me never to form analliance which might endanger my faith, or expose me to the misery offinding it scorned by him to whom I had entrusted my happiness, andwhose views and feelings would never unite with mine, on a subject ofthe highest concern and importance. "

"That objection might be rational in most instances, " said Madame de laTour; "and no prospect of temporal advantage for you, I am sure, wouldinduce me to urge a step which could expose you to such trials, orjeopardize those principles, which you well know I have alwaysinculcated, and most highly prized. But De Valette is no bigot, and I ampersuaded he would never counteract your inclinations, or restrain youfrom worshipping according to the dictates of your conscience. Both yourparents, as you already know, Lucič, were Catholics; many of yourfather's connexions are now high in favor with the ruling party, andyour marriage with a Catholic would doubtless be agreeable to them; and, while it established your own fortune, might give you an opportunity toserve the cause of our persecuted sect. "

"I feel under no obligations to my father's relations, " replied Lucič;"they have never shewn any interest in me; even my existence has seemeda matter of indifference to them, and there is scarcely one to whom Ihave been personally known. "

"There were some peculiar circumstances connected with your father'shistory, " said Mad. De la Tour, "which, for a long time, involved hisnearest friends in deep affliction. He did not long survive your mother, and his family would gladly have received you into their protection, hadnot your aunt Rossville claimed you as her sister's last bequest. Shesoon after became a protestant, and persisted in educating you in thatfaith, which naturally gave offence to your paternal relatives; and tothat cause alone I attribute the decline of their interest. But, if youreturn to France, and as the wife of De Valette, "--

"That I can never do!" interrupted Lucič;--"dearest aunt, " she added, "Iwould sacrifice much to gratify your wishes; but the happiness of mywhole life, --surely you would not exact that from me!"

"I exact nothing from you, Lucič, " she replied; "but I would have youconsider well, before you finally reject the tried affection of DeValette, and with it affluence and an honorable station in your nativeland, merely from the impulse of a girlish fancy, which would rashlylead you from friends and country, to share the doubtful fortunes of apuritan; to adopt the habits of strangers, and endure the privations ofa youthful colony!"

"I have reflected on all these things, " said Lucič; "and I am persuadedthat wealth and distinction are, at best, but empty substitutes forhappiness; and that the humblest lot is rich in true enjoyment, whenshared with one whose love is the fountain of our hopes, whose smile canbrighten the darkest hour, and scatter roses over the thorniest path oflife. I had rather, " she added, with a glowing cheek, "far rather trustmy little bark to the guidance of affection, upon the placid stream ofdomestic joy, than to launch it on the troubled waters of ambition, withpleasure at the helm, and freighted with hopes and desires, which canbring back no returns but those of disappointment and vexation. "

"This is a dream of idle romance, which can never bear the test ofreality, " said Mad. De la Tour; "and I hope you will detect its fallacybefore you are taught it by the bitter lessons of experience. "

"Our opinions on this subject, " said Lucič, "I fear must remain entirelyat variance; but, as I have yet many months left for reflection, let usat present suspend the discussion. Here is Annette's cottage; and, ifyou please, I will extend my walk a little, and return when I think youare sufficiently rested from your fatigue. "

Madame de la Tour readily assented to her proposal; and Lucič, guided bythat delightful association of thought and feeling, which leads us toretrace, with so much pleasure, the scenes where we have lingered withthose we love, directed her steps to a wooded bank, which overhung thewater, where she had last parted from Arthur Stanhope. The sun wassetting with unwonted splendor, and the bright reflection of his goldenbeams tinged the cloudless sky with a thousand rich and varied hues, from the deep purple which blended with his crimson rays, to the paleamber, and cerulean tint, that melted into almost fleecy whiteness. Theearth glowed beneath its splendid canopy, and the trees, which skirtedthe border of the bay, threw their lengthened shadows upon the quietwaves, which lay unruffled and bathed in the glory of the gorgeousheavens. 

Lucič stood on the very spot where she had received the last adieu ofStanhope, and the same objects which now met her eyes, were the mutewitnesses of that parting scene. Every leaf that trembled around herrevived some cherished remembrance; and the breeze, which sighed throughthe foliage, was soft as the voice of whispered love. But painfulconjectures respecting his present situation, at length engrossed everythought; and the recollections of happiness, and dreams of hope, werealike absorbed in the suspense and anxiety which, for many days, hadgathered gloomily around her. She involuntarily glanced across the bay, as if expecting that some messenger would approach with tidings; and shestarted with joyful surprise, on observing a vessel just below, and, atthat moment, on the point of anchoring. She gazed earnestly for a shorttime, and her heart throbbed audibly as she saw a small boat leave itsside and steer directly towards the fort; two persons were in it, andthe dark flowing garments of father Gilbert could not be mistaken. 

Love, it is said, though notoriously blind in the main, is quick-sightedon such occasions; and another glance assured Lucič, that the companionof the holy father, who plied the oars with so much diligence, was noother than Arthur Stanhope. The little boat glided swiftly on itscourse; it soon neared the shore, and Lucič screened herself behind aclump of trees, when she found it verging to a cove, hard by, whichformed a sheltered harbour for such light vessels. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

 I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine; to this I am most constant, Though destiny say, no. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

Arthur Stanhope soon guided his boat into the cove, and leaped on shore, followed more leisurely by father Gilbert, who proceeded alone to thefort. Stanhope lingered behind, apparently enjoying a profound reverie, while, step by step, he approached the grove where Lucič was stillconcealed. Her habitual dread of father Gilbert induced her to remainsilent, till he was out of sight; when she bounded lightly from hercovert, and stood before her lover. An exclamation of delighted surpriseburst from his lips, as he sprang eagerly towards her; and it wasseveral moments before the joyful excitation of mutual and happyemotions admitted of calm inquiry and explanation. 

"You must now tell me, Arthur, " Lucič at length said, "what miracle hasbrought you here; how you have escaped from storms, and shipwreck, andcaptivity, and all the evils which we heard, I fear too truly, hadbefallen you!"

"Report, I perceive, has at least multiplied my misfortunes, " heanswered, smiling; "I have been in no danger from the sword or prison, and, though the tempest treated my poor vessel roughly, thanks to itsmercy! we all escaped with life, and, therefore, have no reason tocomplain. "

"That dreadful night and day!" said Lucič, with a shudder; "did I nottell you, Stanhope, that a storm was gathering? and when we stoodtogether on this very spot, and I pointed to the heavy clouds, andsullen waves, you only smiled at my fears, and paid no heed to mypredictions!"

"I knew not, then, that you were so skilled in reading the mystery ofthe clouds, " he answered; "and if I had, dear Lucič, I fear thatknowledge would have availed me little; my honor was pledged in theundertaking, and I could not delay it, even to gratify the wishes, whichyou urged with so sweet a grace, and an interest so flattering. "

"Well, let it pass, " she replied; "you are safe again, and we need notthe tempest's aid to enhance the sunshine of this moment. And now tellme, where you have left my uncle, and De Valette, and all who went outwith you, in such a gallant show? and why you have returned alone, oronly with that dreaded priest, who seems to traverse earth and sea, likea spirit, gifted with ubiquity?"

"But this dreaded priest, Lucič, whom you regard with so much fear, appears inclined to use his mysterious influence for benevolentpurposes; and Mons. De la Tour is certainly much indebted to hisexertions for being so soon freed from imprisonment. "

"My uncle _is_ free and safe, then?" asked Lucič, "though, indeed, yourlooks before assured me of it; and I ought not to have delayed so longimparting the intelligence to my aunt. Suffer me to go, Stanhope; youknow not her anxiety!"

"You will not leave me so soon, my dearest girl?" he asked, againdrawing her arm through his; "indeed, it is useless; father Gilbert hasby this time reached the fort, and imparted all that you could, and muchmore, with which you are yet unacquainted. "

"But my aunt is not there, Stanhope; I left her at Annette's cottage;and, I doubt not, she already thinks it strange that I have notreturned: if she knew that I was loitering here with you"--

"She would not think it _very_ strange, " interrupted Stanhope, smiling, and still detaining her; "and, in the happy tidings of her husband'ssafety, even you, Lucič, may be for a time forgotten. If the priest ismortal, as I must believe he is, though you seem to doubt it, he willprobably feel some pleasure in communicating good news, and I owe himthis slight satisfaction, for the favor he conferred in bringing mehither. "

"I do not yet understand, " said Lucič, "why you are here alone, or whereyou have left the companions of your luckless expedition? I hope youhave not entered into a league with the priest, or acquired any of hissupernatural powers?"

"No, Lucič, " he replied; "I shall long remain contented with the humblerattributes of mortality, rather than acquire any powers which can makeyou flee from me. The mystery is very easily solved, as I doubt not, allwhich pertains to the holy father might be. Released from all ourdifficulties, I left Penobscot Bay, in company with La Tour; we werevexed with head winds, for a day or two, against which my vessel, beingsmall, was enabled to make greater progress, and leaving him behind, Ijust now anchored yonder, waiting for the tide to proceed up to thefort. But I was too impatient to see you, to remain at that shortdistance another moment; and as father Gilbert chanced to make hisappearance just then, I availed myself of his boat to convey me here;for he chose to land at this place instead of going on to the fort. Icould not pass this spot without pausing an instant, to recall themoment when I last saw you. I knew this was your favorite hour forwalking; and, smile if you will, something whispered me, that I mightagain meet you here. "

"My solitary rambles are not always directed to this spot, " sheanswered, with a conscious blush; "and it was mere chance that broughtme here this evening. But, perhaps, " she archly added, "absence hasseemed so brief to you, that you expected to find me lingering where youleft me!"

"Absence from _you_ seem brief!" he said; "I would that you could readmy heart, Lucič; you would there find how dark is every hope, howcheerless every scene, how lengthened every moment, which is not sharedwith you! Deem me not presumptuous, " he added, "when I ask, why weshould part again? why delay the fulfilment of those hopes, which youhave permitted me to cherish, and doom me to the misery of anotherseparation!"

"Do not urge me on this subject, Arthur, " she replied; "the reasonswhich I once gave you, still exist; nor can any arguments diminish theirforce, nor any motives induce me to reject their influence. Nay, yourbrow is clouded now, " she added, smiling; "as if you thought caprice orcoldness moved me to refuse your wishes; and yet your heart must tellyou, I am right, and that it is not kind in you to seek to draw me frommy duty. "

"Convince me, first, that it _is_ your duty, Lucič, and I will not urgeyou more; I will then yield, cheerfully, if I can, to those scrupleswhich, I confess, now appear to me fastidious. "

"You are wilfully perverse, Arthur, but it will require more time than Ican at present command, to convert you to my opinion; you see, even thisbright twilight is fading from us, and my aunt will be uneasy at my longabsence; indeed you must not detain me another moment. "

"You will at least suffer me to go with you Lucič, "--

"I cannot, " she interrupted; "Annette's cottage is near, and I fearnothing; besides, here is my shaggy page, " she said, pointing to thelarge dog which followed her; "and he is as trusty in his office, as anythat ever attended the steps of a roving damsel. "

"And he enjoys the privilege of shewing his attachment, " said Stanhope, coloring; "while I am restrained, even from those slight attentionswhich common civility demand! I am weary of this secrecy, Lucič, andnothing but your urgent wish could have compelled me to endure it solong!"

"My prohibition is now withdrawn, " she replied; "not because you haveborne it with so much patience, but because my aunt detected the secret, and drew from me a confession, which, in truth, I should have madevoluntarily, had I not feared it might involve her in my guardian'sdispleasure. "

"And that smile, dear Lucič, assures me, that the avowal was notill-received. "

"My smile is deceptive then, " she answered; "no, Arthur, unjust as itmay appear to you, as it most certainly does to me, my aunt is vexed anddisappointed at what she chooses to consider my perverse inclinations;and though I am persuaded she would never interpose her authority toprevent my wishes, her consent to them will not be very readilyobtained. You were, but just now, the subject of our conversation, andI left her displeased with the opinions I had ventured to express; Ifear your unexpected appearance with me so immediately after, might notbe well received, and this is my sole objection to your returning withme. "

"I have certainly no wish to obtrude myself in any place, " saidStanhope; "and particularly where my presence could excite displeasureagainst you: and, though I feel convinced that the sentiments imbibedagainst me are most unjust, yet if your favor, your affection may I add, dear Lucič, survive their influence, I will not repine at that injusticewhich gives an added proof to its strength and constancy. "

"I thought it was already proved beyond a doubt!" she answered; "surelythat regard which time, and almost hopeless absence, could only rendermore devoted and enduring cannot be endangered by the assaults of idleprejudice or the lures of mercenary ambition! My heart is more credulousin its faith than your's, Arthur; and no jealous fear could ever lead meto distrust the truth and fervor of that love which you have pledged tome!"

"And, think you, dearest girl, that I repose less confidence in you?that I can doubt the heart in which is treasured every hope and fondaffection of my soul? From you, pure and disinterested as you are, Ihave nought to fear; but I cannot look upon the dreary blank of absence, and not feel all the misery, the thousand nameless ills, which that oneword comprises!"

"Speak not of it, Arthur; it is not wise to fancy evils which may neverhave existence, or which, if they are in store for us, Providence haswisely hidden from our view. You see that I am strong in courage, andtoo chary of my present happiness, to suffer one gloomy cloud to shadeits fleeting brightness!"

"Fleeting, indeed!" he answered, "another day, or two, at most, and ifyou still decree it, we part for many long and tedious months!"

"So soon!" said Lucič, her cheek changing with emotion; "so very soon, Arthur? why this unexpected haste, this quick departure?"

"You cannot ask me to remain here, Lucič, when to all but you, mypresence is a burthen; when every other eye meets me with a coldness anddistrust, which, even for your sake, I cannot longer endure! La Tour butill concealed his feelings while he thought my services might be usefulto him; but now, I can no longer aid his cause, and I will not tax himeven for the poor civility he has so grudgingly bestowed!"

"You are right, " said Lucič; "and under such circumstances I cannot evenwish you to prolong your stay; but when we next meet, Arthur"--

"When we next meet, Lucič? would that we were not to part! that I couldnow prevail on you to unite your fate with mine, and shun thecontingencies of another dreaded separation!"

"It is in vain to ask it, Arthur, " she replied; "it would only hastenthe opposition and strife of angry feelings, which I would not provoke, till I feel at liberty to obey the dictates of my own will. My guardianhas now a right to prevent my choice, and I have no doubt he wouldexercise it to the utmost; but when I am freed by law from hisauthority, he will cease to importune me on a subject so entirelyunavailing. My promise also is pledged to my aunt, that I will not evenenter into an engagement without her sanction, before that period. "

"And what is her object in requiring this promise?" asked Stanhope; "isit not in the hope that she shall prevail with you, in my absence, tobecome the wife of De Valette?"

"Perhaps it is, " said Lucič; "but do not suffer this idea to give youone moment's uneasiness;--no, Arthur, believe me, neither threats norentreaties can change the purpose of my mind, or diminish thataffection, which will ever remain as fervent and unchanged, as if themost sacred promise was given to pledge my fidelity, or the most holyvows already united our destinies. "

At that moment they reached a green pathway, leading to Annette'scottage; and Lucič again reminding Stanhope that he must leave her, hefelt compelled, reluctantly, to turn into another direction, and pursuehis lonely way to the fort. 

Madame de la Tour, in the mean time, had scarcely heeded Lucič'sprotracted absence, as she sat at the cottage door, enjoying thefragrance and beauty of the evening, which her late confinement renderedpeculiarly grateful. The last glow of twilight faded slowly away, andthe falling dews began to remind her, that she had already lingeredbeyond the bounds of prudence. She was surprised that Lucič stayed soinconsiderately, and at length became seriously uneasy at her delay. Buther anxiety was for a time diverted, by the appearance of Jacques, whocame in haste from the fort, with the intelligence which father Gilberthad just communicated, that La Tour was at liberty, and then on hishomeward voyage. 

Mad. De la Tour immediately left the cottage, persuaded that Lucič musthave returned without her. She had not proceeded far, when sheencountered father Gilbert, walking with his usual slow and measuredsteps, and a countenance perfectly abstracted from every surroundingobject. She had never spoken with the priest, for her peculiar tenetsled her to regard his order with aversion; nor had she beforeparticularly noticed him. She now saw in him only the messenger of herhusband's freedom; and, eager to make more particular inquiries, shehastily approached him, though with a degree of reverence which it wasimpossible for any one to avoid feeling in his presence. The prieststopped, on finding his progress thus impeded, and looked coldly on her;but gradually his expression changed, the blood rushed to his face, anda sudden brightness flashed from his piercing eyes. The lady, engrossedby her own feelings, did not observe the change, but, in a tone ofanxious inquiry, said, "Holy father, you are a messenger of good tidings, and I would crave thefavor of hearing them confirmed, from your own lips!"

With startling energy, the priest seized her hands, and fixing his eyeswildly on her, exclaimed, "Lady, who are you? speak, I conjure you, while I have reason left tocomprehend!"

"I am the wife of Mons. De la Tour, " she answered, terrified by hisstrange conduct, and vainly striving to free herself from his grasp. 

"The wife of Mons. De la Tour!" he repeated; "no, no, you are not;--youwould deceive me, " he added, vehemently; "but you cannot; those featuresever, ever haunt me!"

"For whom do you mistake me?" asked Madame de la Tour, with recoveredself-possession, but still deadly pale. 

"Mistake you!" he answered, with a shudder; "no, I know you well--Ithought you would return to me! you are"--he lowered his voice, almostto a whisper, and spoke with calm emphasis, "you are Lucič Villiers!"

"My God!" exclaimed Mad. De la Tour, "who are you? No, " she quicklyadded, "I am not Lucič Villiers, but I am the sister of that mostinjured and unhappy lady. "

"Her sister!" said the priest, striking his hand upon his forehead, witha perplexed air; "I thought it was she herself;--yet, no, that could notbe. Her sister!" he repeated, wildly; "and do you not know me? not knowthe wretched, miserable De Courcy?"

A piercing cry from Madame de la Tour followed these words, andattracted the attention of Jacques, who was standing before his cottagedoor. He flew to assist his lady, but, before he reached her, she hadsunk, senseless, on the ground, and father Gilbert was standing overher, with clasped hands, and a countenance fixed and vacant, as ifdeserted by reason. Jacques scarcely heeded him, in his concern for Mad. De la Tour; he raised her gently in his arms, and hastened back to thecottage, to place her under the care of Annette; when he returned, soonafter, to look for the priest, he had disappeared, and no traces of himwere found in the fort or neighborhood. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

 "How hast thou charm'd The wildness of the waves and rocks to this? That thus relenting they have giv'n thee back To earth, to light and life. "

Lucič, immediately after parting with Stanhope, chanced to meet fatherGilbert, as he was hurrying from the spot where he had just held hissingular interview with Madame de la Tour. She avoided him, with thatinstinctive dread of which she could never divest herself on seeing him;and he passed on, without appearing to notice her, but with a rapiditytoo unusual to escape her observation. She found Annette's quiet cottagein the utmost confusion, occasioned by the sudden illness of Madame dela Tour, who had then scarcely recovered from her alarminginsensibility. Lucič hung over her with the most anxious tenderness, andher heart bitterly accused her of selfishness, or, at best, ofinconsideration, in having been induced to prolong her absence. But heraunt did not allude to it, even after her consciousness was entirelyrestored; she spoke lightly of her indisposition, attributing itentirely to fatigue, though her sad and abstracted countenance shewedthat her mind was engrossed by some painful subject. She made no mentionof father Gilbert; and Lucič, of course, did not feel at liberty toallude to him, though Annette had told her of their conference, and hercuriosity and interest were naturally excited to learn the particulars. It could not but surprise her, that Mad. De la Tour should have been inearnest conversation with the priest; for she had always shunned him, and ever treated Lucič's fears as some strange deception of theimagination. 

M. De la Tour returned late in the evening of that day; but the shockwhich his lady had received, whether mental or physical, again confinedher several days to her apartment. Lucič was convinced that this renewedindisposition was, in some manner, connected with the appearance offather Gilbert. She, at length, ventured to speak of him to her aunt;but the subject evidently distressed her, though she confessed hispeculiar manners had at first alarmed her; adding, with an attempt atgaiety, that he was probably scandalized at being so abruptly addressedby a female and a heretic. With apparent indifference, she also askedseveral questions of Lucič, respecting her accidental interviews withthe priest; thus betraying a new and uncommon interest, whichstrengthened the suspicions of her niece. These suspicions were soonafter confirmed, by casually learning that La Tour had himself madestrict inquiries concerning father Gilbert; but he had withdrawnhimself, no person knew whither; though it was supposed to some of thesolitary haunts he was in the habit of frequenting. 

Day after day passed away, the subject was not renewed, and otherthoughts gradually resumed their ascendancy in Lucič's mind. Stanhopehad returned to Boston, and previous to his departure he sought aninterview with La Tour, and formally requested the hand of Lucič. Hissuit was, of course, rejected, though with unexpected courtesy; herguardian alleged, that he had other views for her, which he consideredmore advantageous; but expressed the highest personal regard for him, and the utmost gratitude for the services he had so freely rendered. When La Tour, however, found that Lucič was really fixed in herattachment to Stanhope, and resolved against a marriage with De Valette, he could not suppress his angry disappointment; and his manner towardsher became habitually cold, and often severe. Lucič deeply felt thisungenerous change, but without noticing it in the slightest degree; and, indeed, it was partly compensated by the kind attentions, and evenincreased affection, of her aunt, who, though not perfectly reconciledto her choice, no longer sought to oppose it. 

Madame de la Tour recovered but slowly from her unfortunate relapse; andDe Valette, endeavoring to hide his mortification and chagrin, under anassumed reserve, was no longer the gay and constant companion of Lucič'samusements and pursuits. She was thus left much alone; but, fortunatelyfor her, she possessed abundant springs of happiness in the resources ofher own mind, and the unclouded gaiety of her spirits; and every lonelyhour, and each solitary spot, glowed with the bright creations of hope, or responded to the thrilling chords of memory. All her favorite walkshad been shared with Stanhope; there was scarcely a tree which had notsheltered them; and every gushing stream, and forest dell, even thesimplest flower which spread its petals to the sun, breathed in muteeloquence some tale of innocent enjoyment. These scenes, which hispresence had consecrated, where, in the freshness of dewy morn, atnoontide's sultry hour, and beneath the still and moonlight heavens, shehad admired, with him, the loveliness of nature, were now retraced, withthe enthusiasm of a fond and devoted heart. 

Such feelings and reminiscences had, one day, drawn her into the greenrecesses of a forest, which stretched along the river, at some distanceabove the fort. The familiar and oft-frequented path, wound through itsdeepest shades, beneath a canopy of lofty pines, whose thickly wovenbranches created a perpetual twilight. She at length struck into adiverging track, and crossing a sunny slope, bared by the laborioussettler for future improvement, reached a steep bank, which declinedgently to the water's edge. It was one of those cheering days in earlyautumn, which sometimes burst upon us with the warmth and brilliancy ofsummer, and seem, for a brief space, to reanimate the torpid energies ofnature. The sun glowed in mid-day fervor, and myriads of the insecttribes, revived by his delusive smile, wheeled their giddy circles inthe light, and sent their busy hum upon the calm, clear air. The wildbee, provident for future wants, had sallied from his wintry hive, andsipped from every honied cup, to fill the treasures of his waxen cell;and a thousand birds of passage folded their downy pinions, and delayedtheir distant flight, till bleaker skies should chill their melody, andwarn them to depart. 

Lucič threw herself on a grassy knoll, beneath a group of trees, completely sheltered by the broad leaves of a native grape-vine whichclimbed the tallest trunk, and leaping from tree to tree, hung itsbeautiful garlands so thick around them, as to form a natural arbor, almost impervious to the brightest sun-beam. The opposite shore of theriver was thickly wooded, chiefly with those gigantic pines for whichthat province is still famed; but interspersed with other trees, whoseless enduring foliage was marked by the approach of early frosts, whichhad already seared their verdure, and left those rich and varied tintsthat charm the eye in an autumnal landscape, while yet too brilliant toseem the presage of decay. The river flowed on its still smooth course, receiving on its waves the reflection of nature, in her quiet but everglorious array, and mingling its faint murmurs with the busy soundswhich breathed from those countless living things, that sported theirbrief existence on its banks. 

Not far above the spot where Lucič reclined in the luxury of dreamingindolence, the river was contracted by a ledge of rocks, through whichthe stream had worn a rough and narrow channel. The full waters of thenoble river, arrested by this confined and shallow passage, rushedviolently over the steep and craggy rocks, and pouring their chafed andfoaming current into the calm stream, which again expanded to its usualwidth, produced a fall of singular and romantic beauty. Every risingtide forced back the waters from their natural course, precipitatingthem into the stream above with equal rapidity, though from a lessappalling height. Twice, in each tide, also, the sea was on a level withthe river, which then flowed smoothly over the rocks, and at those timesonly, the dangerous obstruction was removed, and the navigationunimpeded. 

Lucič had remarked the waters as unusually placid, on first approachingthe bank, and she did not advert to this perpetual change, till theirloud and increasing murmurs had long fallen unheeded on her ears. Herattention was at length aroused; and though she had often witnessed itbefore, she gazed long, with unwearied pleasure, upon the troubledstream, as it bounded from rock to rock, dashing with impetuous fury, and tossing high in air its flakes of snowy foam. The report of afowling piece, at no great distance, at length startled her; and awell-known whistle, which instantly succeeded, assured her that thesportsman was De Valette. She had wandered from the shade of the grapevine to obtain a more distinct view of the falls; but not caring to beseen by him, she hastily plunged among a thicket of trees, which grewclose to the water's edge. The place was low and damp; and in lookinground for a better situation, her eye fell on a bark canoe, which wasdrawn in among some reeds; and, without hesitation, she sprang into it, and quietly seated herself. It was probably left there by some Indian, who had gone into the woods to hunt, or gather roots; a neat blanket layin it, such as the French often bartered for the rich furs of thecountry, and several strings of a bright scarlet berry, with which thesquaws were fond of decorating their persons. 

Lucič, in the idleness of the moment, threw the blanket around her, andtwined some of the berries amongst her own jet black hair. She hadscarcely finished this employment, when she heard quick approachingfootsteps, and, glancing round, saw De Valette pushing heedlesslythrough brier and bush, and Hero trotting gravely at his side. A loudbark from the dog next foreboded a discovery; but both he and hismaster had halted on the summit of the bank, apparently to survey theoccupant of the boat. Lucič's curiosity was aroused to know if he wouldpass on without recognizing her; and busying herself in plaiting somereeds, which she plucked from beside her, she broke into a low chant, successfully disguising her voice, and cautious that no words should bedistinguished, except one or two of the Indian dialect, which she hadlearned from an old squaw who frequented the fort. 

"How now, my little squaw, " said De Valette, advancing a few steps;"have you got cast away among the reeds?"

"I am waiting for the tide, to take me down to the fort, " she answered, in such unintelligible French, that he could scarcely comprehend her. 

"And what are you so busy about?" he enquired, approaching near, tosatisfy his curiosity. 

"Making a basket; and I will give it to you for some beads, when it isdone!" said Lucič, in the same imperfect jargon, stooping her head low, and concealing her hands lest their delicacy should betray her. 

But Hero, who had listened, and observed with his usual acuteness, interrupted the farce at that moment by springing to the boat, andplacing his fore paws in it, he gently seized the blanket in his mouth, and pulled it from her unresisting shoulders. A bark of pleasuresucceeded this exploit, as he laid his shaggy head in her lap, toreceive the expected caress. 

"Now, by my faith, mademoiselle, " said De Valette, coloring with mingledfeelings, "I can indeed, no longer discredit your pretensions to the artof disguise. "

"Indeed, you have no reason to do so, " she said, smiling; "though Iscarcely thought, Eustace, that you had less penetration than your dog!But do you remember what I once told you;--twice deceived, beware of thethird time!"

"I would not have believed _then_, Lucič, that you were so skilled indeceit!" he said, in a tone of bitterness; but quickly added, carelessly, "I willingly confess that I have not penetration enough todetect the disguises of a woman's heart!"

"It would certainly be difficult to detect that which has no existence, "said Lucič, gaily; "we are but too guileless, too single-hearted, intruth, for our own happiness. "

"And for the happiness of others, you may add, " rejoined De Valette;"the boasted simplicity of your sex is so closely allied to art, that, by my troth, the most practised could scarce detect the difference!"

"I begin to have faith in miracles, " said Lucič, with arch gravity;"surely nothing less than one could transform the gallant De Valette, the very pink of chivalrous courtesy, into a reviler of that sex, who"--

"Who are not quite so faultless as my credulity once led me to believethem, " interrupted De Valette. 

"Nay, if you have lost your faith in our infallibility, " she answered, "your case is hopeless, and I would counsel you to put on the cowl, atonce, and hie away to some dull monastery, where you can rail, atleisure, against woman and her deceptive attributes. It might form a newand fitting exercise for the holy brotherhood, and, methinks, wouldsound less harshly from their lips, than from those of a young andgenerous cavalier. "

"I am not yet so weary of the world as to avail myself of your advice, "he replied; "however grateful I may, feel for the kindness which promptsyou to give it. "

"I hope you do feel more gratitude than your looks express, " said Lucič;"for, though I have labored most abundantly to please you, I cannotobtain one smile for my reward. "

"You have never found it difficult to give me pleasure, Lucič, " returnedDe Valette; "though unhappily I have been less fortunate in regard toyou. "

"You are petulant to-day, Eustace, " she said; "or you would not accuseme so wrongfully; nay, you have been very, I must say it, verydisagreeable of late, and followed your own selfish amusements, leavingme to wander about alone like a forsaken wood-nymph. Indeed, it isneither kind nor gallant in you. "

"And can you think I have consulted my own inclinations, in doing so?"he asked, with vivacity. "Believe me, Lucič, my heart is ever with you, and when I have been absent or neglectful, it was only from the fear ofobtruding those attentions, which I thought were no longer prized byyou. "

"You have done me great injustice, by admitting such a thought, Eustace, " she replied; "and I appeal to your own conscience, if anycaprice or coldness on my part, has given you reason to imagine that myfeelings toward you have changed. "

De Valette colored highly, and paused a moment, before he replied;

"I have no inclination to complain, Lucič, but you have long known mysentiments too well to suppose I could view with indifference youracknowledged preference for another, and it was natural to believe thatpreference would diminish the interest which I once had the presumptionto hope you entertained for me. "

"No circumstances can ever diminish that interest, Eustace, " shereplied; "our long tried friendship, I trust, cannot be lightly severed, nor the pleasant intercourse which has enlivened the solitude of thiswilderness be soon effaced from our remembrance: believe me, " she added, with emotion, "whatever fate awaits my future life, my heart willalways turn to you, with the grateful affection of a sister. "

"A sister!" De Valette repeated, with a sigh; and the transient flushfaded from his cheek, while he stooped to caress the dog, which laysleeping at his feet. 

A moment of embarrassing silence ensued, which Lucič broke, by asking DeValette if he was returning to the fort, and proposing to accompany him. 

"If the owner of this canoe was here to row us, " she continued, "Ishould like extremely to return in it, the water looks so cool andinviting, and I am already weary. "

"It would be madness to venture against the tide, in that frail vessel, "replied De Valette; "and, indeed, Lucič, I think your present situationis not perfectly safe. "

The tide was, in fact, rising with that rapidity so peculiar to the Bayof Fundy, and which, of course, extends, in some degree, to the riversthat empty into it; and while Lucič occupied the canoe, it had, unnoticed by her, been nearly freed from the reeds, which, a short timebefore, had so effectually secured it. She observed that a wider spaceof water separated her from the land; and, striking one end of a paddleupon the sandy bottom, to support her as she rose in the rocking bark, she reached the other hand to De Valette, who stood ready to assist herin springing to the shore. A slight dizziness came over her, caused bythe constant but scarce perceptible motion of the canoe, and alarmed onfeeling it dip to the water's edge as she was on the point of leaping, she pressed forcibly against the oar, while the corresponding motion ofher feet impelled the boat from the shore, with a velocity whichinstantly precipitated her into the waves. 

This scene passed with such rapidity, that De Valette fancied her handalready within his grasp, when the giddy whirl and heavy plunge struckupon his senses, and the flutter of her garments caught his eye, as thewaves parted and closed over her. Eustace was an indifferent swimmer;but, in the agony of his terror, every thing was forgotten but Lucič'sdanger; without hesitation he threw himself into the stream, and exertedall his skill to reach her, when she soon again appeared, floating onwith a swiftness which seemed every instant to increase the distancebetween them. He heard the din of waters rushing over the rocks, andknew that he was hastening towards the fearful gulf, from the loud andstill increasing noise which they sent forth, as they dashed across thenarrow channel. The thought that Lucič's fate was inevitable, and mostappalling, if he could not save her before she reached that fatal spot, redoubled his exertions, which, however, every effort only rendered morefaint and ineffectual. 

Happily for Lucič, extreme terror had deprived her of consciousness, andshe was borne unresistingly on the rapid waves, ignorant of the perilwhich surrounded her. She already seemed within the vortex of thecataract; and its confused and deafening clamor for an instant recalledher senses, and thrilled coldly through her heart. But she was suddenlydrawn back by a powerful grasp, and when she again opened her eyes, shewas lying on a grassy bank; the melody of the woods chimed sweetlyaround her, and the distant tumult of the waves fell, softened to gentlemurmurs, on her ear. A confused recollection of danger and escapecrossed her mind; but the feelings it excited were too overwhelming, inher exhausted state, and she again sunk into complete insensibility. 

Lucič owed her recovered life to the generous exertions of an Indian, who, returning to his canoe, the unlucky cause of her misfortune, wasattracted by her perilous situation. He swam to her rescue with adexterity acquired by long and constant practice, and reaching her at amoment when death seemed inevitable, succeeded in bearing her safely tothe shore. With scarcely a moment's respite, he returned to theassistance of De Valette, who was completely subdued by his efforts, andmust have sunk, but for the aid of his faithful dog. The animal, withequal courage and attachment, persevered in holding him securely, andwas, in fact, dragging him towards the shore, when the Indian came tohis rescue, and conveyed him to a place of safety. His first anxiousinquiries were respecting Lucič; and his gratitude to his deliverer wasenhanced by the knowledge, that he had been the preserver of her lifealso. The disinterested exertions of the poor Indian were most warmlyacknowledged, and liberally rewarded, both by De Valette and Lucič. 

When Lucič recovered from her long insensibility, she found herselfsupported in the arms of some one, who seemed watching over her with theutmost solicitude. She at first gazed vacantly on his face; but, as herrecollections became more vivid, she started and uttered a faint cry, recognizing the features of father Gilbert. The expression of hiscountenance was gentle, even to softness, and his eyes were evidentlymoistened with tears. He, however, released her, on finding herconsciousness fully restored, and removing to a little distance, remained standing in perfect silence. Lucič in vain attempted to speak:the priest, as he continued to look on her, became deeply agitated; heagain approached her, and pronounced her name in a voice of tenderness, though trembling with emotion. Lucič's habitual dread of him was lost inthe powerful interest which his altered manner and appearance excited;her imploring eyes demanded an explanation, and he seemed about tospeak, when the loud bark of Hero was heard, and he bounded towardsher, followed by De Valette and the Indian. 

Father Gilbert hastily retired, and was soon hid in the deep shadows ofthe forest. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

 "Oh Jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship, Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms; How does thy rancor poison all our softness, And turn our gentle natures into bitterness. "

A few hours of repose restored Lucič's exhausted strength; though theappalling danger from which she had been so providentially rescued, lefta far more enduring impression on her mind. The evening of that day wasserene and cloudless, and the breeze which floated from the river hadnothing of the chilliness so usual at that season. Lucič sat at an openwindow, her eyes fixed on the curling waves, which glanced brightlybeneath the moon, whose silver beams were blended with the lingeringrays of twilight. An expression of deep and quiet thought marked hercountenance, though the mental suffering she had so recently enduredmight still be traced in her pale cheek, which was half shaded by theringlets of jetty hair, that fell profusely around it. Her forehead wasreclined on one hand, the other rested on the head of Hero, who saterect beside her, as if conscious that his late intrepid conductentitled him to peculiar privileges. 

Madame de la Tour was seated at a little distance, removed from thecurrent of evening air which her delicate health would not permit her toinhale, and evidently suffering that extreme lassitude, which usuallyfollows any strong excitement. Both remained silent: each apparentlyengrossed by thoughts which she cared not to communicate to the other. The silence was at length abruptly broken, by an exclamation from Lucič, of "Father Gilbert!" uttered in an accent so quick and startling, thatMad. De la Tour sprang involuntarily from her musing posture, and eventhe dog leaped on his feet, and looked inquiringly in her face. 

"Poor Hero! I did not mean to disturb you, " said Lucič, patting her dumbfavorite, and rather embarrassed, that she had unwarily produced so muchexcitement. 

"Father Gilbert!" repeated Mad. De la Tour; "and is he coming hitheragain?"

"No, I saw him but an instant, " said Lucič; "and he has now disappearedbehind the wall. "

She hesitated, and still kept her eyes fixed on her aunt's face, as ifwishing to ask some question, which she yet feared might not be wellreceived. 

"What would you say, Lucič?" asked Mad. De la Tour, with a faint smile;"I perceive there is something on your mind, which you would fainunburthen; and why should you hesitate to speak it to me?"

"Perhaps it is an idle curiosity, dear aunt, " she replied; "but youasked if father Gilbert was coming hither _again_, as though he hadalready been here; and, I confess, I am anxious to learn if I understoodyou correctly?"

"You did, Lucič; and you will be more surprised when I assure you, thatI held a long conference with him this morning: one too, in which _you_are particularly concerned. "

"_I_ concerned! _you_ hold a conference with father Gilbert!" saidLucič, in unfeigned astonishment; "dearest aunt, I entreat you toexplain yourself. "

"The explanation must necessarily be long, Lucič, " she replied; "and asI know your feelings will be deeply excited, I fear the agitating eventsof this day have scarcely left you strength and spirits, to bear therecital. To-morrow"--

"Oh, now, dear aunt!" interrupted Lucič; "I am well, indeed, and canbear any thing better than suspense. I too, have seen the priest to-day, and his look, --his manner was so changed, yet still so unaccountable, that he has not been since one instant from my mind. "

"Where did you see him, Lucič?" asked Mad. De la Tour; "and why shouldyou conceal the interview from me?"

Lucič, who, till this incidental recurrence to father Gilbert, hadavoided mentioning even his name, since she found the subject soembarrassing to her aunt, gladly relieved her mind, by relating theparticulars of her rencontre with him in the morning, and described thedeep interest with which he seemed to be watching her recovery. Madamede la Tour listened attentively to her recital, but apparently withoutsurprise; and after a short pause, which was evidently employed inpainful reflection, she said, "It is time that all this mystery should be explained to you, Lucič;for, what I have so long attributed to the influence of yourimagination, is now more rationally accounted for, though until a fewhours since, I was, myself, ignorant of many facts, which I am about torelate to you. But I must first beg you to close the window; the airgrows cool, and I should also be loath to have our discourse reach theears of any loiterer. "

Lucič obeyed in silence; and drawing her chair closer to her aunt, sheprepared to listen, with almost breathless attention. 

"I must revert to the period of your mother's marriage, Lucič, " saidMadame de la Tour, "and, as briefly as possible, detail those unhappycircumstances which so soon deprived you of her protecting love. Youwill no longer be surprised that I have repressed your natural curiosityon this subject; for it must excite many painful feelings, which I wouldstill spare you, had not a recent discovery rendered the disclosureunavoidable. "

"The subject agitates you, my dear aunt, " said Lucič, observing herchanging complexion with anxiety; "you are indeed too ill, this evening, to make so great an exertion, and I had far rather wait till anotherday, when you will probably be better able to bear it. "

"No, I am well now, " she replied; "and will not keep you any longer insuspense. " She then resumed, "Your mother, Lucič, had the innocence and purity of an angel; she wasgay, beautiful, and accomplished, --the idol of her friends, theadmiration of all who saw her. That picture, which you so often gaze onwith delight, is but a faint resemblance of what she was. The lineamentsare indeed true to nature, but no artist could catch the ever varyingexpression, or imbody that unrivalled grace, which threw a charm aroundher, more captivating even than her faultless beauty. She was just fouryears older than myself, but this difference of age did not prevent theclosest union of sentiment and feeling between us; and, as she wasalmost my only companion, I early renounced my childish amusements forthe more mature employments, which engaged her attention. We lived muchin retirement; my father was attached to literary pursuits, and devotedhimself to our education; a task which he shared with my eldest sister, who was many years our senior, and affectionately supplied the place ofour mother, who died a few months after my birth. 

"Your mother, Lucič, was scarcely sixteen when she first saw Mons. DeCourcy. Chance introduced him to our acquaintance, as he was travellingthrough the province where we then resided; her loveliness attracted hisadmiration, and he soon avowed a deeper and more impassioned sentiment. Till then she had never dreamed of love; it was reserved for him toawaken its first emotions in a heart susceptible of the most generousand devoted constancy, the most fervent and confiding tenderness, exalted by a delicacy and refinement, which could only emanate from amind as virtuous and noble as her own. 

"De Courcy had already passed the season of early youth, and hisdisposition and feelings were, in many respects, extremely opposite toyour mother's. His figure was commanding, his features regular andexpressive; though, on the whole, he was remarked rather for theuncommon grace and elegance of his deportment, than for any of thepeculiar attributes of manly beauty. His manners were cold, and evenhaughty, in his general intercourse with society; but, with those whomhe loved and wished to please, he was gentle and insinuating; and whenhe chose to open the resources of his highly gifted mind, hisconversational talents were more versatile and fascinating, than thoseof any individual whom I have ever known. There was a cast of deepthought, almost of melancholy, in his countenance, which was ascribed, Iknow not if correctly, to an early disappointment; but it was seldombanished, even from his smiles, and often increased when all around himseemed most gay and happy. His feelings, indeed, were never expended inlight and trifling emotions; they were strong, silent, and indelible;and those who viewed the calmness of his exterior, little dreamed of theimpetuous passions which slumbered beneath, and which he was accustomedto restrain by the most rigid and habitual self-command. Some of thesetraits excited my father's solicitude for the future happiness of hisdaughter; but they were overbalanced by so many noble qualities andshining virtues, that no other eye detected their blemishes. Your motherbelieved him faultless; she had given him her affections, with all theenthusiasm of her guileless heart; and he regarded her with a devotion, that almost bordered on idolatry. "

Madame de la Tour paused, and Lucič, raising her head from the attitudeof profound attention with which she listened, asked, in an accent whichseemed to deprecate an affirmative answer, "You are not weary, I hope, dearest aunt?"

"Not weary, Lucič, " she replied; "but you must sometimes allow me amoment's respite, to collect and arrange my thoughts. More than twentyyears have passed since these events, yet, child as I then was, theymade too deep an impression on my mind to be effaced by time; and Icannot, even now, reflect on them without emotion. 

"I have dwelt thus minutely on your father's character, " she continued, "that you may be prepared for"--

"For what?" interrupted Lucič; "surely all these happy prospects werenot soon darkened by clouds!"

"We will not anticipate, " said Mad. De la Tour, in a voice slightlytremulous. She again resumed, "De Courcy was the younger son of an ancient and honorable family. Mysister's rank and fortune equalled his expectations, her beautygratified the pride of his connexions, and the endearing qualities ofher mind and heart won their entire approbation and regard. Theirmarriage was solemnized; and never was there a day of greater happiness, or one which opened more brilliant prospects for futurity. De Courcyconveyed his bride immediately to a favorite estate, which he possessedin Provence, whither I was permitted to accompany them; and six monthsglided away, in the full enjoyment of that felicity which their romantichopes had anticipated. Winter approached, and your father was importunedto visit the metropolis, and introduce his young and beautiful wife tothe gay and elevated station which she was expected to fill. 

"Your mother, accustomed to retirement, and completely happy in theparticipation of its rational pleasures, with one whose taste andfeelings harmonized entirely with her own, yielded, with secretreluctance, to her husband's wishes, and exchanged that peacefulretreat, for the brilliant, but heartless scenes of fashionable life. The world was new to her, and no wonder if her unpractised eye wasdazzled by the splendor of its pageantry. She entered a magic circle, and was borne round the ceaseless course with a rapidity which threw adeceitful lustre on every object, and concealed the falseness of itscolors. She became the idol of a courtly throng; poets sung her praises, and admirers sighed around her. Her heart remained uncorrupted byflattery; but, young and inexperienced, buoyant with health and spirits, no wonder that she yielded to the fascinations which surrounded her, orthat her thoughts reverted less frequently, and less fondly, to thosecalm pleasures which had once constituted her only happiness. Heraffection for her husband was undiminished; but the world now claimedthat time and attention, which, in retirement, had been devoted to him;and, engrossed by amusements, every intellectual pursuit was abandoned;and domestic privacy, with its attendant sympathies and unitedinterests, was, at length, entirely banished. 

"De Courcy, chagrined by a change, which his experience in life shouldhave enabled him to foresee, became melancholy and abstracted; he oftensecluded himself from society, entrusting his wife to some otherprotection, or, when induced to enter scenes which had become irksome tohim, he watched, with jealousy, even the most trifling attentions thatwere offered her. He, who possessed such a heart, should never havedoubted its truth, or wounded her affection by distrusting its fervorand sincerity. He had led her into the fatal vortex, and one word fromhim could have dissolved the spell; the slightest expression of hiswishes, would, at any moment, have drawn her from pleasures of which shealready wearied; and, amid the sweet tranquillity of nature, they mighthave regained that happiness, which had withered in the ungenialatmosphere of artificial life. But he was too proud to acknowledge theweakness he indulged; and when she besought him, even with tears, toexplain the cause of his altered conduct, he answered her evasively, orrepulsed her with a coldness, which she felt more keenly than thebitterest reproaches. Confidence, the strongest link of affection, wasbroken, and the golden chain trembled with the shock. 

"Nothing is more galling to an ingenuous mind, than a consciousness, that the actions and feelings are misconstrued by those to whom theheart has been opened with that perfect trust and unreserve, which oughtto place them beyond the shadow of suspicion. Your mother deeply feltthe injustice of those doubts; and perhaps, a little natural resentmentmingled with and augmented the pain, which rankled in her inmost soul. But, satisfied of her innate rectitude, and of that true and constantlove, which even unkindness could not weaken, she left her innocence tovindicate itself, and made no farther attempt to penetrate the reservewhich her husband had assumed, and which opposed a fatal barrier toreturning harmony. Experience in the world, or a thorough knowledge ofyour father's peculiar disposition, might have suggested a different, and, perhaps, a more successful course. But she judged and acted fromthe impulse of a sensitive and ardent mind, which had freely bestowedthe whole treasure of its warm and generous affections, and could illbrook a return of such unmerited coldness and distrust. Her conducttowards him was marked by the most unvarying sweetness, and a studiousdeference to his wishes; they, however, seldom met, but in a crowd; forshe sought society with an eagerness, which seemed the result of choice, while it was, in reality, a vain attempt to relieve the restlessness andmelancholy that oppressed her. In public, her spirits were supported byan artificial excitement, and her gaiety seemed unimpaired; but, whenalone with me, the constant companion of her solitary hours, and thesole confidant of her thoughts, she yielded to the most alarmingdepression. Her health evidently suffered from this disordered state ofmind; but she uttered no complaint, and from her husband, particularly, concealed every symptom of illness, and appeared with her accustomedcheerfulness. Strange as it may seem, her gaiety chagrined him; hefancied her trifling with, or indifferent to, his happiness, andsatisfied with the pleasures which courted her, without a wish for hisparticipation. He little knew, --for his better feelings were warped by amorbid imagination, --how gladly she would have exchanged every otherblessing for one assurance of returning confidence and affection. 

"Your mother's spirits faintly revived, on the approach of spring. Shewas weary of dissipation: the glittering bubble, which at first charmedher eye, had burst, and betrayed its emptiness. She had a mind whichpanted for the noblest attainments, a heart formed for the enjoyment ofevery pure and rational pursuit. Her thoughts continually reverted tothe first happy months of her union with De Courcy; and she impatientlyanticipated the moment, when they should return to those quiet scenes;fondly believing that she might there recover her husband's love, andthat a new and most endearing tie would bind him more strongly to her. These soothing hopes beguiled many an heavy hour; and, but for one fatalerror, one deadly passion, they might have been fully realized!"

Madame de la Tour abruptly stopped, overcome by the painfulrecollections which crowded on her mind; Lucič looked at her withtearful eyes, but offered no remark; and both remained silent forseveral minutes. 

CHAPTER XX. 

 What deep wounds ever closed without a scar The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear Silence, but not submission. 

 LORD BYRON. 

Madame de la Tour at length proceeded:--"I have already told you, Lucič, that De Courcy viewed, with uneasiness, the homage which was paid yourmother, though it did not exceed the usual devotion which Parisiangallantry is wont to offer at the shrine of female loveliness. He musthave expected it; for no one could have been more conscious of herbeauty, or more proud of possessing it. But he persuaded himself, thatthis adulation was too grateful to her; his affection was selfish andengrossing, and he wished her to receive pleasure from no praises orattentions but his own. She was, perhaps, as free from vanity as anywoman could be, young, beautiful, and admired as herself; and if notindifferent to the admiration which her charms excited, it was but thenatural and transient delight of a gay and innocent mind; her heart wasever loyal to her husband, and his society, his fond and approvingsmile, were far more prized by her, than the idle homage of a world. 

"The young Count de ---- was an object of particular dislike andunceasing suspicion to De Courcy. They were distantly related; but someslight disagreement, which had taken place at an earlier period, createda coolness between them, which was never overcome. Your mother was awareof this, and, had she more closely consulted her prudence, would, probably, have avoided the attentions of one so obnoxious to herhusband's prejudices. But the Count was gay and agreeable, theversatility of his talents amused her, and he seemed to possess manyamiable and brilliant qualities. His manners were courteous; hisattentions never presuming; and there was a frankness in his address, which formed an agreeable contrast to the studied flattery of othersaround her. Yet even the most distant civilities excited your father'sdistrust; the Count became, every day, an object of more decided andmarked aversion, and your mother could not but feel herself tacitlyimplicated in his displeasure. Grieved that he could doubt heraffection, or the rectitude of her heart, and relying confidently on thepurity of both, she resolved not to wound the Count's feelings, byyielding to an ungenerous prejudice, and her conduct and mannerstherefore continued unchanged. 

"As spring advanced, your mother withdrew, almost entirely, fromsociety; but the Count de ----, among a few others, was a privileged andfrequent visitor at her house. One morning, De Courcy, contrary to hisusual custom, had urged her to accompany him on some short excursion;and, equally surprised and gratified by the unexpected request, it waswith extreme reluctance that she felt compelled, from indisposition, todecline it. Soon after his departure, however, I persuaded her to leaveher apartment, for a few moments, to look at some choice exotics, whichhad just been brought to the house. She was still lingering to admirethem, when the Count de ---- was announced, through the negligence of aservant, who had been ordered not to admit any visitors. It was too lateto retire, unobserved; and the usual greetings of civility were scarcelyexchanged, when De Courcy abruptly entered the room. He started, onseeing his wife, who had so recently refused his request, on the plea ofillness, apparently well, and taking advantage of his absence, to admithis supposed rival to an interview. Pale with emotion, he stood amoment, as if rooted to the spot; his eye, which flashed with scorn andanger, fixed alternately on each; then deliberately turned, and left thehouse. The Count had met his gaze unmoved, and with an expression ofcalm contempt; your mother, terrified by the storm of passion which hiscountenance betrayed, fled precipitately to her own apartment. Ill asshe was, however, and trembling with apprehension, she exerted herselfto appear at dinner, hoping that the true explanation would appease herhusband's irritation. But he met her with a gloomy reserve, whichdestroyed all hope of confidence; he did not allude to what had passed;every trace of passion was gone, and she felt re-assured by a deceitfulcalm, that only concealed the inward struggle. 

"De Courcy left the house by day-light on the following morning; no oneknew whither he was gone, but we had heard him traverse his apartmentthrough the night, and were confident he had taken no repose. A fewhours of anxious suspense passed away, and your mother had just risenfrom her sleepless pillow, when he suddenly entered her dressing-room. Iwas alone with her, and never shall I forget the impression hisappearance made on me. His dress was disordered, his countenance paleand haggard, and every feature marked with the deepest anguish. Yourmother rose with a faint exclamation, but instantly sunk again upon herseat. He approached her, and took her hands, even with gentleness, between his own, though every limb trembled with agitation. 

"Lucič, " he said, with unnatural calmness, and fixing his troubled eyeon her face; "I come to bid you a long, --long farewell!"

"What mean you, de Courcy?" she asked, with extreme alarm; "speak, Iconjure you, and relieve this torturing suspense!"

"My honor has been avenged!" he replied, with a hoarse and rapidutterance; "and from this moment we part--forever!"

"Part! de Courcy, my husband!" she exclaimed, in a voice of agony; "tellme, what"--

"The concluding words died on her quivering lips; the sudden conflict ofstrong emotions could not be endured, and she sunk insensible on mybosom. Frantic with alarm, I folded my arms around her, and, unwillingto summon any witnesses, attempted to recall her senses, byadministering such restoratives as were fortunately within my reach. DeCourcy looked at her an instant, like one bewildered; then fiercelyexclaimed, "She loves him! see you not how she loves him?"

"Wretched man!" I said, indignantly, "you have murdered her; go, andleave us to our misery. "

"My words seemed to penetrate his heart; his features relaxed, and, before I was aware of his design, he took your mother from me, and laidher gently on a couch. The tide of tenderness had rushed back upon hissoul, and every soft and generous feeling transiently revived. He stoodover her inanimate form, gazing on her with melancholy fondness till thetears gushed freely from his eyes, and fell on her pallid features. Atthat moment, as if revived by his solicitude, she half unclosed hereyelids, and a faint glow gave signs of returning life. De Courcykissed her cold lips, and, murmuring a few words, which did not reach myear, he gave one last and lingering look, and turned precipitately toleave the room. 

"I had retreated from the couch, inexpressibly affected by a scene, which I fondly hoped was the dawn of returning happiness. He stopped, ashe was passing me, and, wringing my hand with emotion, pointed to yourmother, and, in a voice scarcely audible, said, "You love her, Justine; comfort her, --cherish her, as I would havedone, --God knows how fervently, --had she permitted me. Farewell, mysister, forever. "

Madame de la Tour was too much agitated to proceed, and even Lucičwillingly suspended the painful interest to indulge the natural emotionswhich her parents' history excited. After a brief interval, Madame de laTour thus continued:

"You must suffer me to pass rapidly over the remainder of this sad tale, my dear Lucič. It was long before your mother revived to perfectconsciousness; and the shock which she had received was only a preludeto still deeper misery. The conduct of de Courcy was too soon explained. Yielding to the fatal error, that she had given her affections to theCount de ----, in the excitement of his passion, he sent a challenge, which was instantly accepted. They met; and the Count was carried, ashis attendants supposed, mortally wounded, from the field of contest. DeCourcy, however, was spared the commission of that crime; for, thoughthe Count's life was long despaired of, a good constitution prevailed, and he at length recovered. 

"De Courcy had made all his arrangements on the preceding night; and, immediately after his interview with your mother, he quitted Parisforever. A letter was left, addressed to her, which strikingly portrayedthe disordered state of his mind, and feelingly delineated the strengthof his affection, and the bitterness of his disappointment. Robbed, ashe believed, of her love, the world had no longer any thing to attachhim; and he resolved to bury himself in some retirement, which the vainpassions of life could never penetrate. 

"I will pass over the agonizing scenes, the months of wretchedness whichsucceeded this separation, this sudden dissolution of the most sacredand endearing ties. All attempts to discover De Courcy's retreat wereunavailing, though it was long before your mother could relinquish thedelusive hope, that he would be again restored to her. We returned to myfather's house; but there every thing reminded her of happier days, andserved to increase her melancholy. Your birth was the only event whichreconciled her to life; but her health was then so precarious, we darednot flatter ourselves, that she would be long continued to you. Herphysicians recommended change of air, and I accompanied her to a conventon the borders of the Pyrenees, where she had passed a few years inearly childhood; and she earnestly desired to spend her remaining dayswithin its peaceful walls. 

"The good nuns welcomed her to their humble retreat, in the midst of awild and romantic solitude; and, with unwearied kindness sought toalleviate the sufferings of disease. For three months, I watchedunceasingly beside her; a heavenly resignation smoothed the bed ofsickness, and her wearied spirit was gently loosed from earth, andprepared for its upward flight. You were the last cord that bound her toa world which she had found so bankrupt in its promises, and this wastoo strong to be severed, but by the iron grasp of death. As the momentof her departure approached, she expressed a wish to receive the lastoffices of religion; and a messenger was sent to a neighbouringmonastery of Jesuits to request the attendance of a priest. One of thebrotherhood soon after entered the little cell, and the nuns, who werechanting around her bed, retired at his approach. 

"I retreated unobserved, to a corner of the room, fearing she would notlive through the last confession of her blameless life. A dim lamp, fromwhich she was carefully screened, shed a sickly gleam around theapartment; and, even in the deep silence of that awful hour, the lowand labored whispers of her voice scarcely reached my ear. Suddenly Iwas startled by a suppressed, but fervent exclamation from the monk, instantly followed by a faint cry from your mother's lips. I flew to thebed; she had raised herself from the pillow, her arms were extended, asin the act of supplication, and a celestial glow irradiated her dyingfeatures. The priest stood in an attitude of eager attention: his cowlwas removed; and, judge of my sensations, when I recognized thecountenance of De Courcy!"

"My father!" exclaimed Lucič; "that priest"--

"Wait, and you shall know all;" interrupted Madame de la Tour. "Thatpriest was indeed your father; he had taken the vows of a rigid order, and Providence guided him to the death-bed of your mother. I pass overthe scene which followed; it is too hallowed for description. Suffice itto say, the solemn confession of that dreadful moment convinced him ofher innocence, and her last sufferings were soothed by mutualreconciliation and forgiveness. Your father closed her eyes in theirlast sleep, and pressing you for an instant to his heart, rushed almostfrantic from the convent. 

"On the following day, my father sought De Courcy at the monastery, hoping to draw him back to the world by the touching claims of parentallove. But he had already left it, never to return; and the superior hadsworn to conceal his new abode from every human being. Before leavingthe convent, on the night of your mother's death, he confirmed herbequest, which had already given you to my eldest sister, then a rigidCatholic. But my father soon after became a convert to the opinions ofthe Hugonots, to which we also inclined; and my sister's marriage withM. Rossville confirmed her in those sentiments. She thought proper toeducate you in a faith which she had adopted from deliberate conviction;and, as your father had renounced his claims, she of course feltresponsible only to her own conscience. Every effort to find him, indeed, continued unavailing; years passed away, and by all who hadknown him he was numbered as with the dead. 

"But your father still lived, Lucič, and the recollection of his injuredwife forever haunted him; her misery, her untimely death, all weighedheavily on his conscience, and he sought to expiate his crime by a lifeof austerity, and the most constant and painful acts of self-denial anddevotion. Yet the severest penance which he inflicted on himself was torenounce his child, to burst the ties of natural affection, that noearthly claims might interfere with those holy duties to which he hadconsecrated his future life. "

"Just heavens!" said Lucič, with emotion; "could such a sacrifice beexacted? dearest aunt, tell me if he yet lives, if I am right"--

"He does live, " interrupted Madame de la Tour; "he received permissionto quit his monastery only to fulfil a more rigid vow, which bound himto a life of unremitting hardship; and, after a severe illness, that forseveral weeks deprived him of reason, he at length reached this newworld, where for nearly twenty years"--

"Father Gilbert!" exclaimed Lucič, starting from her seat in powerfulagitation. 

"Yes, " said a deep, solemn voice; and the dark form of the priest, whohad entered unnoticed, stood beside her; "my child, behold your father!"

"My father!" repeated Lucič, as she rushed into his extended arms, andsunk weeping upon his bosom. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

 Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time. And rule the spacious world from clime to clime: Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore. 

 CAMPBELL. 

The tempered beams of a September sun glanced mildly on the quiet shoresof the Massachusetts, and tinged with mellowed hues the richness of itsautumnal scenery. It was on that holy day, which our puritan ancestorswere wont to regard emphatically as a "day of rest;" and nature seemedhushed to a repose as deep and expressive as on that first earthlysabbath when God finished his creative work, and "saw that it was verygood. " The public worship of the morning was ended; and the citizens ofBoston were dispersing through the different streets and avenues of thetown, to their various places of abode. The mass which issued from theportal of the sanctuary with grave and orderly demeanor, appeared tomelt away as one by one, or in household groups, they turned aside totheir respective dwellings, till all gradually disappeared, and thestreets were again left silent and deserted. 

Arthur Stanhope had withdrawn from the crowd, and stood alone on themargin of the bay, which curved its broad basin around the peninsula ofBoston. He had received no tidings from St. John's, since the day hequitted it; and, with extreme impatience, he awaited the return of asmall trading vessel, which was hourly expected from thence. But hiseyes vainly traversed the wide expanse of water; all around it blendedwith the bright blue sky, and no approaching bark darkened its unruffledsurface. Silence reigned over the scene as undisturbed as when theadventurous pilgrims first leaped upon the inhospitable shore. But itwas the silence of that hallowed rest which man offered in homage to hiscreator, not that primeval calm which then brooded over the savagewilderness. Time, since the day on which they took possession, hadcaused the waste places to "rejoice, and the desert to blossom as arose. " The land to which they fled from the storms of persecution hadbecome a pleasant abode; and their interests and affections weredetached from the parent country, and fixed on the home of theiradoption. 

The tide of emigration ceased with the triumph of the puritan cause inEngland; but the early colonists had already laid deep the broadfoundations on which the fabric of civil and religious liberty wasreared. Prudence and persevering zeal had conquered the first and mostarduous labors of the settlement; and they looked forward with piousconfidence to its future prosperity, firmly persuaded that God hadreserved it for the resting place of his chosen people. The rugged soilyielded to the hand of industry, and brought forth its treasures. Theshores of the bay no longer presented a scene of wild and solitarymagnificence. Forests, which had defied the blasts of ages, were sweptaway; and, in their stead, fields of waving grain hung their golden earsin the ripening sun, ready for the coming harvest. Flocks and herdsgrazed in the green pastures which sloped to the water's edge, orcollected in meditative groups beneath the scattered trees that spreadtheir ample branches to shelter them. The noble range of hills whichrose beyond in beautiful inequalities, girdling the indented coast, presented a rich and variegated prospect. Broad patches of cultivationappeared in every sheltered nook, and tracts of smooth mown grassrelieved the eye from the midst of sterile wilds. Luxuriant corn-fieldsfringed the borders of hanging woodlands, which clothed the steepacclivities; and on the boldest summits wide regions were laid bare, where the adventurous axe had broken the dark line of frowning forests, and prepared the way for future culture. Here and there a thrivingvillage burst upon the view, its clustering houses interspersed withgardens and orchards of young fruit trees. 

The infant capital, from its central and commanding situation, rosepre-eminent above the sister settlements. It had prospered beyond thehopes of the most sanguine, and was already a mart for the superfluousproducts of the colony. That regard to order and decorum, displayed bythe magistrates in their earliest regulations, and a uniformity in thedistribution of land for streets and dwelling lots, had prevented muchconfusion, as the population increased. Its limits were thencomparatively narrow; man had not yet encroached on the dominions of thesea to extend the boundaries of the peninsula. Where the first wharveswere erected, broad and busy streets now traverse almost the centre ofthe city; and fuel was gathered, and wild animals hunted, from the woodsthat grew in abundance on the neck, which is now a protracted andpopulous avenue to the adjoining country. Extensive marshes skirted theborders of the river Charles, and the three hills which formed itsprominent natural features were steep and rugged cliffs. One, indeed, was surmounted by a wind-mill, which for many years labored unceasinglyfor the public good, and ably supplied a deficiency of water-mills; andanother, which overlooked the harbor, was defended by a few pieces ofartillery; thus early betraying that jealous vigilance which has everdistinguished the people of New-England. The last, and most lofty, wasstill a barren waste, descending into the humid fens which are nowconverted into a beautiful common, the only ornamental promenade whichour metropolis can boast. 

Improvement was for a time necessarily gradual. Religion, the onlymotive which could have induced such sacrifices as were made in itscause, was first established; and civil order, and the means ofeducation, were deemed next important by the wise and virtuous foundersof our republic. The necessaries and comforts of life were securedbefore they had leisure to think of its embellishments. Necessityproduced a frugal and industrious spirit, and the wealthiest encouragedby their example the economy and self-denial of the lower orders. Artisans and mechanics soon found ample employment, and variousmanufactures were ingeniously contrived to supply the ordinary wants ofthe colony. The natural products of the soil gradually yielded asuperfluity, which was exported to the West Indian and otherislands;--the commencement of that extensive traffic, which has sinceraised Boston to a high rank among the commercial cities of the world. It was also sent in exchange for the commodities of the mother country, who, indulgent to her children while too feeble to dispute herauthority, then generously remitted those duties which afterwards proveda "root of bitterness" between them. The fisheries, also, were even thenan object of consideration; and many found employment in that craft, which has now become a source of national wealth. Vessels ofconsiderable burthen were launched from the shores of the wilderness, and their light keels already parted the waters of distant seas. Nationswhich then viewed our hardy navigators with contempt, have since seentheir white sails flutter in the winds of every climate, and theiradventurous ships braving the dangers of every rugged shore. Theproudest have acknowledged their rights in each commercial port, and thebravest have struck unwillingly to their victorious flag. 

The advancement which the colony had made within fourteen years from itssettlement, was indeed surprising. The germ of future prosperity seemedbursting from its integuments. The principles of a free government wereestablished; the seed which was "sown in tears, " though it appeared "theleast of all seeds, " was preparing to shoot forth and spread itsbranches into a mighty tree. As yet, however, the future was "hid undera cloud;" and what had already been done, could only be justlyappreciated by those who acted and suffered from the commencement. Butthe fruits of their labor were evident, even to the most indifferentobserver; and Stanhope's thoughts were forcibly drawn from the subjectof his own anxiety, and fixed on the scene before him. 

The scene, glorious as it appeared in the simple garniture of nature, and softened by the adornments of art, charmed the eye and awakened theenthusiasm of a refined and imaginative mind. But the high moralcourage, the stern yet lofty impulse of duty, which had achieved sogreat an enterprize; which had burst the strong links of kindred andcountry, and exchanged honor and affluence for reproach and poverty, andthe countless trials of a wilderness, appealed directly to the bestfeelings of the heart. Arthur was reminded by all around him, of thisnoble triumph of mind and principle over the greatest physicalobstacles; and he strongly felt the contrast which it presented to thehabits and opinions of the Acadian settlers, with whom he had beenlately associated. The bitter enmity of La Tour and D'Aulney, thestruggle for pre-eminence, which kept them continually at strife, haddeadened every social affection and aroused the most fierce and selfishpassions. They had attempted to colonize a portion of the New World, from interested and ambitious motives; their followers were in generalactuated by a hope of gain, or the mere spirit of adventure, whichcharacterized that age; and, if religion was at all considered, it wasonly from motives of policy. The purity and disinterestedness of theNew-England fathers was more striking from the comparison; and, asStanhope mused on them, he wondered that the light sacrifices he hadhimself been compelled to make, could ever have appeared so important. His country, his profession, his hopes of honorable advancement, wereindeed abandoned; but dearer hopes had succeeded the dreams ofambition; and what country would not become a paradise, when brightenedby the smiles of affection!

His reverie, by a very lover-like process, had thus revolved back to thepoint where it commenced, when he was reminded of the lapse of time, bythe sound of a bell, which floated sweetly on the still air, andannounced the stated hour for the second services of the day. He wasslowly turning to obey its summons, when his attention was attracted bythe appearance of a vessel; and he again paused in curiosity andsuspense. It was a pinnace of large size, and sailed slowly over thesmooth waters, frequently tacking to catch the light breeze, whichscarcely swelled the canvass. The waves curled, as if in sport, aroundthe prow, leaving a sinuous track behind, as it came up through thechannel, north of Castle Island, like a solitary bird, skimming thesurface of the deep, and spreading its snowy wings towards some regionof rest. As it entered the spacious harbor, the gay streamer, which hungidly from the mainmast, was raised by a passing breeze, displaying thecolors of France, united with the private arms of Mons. D'Aulney. 

The vessel soon attracted general observation, but the sanctity of theday prevented any open expression of curiosity or surprise. It waspermitted to anchor, unmolested by the formidable battery on the easternhill; the bell continued to ring for public worship, and the citizensto assemble as usual. But, situated as the colonists then were, withregard to Acadia, the arrival of a vessel from thence, was a matter ofsome importance. Certain negociations had already taken place betweenthe magistrates of Boston and M. D'Aulney, and the latter had proposedsending commissioners to arrange a treaty. The magistrates, rightlyconjecturing that they had at length arrived, sent two officers toreceive them at the water's side, and conduct them quietly to an inn. Wishing, however, to treat them with suitable respect, when the servicesof the day were over, a guard of musketeers was despatched to escortthem to the governor's house, where they were invited to remain, duringtheir stay in town. 

A treaty was commenced on the following day; and, throughout itsprogress, the utmost ceremony and attention was observed towards thecommissioners, which policy or politeness could suggest. Mutualaggressions were complained of, and mutual concessions made; and thoughD'Aulney had, in truth, been hitherto faithless to his promises, theBostonians evidently feared his growing power, and strongly inclined toconciliatory measures. Under these circumstances, an amnesty was, without much difficulty, concluded; and the commissioners soon afterreturned, well satisfied, to Penobscot. 

This treaty, for a time, seemed almost fatal to the prospects of LaTour. It restrained the colonists from rendering him any furtherassistance; and there was every probability that D'Aulney would atlength effect his long meditated designs against fort St. John's. Stanhope felt much anxiety respecting Lucič's situation; but as winterwas now rapidly approaching, it was hardly possible that any hostileoperations would be commenced, before the return of spring. That period, he trusted, would fulfil the hopes which she had sanctioned, and placeher under his own protection; and, through the autumn, he had thesatisfaction of hearing frequently from her, by means of the vesselswhich continued to trade at the river, with La Tour. With extremesurprise, he learned that she had discovered her father, in themysterious priest; and, strange as the connection seemed, he felt asatisfaction, in knowing that she could claim a natural guardian, tillhe was permitted to remove her from a situation, which was so constantlyexposed to danger. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

 The wars are over, The spring is come; The bride and her lover Have sought their home: They are happy, we rejoice; Let their hearts have an echo in every voice!

 LORD BYRON. 

Never did months revolve more slowly, than through that winter, to theimpatient Stanhope. During its inclemency, all communication with theFrench settlements ceased, and he, of course, heard nothing of Lucič, --asuspension of intercourse which was almost insupportable. By theearliest approach of spring, however, the traders and fishermen againadventured their barks on the stormy bay of Fundy, and the icy shores ofNewfoundland. Boston harbor, which had been sealed, for several months, by the severe cold, then characteristic of the climate, was freed by thebright sun and genial gales of that vernal season. Numerous vesselsfloated on its dancing waves; and all around, the adjacent shores wereteeming with sights and sounds of rural industry. 

It was shortly rumored, that M. D'Aulney was preparing to attack fortSt. John's; some even affirmed, that his vessels had already been seen, hovering near the entrance of the river. Stanhope's extreme anxietycould brook no farther delay; and, under such circumstances, he feltacquitted of the obligation which Lucič's request had imposed on him, and at liberty to anticipate a few weeks of the time appointed for hisreturn to her. Early in April, therefore, he embarked in a neat pinnace, and after a short voyage, reached the rugged coast of Acadia. Daylightwas closing, as he approached St. John's; but fortunately the cleartwilight served to show him the changes which had taken place there. Several armed vessels blockaded the river, and the standard of M. D'Aulney waved triumphantly from the walls of the fort. 

These signs of conquest could not be mistaken: the late haughtypossessor had evidently suffered defeat; but what fate had overtakenhim, and where had his family found a refuge? Lucič, the sharer of theirfortunes, --where should he seek her? was the most anxious thought ofStanhope; and painful solicitude checked the tide of joyous expectationwhich he had so sanguinely indulged. Hoping to obtain information fromsome peasant in the neighborhood, he anchored a few miles below thefort, and throwing himself into a small boat, proceeded alone to awell-remembered landing-place. He steered his bark cautiously along theshores of the bay, which were already darkened by the evening shadows;and, rowing with all his strength, soon reached the destined spot, andsprang eagerly upon the strand. Ascending an eminence, the countryopened widely around him; the smoke curled quietly from the scatteredcottages, and the scene was unchanged since he last saw it, except fromthe variation of the seasons. The fields, which were then crowned withthe riches of autumn, had since been seared by wintry frosts, which nowslowly relaxed their rigid grasp. Faint streaks of verdure began totinge the sunny valleys, though patches of snow still lingered withintheir cold recesses. A thousand silver rills burst from the moistenedearth, and leaped down the sloping banks, chiming, in soft concert, withthe evening breeze. Every swelling bud exhaled the perfumed breath ofspring; and all nature seemed awake to welcome her bland approach. 

The peasantry of the country were evidently unmolested, and probablycared little for the change of masters. Arthur had, as yet, seen noliving being; and he hastened to Annette's cottage, which stood at ashort distance, half hid by the matted foliage of some sheltering pines. It no longer wore the air of open hospitality, which once distinguishedit; the gay voice of its mistress ever carolling at her labour, wassilent, and the closed door and casements seemed to portend some sadreverse. Stanhope paused an instant; and as he leaned against a rudefence which enclosed the garden plat, his eye rested on a slender moundof earth, covered with fresh sods, and surrounded by saplings of willow, newly planted. It was evidently a grave; and, with a chilled heart, andexcited feelings, he leaped the slight enclosure, fearing, he knew not, dared not ask himself, what unknown evil. 

At that moment, he heard light approaching footsteps; he turned and sawa female advancing slowly, and too much engrossed by her own thoughts tohave yet observed him. He could not be deceived; he sprang to meet her, repeating the name of "Lucič;" and an eager exclamation of "Stanhope, isit possible!" expressed her joyful recognition. 

"Why are you so pale and pensive, dear Lucič, " asked Stanhope, regardingher with solicitude, when the first rapturous emotions had subsided;"and what brings you to this melancholy spot at such a lonely hour?"

"Oh, Arthur, " she replied, "you know not half the changes which havetaken place since you were here, or you would not ask why I am pale andpensive! this is the grave of my kindest relative; till you came, Ialmost thought of my last friend!"

"Good heavens! of your aunt, Lucič; of Madame de la Tour?"

A burst of tears, which she could no longer restrain, was Lucič'sanswer; her feelings had, of late, been severely tried, and it was manymoments before her own exertions, or the soothings of affectionsucceeded in calming her emotions. A long conversation ensued; each hadmuch to say, and Lucič, in particular, many events to communicate. Butas the narrative was often interrupted by question and remark, anddelayed by the expression of those hopes and sentiments which lovers arewont to intersperse in their discourse, we shall omit suchsuperfluities, and sum up, as briefly as possible, all that is necessaryto elucidate our story. 

Madame de la Tour's constitution was too delicate to bear the rigor of anorthern climate, and from her first arrival in Acadia, her health beganalmost imperceptibly to decline. She never entirely recovered from thesevere indisposition which attacked her in the autumn, though the vigorand cheerfulness of her mind long resisted the depressing influence ofdisease. But she was perfectly aware of her danger even before the bloomfaded from her cheek sufficiently to excite the alarm of those aroundher. It was a malady which had proved fatal to many of her family; andshe had too often witnessed its insidious approaches in others, to bedeceived when she was herself the victim. Towards the close of winter, she was confined entirely to her apartment, and Lucič, and the faithfulAnnette, were her kind and unwearied attendants. Her decline was fromthat time rapid, but it was endured with a fortitude which haddistinguished her in every situation of life. Still young, and withmuch to render existence pleasant and desirable, she met its close withcheerful resignation, surrounded by the weeping objects of her love. OnLucič's affectionate heart her untimely death left a deep and lastingimpression. She felt desolate indeed, thus deprived of the onlyrelative, with whom she could claim connexion and sympathy. 

The parental tie so lately discovered, and which had opened to Lucič anew spring of tenderness, became a source of painful anxiety. FatherGilbert, --so we shall still call him, --had yielded for a brief season tothe indulgence of those natural feelings, which were awakened by therecognition of his daughter. But his ascetic habits, and the blindbigotry of his creed, soon regained their influence over his mind, andled him to distrust the most virtuous emotions of his heart. Theself-inflicted penance, which estranged him from her, in infancy, hedeemed still binding; and the vow which he had taken to lead a life ofdevotion, he thought no circumstances could annul. As the priest of God, he must conquer every earthly passion; the work to which he wasdedicated yet remained unaccomplished, and the sins of his early lifewere still unatoned. 

Thus he reasoned, blinded by the false dogmas of a superstitious creed;and the arguments of Madame de la Tour, the tears and entreaties ofLucič, had been alike disregarded. The return of the priest, who usuallyofficiated at the fort, was the signal for him to depart on a tour ofsevere duty to the most distant settlements of Acadia. Nothing couldchange his determination; he parted from Lucič with much emotion, solemnly conjuring her to renounce her spiritual errors, and embrace thefaith of the only true church. As his child, he assured her, he shouldpray for her happiness, as a heretic, for her conversion; but herelinquished the authority of a father, which his profession forbade himto exercise, and left her to the guidance of her own conscience. Fromthat time, Lucič had neither seen nor heard from him; but solicitude forhis fate pressed heavily on her heart, and she shed many secret andbitter tears for her unfortunate parent. 

Soon after the death of Madame de la Tour, Lucič removed her residenceto the cottage of Annette. The fort was no longer a suitable or pleasantabode for her. Mons. De la Tour disregarded the wishes which his ladyhad expressed in her last illness, --that Lucič might be allowed tofollow her own inclinations, --and renewed his endeavours to force herinto a marriage with De Valette. But his threats and persuasions wereboth firmly resisted, and proved equally ineffectual to accomplish hispurpose. De Valette, indeed, had too much pride and generosity to urgehis suit after a decided rejection; and he was vexed by his uncle'sselfish pertinacity. In the early period of his attachment to Lucič, heaccidentally discovered that most of her fortune had become involved inthe private speculations of her guardian, and was probably lost to her. But he often declared, that he asked no dowry with such a bride, and ifhe could obtain her hand, he should never seek redress for the patrimonyshe had lost. La Tour, conscious that he had wronged her, and fearingthat no other suitor would prove equally disinterested, was on thataccount anxious to promote a union, which would so easily free him fromthe penalty of his offence. 

Early in the spring, La Tour left St. John's for Newfoundland, hoping toobtain such assistance from Sir David Kirk, who was then commandingthere, as would enable him to retain possession of his fort. He wasaccompanied by De Valette, who intended to sail from thence for hisnative country. It was not till after their departure, that Lucičlearned the reduced state of her finances from Jacques, the husband ofAnnette, who had long enjoyed the confidence of his lord, and beenconversant with his pecuniary affairs. She was naturally vexed andindignant at the heartless and unprincipled conduct of her guardian;though there was a romantic pleasure in the idea, that it would onlytest, more fully, the strength and constancy of Stanhope's attachment. Woman is seldom selfish or ambitious in her affection; Lucič loved, andshe felt still rich in the possession of a true and virtuous heart. 

The absence of La Tour was eagerly embraced by D'Aulney, as a favorableopportunity to accomplish his meditated designs. Scarcely had the formerdoubled Cape Sable, when his enemy sailed up the bay with a powerfulforce, and anchored before St. John's. The intimidated garrison madebarely a show of resistance, and the long contested fort was surrenderedwithout a struggle. D'Aulney treated the conquered with a lenity, whichwon many to his cause; and he permitted the neighboring inhabitants toremain undisturbed on a promise of submission, which was readilyaccorded to him. 

Mr. Broadhead, the chaplain of Madame de la Tour, found refuge in thecottage of Annette, who charitably disregarded religious prejudices, andtreated him with the utmost kindness and attention, from respect to thememory of her mistress. But, having lost the protection of hispatroness, he could no longer, as he said, "consent to sojourn in thetents of the ungodly idolaters, " and meditated a return to Scotland. Tofacilitate this object, he gladly accepted a passage in Stanhope'svessel to Boston; from whence, it was probable, he might soon find anopportunity to recross the Atlantic. The same reasons induced Jacquesand Annette also to become their fellow-passengers; they were wearied ofthe toil and uncertainty inseparable from a new settlement, and sighedfor the humble pleasures they had once enjoyed among the gay peasantryof France. 

Every thing thus satisfactorily explained and arranged, no obstacleremained to delay the marriage of Stanhope and Lucič. The ceremony wasaccordingly performed by Mr. Broadhead; and they immediately bade a lastfarewell to the wild regions of Acadia. Clear skies and favorable gales, present enjoyment, and the bright hopes of futurity, rendered theirshort voyage delightful, and seemed the happy presage of a calm andprosperous life. Stanhope, with the fond pride of gratified affection, presented his bride to his expecting parents; and never was a daughterreceived with more cordiality and tenderness. They had known and lovedher, in the pleasant abode of their native land; and their maturerjudgments sanctioned his youthful choice. Every succeeding yearstrengthened their confidence and attachment; her sweetness andvivacity, her exemplary goodness and devotion to her husband, created aunion of feeling and interest, which was the joy of their decliningyears. 

The happiness of Arthur and Lucič was permanent; and, if not whollyexempted from the evils which ever cling to this state of trial, theirvirtuous principles were an unfailing support, their mutual tenderness, an exhaustless consolation. The wealth and distinction, which oncecourted them, were unregretted; the green vales of England, and thevine-covered hills of France, lingered in their remembrance, only as abright and fleeting vision. It was their ambition to fulfil the dutiesof moral and intellectual beings; and the rugged climate of New-Englandbecame the chosen home of their affections. 

 * * * * *

We feel pledged, by the rules of honorable authorship, to satisfy anycuriosity which may exist, respecting the remaining characters of ournarrative; and if the reader's interest is already wearied, he is atliberty to omit this brief, concluding paragraph. 

De Valette embarked at Newfoundland, in a vessel bound for some Englishport, which was driven by stress of weather, on the Irish coast. Thecrew barely escaped with their lives, and the young Frenchman, by afreak of fortune, was thrown upon the hospitality of a gentleman, whocultivated an hereditary estate in the vicinity. The kind urgency of hishost could not be resisted; and the attractions of an only child badefair to heal the wounds which Lucič's coldness had inflicted. His staywas protracted from day to day; and in short with the usual constancy ofdespairing lovers, --he soon learned to think the fair daughter of the"emerald isle" even more charming than the dark-eyed maiden of his ownsunny clime. Her smiles were certainly more encouraging; and, at the endof a few weeks, De Valette led her to the bridal altar. 

La Tour was disappointed in his application to Sir David Kirk, and, fora time, his tide of fortune seemed entirely to have ebbed. He againvisited Boston, but did not meet with a very cordial reception, though afew merchants entrusted him with a considerable sum of money, on someprivate speculation. This he disposed of, in his own way, and never tookthe trouble to render any account, or make the least restitution to theowners. The death of D'Aulney, however, which happened in the course ofa few years, reversed his prospects, and reinstated him in all hispossessions. He was firmly established in the sole government of Acadia;and, soon after, he contracted a second marriage with the object of hisearly affection, --the still beautiful widow of M. D'Aulney. With norival to dispute his authority, his remaining life was passed intranquillity; the colony, relieved from strife and contention, began toflourish, and his descendants for many years enjoyed their inheritanceunmolested. 

Arthur Stanhope, a few months after his union with Lucič, was appointedthe agent of some public business, which required a voyage to Pemaquid. The recollection of father Gilbert forcibly recurred to him, when hefound himself so near the shores of Mount Desart, --a place which thepriest had frequented, probably for its very loneliness, or perhaps, from some peculiar associations. It was possible he might again find himthere, or hear some tidings which would relieve Lucič's anxietyrespecting him; and, in this hope, he one day sought its sequesteredshades. The sun was declining, when he moored his little bark, andproceeded alone through the same path, which he remembered, on a formeroccasion, to have trodden. The open plain soon burst upon his view; and, to his surprise, the prostrate wooden cross was again erected in themidst of it. A figure knelt at its foot; Arthur approached, --the tall, attenuated form, the dark, flowing garments could not be mistaken;--itwas indeed father Gilbert. Supposing him engaged in some act ofdevotion, Stanhope waited several moments, silent, and unwilling todisturb him. But he continued perfectly motionless;--Arthur advancedstill closer;--one hand grasped the cross, the other held a smallcrucifix, which he always wore suspended from his neck. A glow of[Transcriber's Note: Word illegible in original] rested on his palefeatures; his eyes were closed, and a triumphant smile lingered on hisparted lips. Arthur started, and his blood chilled as he gazed at him;he touched his hand, --it was cold and stiff;--he pressed his fingers onhis heart, --it had ceased to beat!--Father Gilbert was no more!

The spirit seemed to have just burst its weary bondage, and without astruggle; the grassy turf was his dying couch, and the breeze of thedesert sighed a requiem for his departing soul!

THE END.